The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend ChroniclesThird Entry

<---Second Entry Out of eight or nine jobs, I’ve only been fired from one job in my lifetime, and even then I wasn’t really fired. They ‘ended my seasonal employment’ instead. Considering about a week before they officially hired me full-time to work year-round. Yeah, I was fired. I had a job at Target doing overnight work during the holiday season when I was 17. Working 10pm to 6am had its perks, namely being able to take a break from the girlfriend. She was good about it though. She always drove me to work every night and picked me up before she went to work herself in the morning. She had her times of being a great girlfriend. One night of her taking me to work almost negated all of that. She went to drop me off one night when she wanted to have one of those ‘state of the relationship’ talks. I really needed to be on time at work because after a ten-minute leeway, they locked the doors for the night, so I told her it’d have to wait. Her- Fine. I guess your job is more important than me. Me- Is that a trick question? My job is not more important than you. (eye contact to make it believable). Thank you for the ride, I love you, and we’ll talk later. She opted not to kiss me and I went to work. This was at 10:05pm. At 11pm or so, my phone rings. Stupid me had it in my pocket while I worked. I answered it to find out my girlfriend was still in the parking lot. She had been there for an hour apparently, maybe to cool down from insane to just plain crazy. She did that a lot actually. She’s crying and screaming and doing whatever girls do when they’re mad and it became really annoying. If it was anyone else, I would have been concerned. This girl did this quite often, so it never anything special and my patience often wears thin. I attempted to talk her down and get her to go home. I was really never successful at that, but this time I was hopeful. She sounded like she had calmed down and we hung up. I think to myself, "I handled that really well. Maybe this is a turning point in our relationship." About ten minutes later I am pulling a pallet down one of the aisles by the front of the store when my phone rings again. I think to myself that I should have learned to throw it in my locker just before I answer it. It was the girlfriend, of course, but this time she was standing at the front door threatening to bang on the windows and daring to repeatedly ring the doorbell (yes, Target has/had a doorbell). This was not what I needed at all. I liked my job and I wasn't in the mood to lose it. To prevent such a scene, I left my shit and I snuck outside to deal with the problem. I don’t really remember what the argument was about. All I remember is it was big and it was nasty and in a dark parking lot. That’s how unimportant our issues actually were. I’m sure it was something to the nature of me putting my job before our ‘love' or something. All I know is I got called to the executive office the following week to be ‘let go’. I was told this had nothing to do with what had happened the week prior, but I knew she was full of shit. She went on to tell me how ‘poor’ my performance was and so on. Whatever. Fuck her. I went to see my girlfriend afterwards and hate-fucked her in retaliation. She was into shit like that. Fucking Psycho. ”It's not as if you liked that job anyway. I'm glad you got fired. Now we can spend more time together and I can help you find a better place to work with better hours so I can see you more.” Fourth Entry --->

To be a wingman

This is a great commercial. Even though Coors Light does weird things to my rectum stomach. Not unlike my neighborhood dominatrix tap water. No one is as under appreciated as the wingman. He is an important part to anyone's game that isn't strong enough to survive on its own. Yet, the wingman always goes home with the lesser girl or even no one at all. The wingman's primary job is to make his friend seem like a normal guy. If said friend has little-to-no personality, then the wingman is there to create conversation and atmosphere. If the friend is a little boring, then the wingman makes him seem less creepy by sharing some stories about the fun times they've had. Basically, the wingman is the one on the actual date, he just isn't getting anything at the end of the night other than a good buzz and possibly a DUI. It sucks, sure, but you gotta help your friends out. Unfortunatley the favor is never returned because the wingman has enough game to go around. He needs almost no help. In the instance of an double date, the wingman's primary job is to keep his friend from being cockblocked by his date's tag-along friend. The tag-along's sole mission in life is to make sure her friend is only having as much fun as she is herself. That's where the wingman comes in. He has to keep the tag-along occupied and entertained while his friend goes in for the kill. The tag-along may not be the nicest woman on Earth or the most fun, and she is never as cute as your friend's date, but it is his duty to make her feel like it. The wingman may not even get any action himself, but he knows this going in. A plus to being the wingman is he is not required to ever call the girl afterwards. But he may if she is deemed worthy, or if his friend still needs help. Just like a girl with no gag reflex, a good wingman should never be taken for granted. A good friend does not subject his wingman to a really unattractive girl. If anyone is 'jumping on the gernade' or 'taking one for the team', it should purely be on a volunteer basis. Also, the friend should have the common courtesy to ask the wingman's permission to use him on a given night. No one wants to wing'it every night, let alone wing'it unexpectedly. In a perfect world, the wingman would get more perks. He would be able to fuck the girl first, before his friend does. He would have his tab covered by the house as they pay him respect. The entire establishment would cheer him as he heads out to his car at closing time. He would even recieve a blowjob from the waitress in appreciation of a job well done. He would enjoy his work and he would do it more often. Come to find out, the world isn't perfect. I hope this has cleared some things up for everybody. For a less funny, less educational explanation, see Wikipedia's entry or read about the wingwoman.

