It’s ideal, for clubbers of any age, that you get a strong paddle or, at the very least, an aluminum bat and then swing for the fences on that defenseless anim –


Nothing to see there, folks.

The clubbing I’m speaking of here is the one where you enter a disgustingly hot “dance hall” or, as the kids say it these days, disco-tech and hope that someone will whip out a paddle and smash your head in repeatedly so you don’t have to stick around until the friend that drove you there is ready to leave.

It’s not that I’m against clubbing, there are plenty of legitimate places of business that provide you with an outlet for all your energy, happiness and waxed chest, I’m just saying that if they all happened to catch on fire, like so many songs suggest the dance-floor would do, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

I feel like a lot of you may be misinterpreting what I’m saying here and yes all the “Johnny Douchebags”, who are only leaches on society and provide no actual value to the world around us – unless you consider the children slaving away on sewing machines so that a corporate machine can make you feel accepted in a Affliction shirt that is small enough for a newborn to use as a swaddle blanket – should be in said building.

It’s not that I wish death upon anyone, just people who give nothing back to society except the glaring hole in the ozone layer thanks to their hair products. Side note: why?

As a kid I didn’t enjoy clubs that much. I didn’t drink or do drugs and my attire was not club appropriate, which was on purpose because if I wanted to be in a sweaty room of men who are rubbing against each other I hear John Travolta has a list of places that provide that kind of service.

Just to be clear I’m talking about masseuses!

I’m not gay, not that there is anything wrong with that, but I made the choice to be straight.

It goes both ways, right Republicans?

I do get the appeal of being in a club though. I have been to a few where the energy is so raw – well I guess you can’t say “raw” because so many people are on ecstasy – and it’s a lot of fun. People dancing with each other, others finding the love of their life until the lights come on and they see they are making out with a chubby redhead. It’s great.

Clubs, for me, weren’t typically a great experience. I usually didn’t have the gall to attach my pelvic region to that of a woman’s buttocks WITHOUT ANY NOTICE! How did that become a thing and why do woman accept that?

“Hey is something on my butt?” A girl says.

“Yeah, I saw you standing all alone and dancing so I decided that I would approach you without saying anything and go ahead and rub myself against your body. At the VERY worst you tell me to get off you.” Says the guy.

I witnessed this MANY times and never did it seem like an okay thing to do.

But, hey, some people call me a gentleman.

Another perplexing moment at clubs is when girls decide to dance on the bar.

I could probably go on for days discussing the degradation of humanity through this simple act, but I’ll save that for another day.

The fact that there are multiple woman who will thrust themselves on top of a bar is a condition that should be studied by neuroscience. I get being on stage and having people listen to you, or watch you dance – hell, I perform comedy (my interpretation) – but hopping on a bar to a chorus of “take your shirt off” or “shake your ass” or “Brit, I posted this on Instagram and I think your mom saw it!”, you would think eventually people would start to see that this is a ridiculous ritual.

I also don’t understand the hordes of men surrounding these woman in hopes that one of them bend a certain way so they can take an up-skirt photo.




Maybe it’s an age thing, I can’t be sure. But even when I was young I never really got the appeal of it and I would most certainly not snap photographs of women who have no control over where the photo is going. Or maybe that’s because when I was 21 the quality of photos on my phone would make the girl look more like a Picasso painting.





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