If I die at work, this will probably be how

I've been having these weird visions lately. None of them have come true, yet, so I guess they're not predictions, but they seem very real. Every day for the past week, I've been picturing different ways I can die at work. Not in a suicidal sense, but in a I-have-no-control-on-how-to-prevent-it kind of way. More natural or external causes rather than a dumb mistake. Kind of like the movie Final Destination 3, but not as predictable or gay. So I guess it's more like Final Destination 1. For instance, I work around a lot of machines where I could easily lose a hand or something, but I don't picture that. I seem to picture weird organ failures or freak accidents involving uncommon occurrences. I'm a little weird, sure, but they seem so real. Examples: Tuesday is my first day of work for the week. After an hour or so of 'working', I got this weird picture in my head. I pictured myself sitting at my desk, head tilted back and to the side, eyes wide open, and tongue hanging out. For some reason I always picture my tongue hanging out when I die. I was indeed dead. I died of an Aneurysm. I hear that's the easiest way to go. Sudden and without warning. Painless with no suffering. Yes, I think I'll have that. Maybe even with a side of cole slaw and a biscuit. Wednesday was a little different. I saw myself with a Sepsis. It turned my blood black as night and it started oozing out of my eye sockets. Then I collapsed on the floor and died in a pool of my own black goock. I blame that little daydream on CSI. Something about having moldy human tissue in a wall, spreading spores throughout the room using the air conditioning. Educational shit. Thursday was funny. The power went out at work just after I got in. Since my entire job depends on power, I decided to plant my face next to my keyboard and take a nap. As I was dozing off I wondered how weird it would be for someone to find me there dead as a doornail, but appearing to be sleep. Whatever old people die of in their sleep, that's what happened to me. Call it Congestive Heart Failure or something. I dunno. Maybe when the power came back on it would trigger some freak anti-accident (I just made that word up) that would jump start my heart back to normal. That would be an odd day for everybody. I have these wobbly stairs I have to climb everyday to empty paper into a recycling bin. The containers I empty are fairly fucking heavy which makes me have to pay extra close attention to my balance while I walk up these stairs. On Friday, I was feeling lightheaded while climbing them when I just pictured myself falling off the top and bashing my head on the asphalt. Then, adding insult to injury, the full trash container would fall on my head, smashing it in some more. Severe, blunt, head trauma, I think, is what they call it. You can blame that one on CSI also for I fell asleep watching it the day prior. I'm not morbid, I promise you, just imaginative and easily influenced. I was crushed to death on Saturday. I saw myself running underneath a delivery truck to keep from having to go around it, somehow the wheels popped off and I was obliterated. The entire trailer full of frozen goods collapsed on me like my size 12's on so many ants in my lifetime. This all occurred right in front of the smoking area where three or five co-workers were enjoying their 'fresh air'. That would have scarred them for life. Could you even imagine witnessing something like that? With an accident like that there had to be some crazy, gory splatter going on. It was a very traumatic experience for everyone. In my head. I wanted to make note of these just in case something really does happen in the future. Then I could be this mythical co-worker who predicted his own death and I would be famous and they'd write books about my genius. In addition to that, they'd go back and read everything I've ever written and try to decipher them to see if I was telling the future there also. There would be classes at Stanford about me and my psychic abilities. My brain would be cut up in chunks and on exhibit in every major university ON EARTH!!!! **cue evil, mad scientist laugh** Or I'm just some troubled, emo guy who has morbid dreams about his own demise, Tupac-style bitches!

The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend ChroniclesSecond Entry

<--First Entry My apartment complex parking lot was the scene to a lot of our bouts. I never hit her, but there were 8-10 times I should have. This is one of them. It was the day before my mom’s birthday and I usually make her a pie as a cheap present. I was 18 at the time and I made decent money at my full-time job, but she still wanted my world famous cheesecake (yes, world famous). After spending the day with my girlfriend, I tell her I need to make a stop at the local supermarket to pick up my baking supplies. This was sometime in the middle of the day. I know because I remember the sun was still shining and I was still smiling. If she had a problem with me ending my day short, common sense says to bring up the issue before she drives me back to my place. This girl obviously lacked common sense. I learned this on many occasions, but mainly at this moment. She drove me to my apartment complex as I asked and we parked unusually far from my actual apartment. I started to see where this was going. We had the usual argument of how I don’t love her enough and I never want to spend time with her and what have you. Real edge-of-your-seat-type stuff. The adventure always starts when I turn to leave. "Don’t you dare get out of my car!!!" (Three exclamation points) I've been kicked out of a car before, but I've never been commanded to stay in one. I dwarfed her by over a foot and out weighed her by at least sixty pounds, so I just laughed. She started pulling at me and grabbing me and yelling at me like she ain't had no sense. The only things we were missing was a home on wheels, a trucker hat, and a kiddie pool to have an all out trailer brawl. I brushed her off and proceeded to head towards my apartment a little bewildered. I made it as far as halfway before her size 5 feet ran up behind me and jumped on my back. I would not make a good quarterback. "You can't walk away from me! You can't walk away from MEEEEEE!!!" In my right hand I had a bag full of groceries. In my left hand I had my key. On my back I had a five-foot troll (a hot troll mind you) who I was giving an unwelcome piggy back ride to. My knee jerk reaction was to elbow her in her pretty little face and be on my way, but since she was not a man, I flung her off my back with my off-hand. I may be exaggerating, but she flew, like, ten feet away into my apartment mini-lawn. It was some Matrix-type shit. She laid there fairly still for a minute or so before I told her to stop playing dead and get up. I was a little pissed. She moved a little after that, trying to over-dramaticize the whole event. I really would have loved to leave her there to teach her a lesson, but the genius in me realized the consequences of abandoning her (one of which was a break up that I, for whatever reason, didn’t want) such as some fake assault charges or lawsuit or whatever. I ended up picking her up and taking her inside to prevent her from doing something stupid and to treat her just in case she had a concussion. I got her water and aspirin and so on to get her well enough to go home, constantly yelling at her to not go to sleep and drink her water. I guess you can say I was pissed, but I still cared. It's one of my few flaws. My mom gave me some help. I think the girlfriend was a little embarassed by that; seeing as my mom would be the first person (but not the last) that has seen us fight. My mother was amazed at the level of drama my relationship had and she never looked at her the same after that. Neither did I really. We dated another year and a half or so. I'm not smart. "My friend from work has spent everyday with her boyfriend since they've been together, and they're doing great. I don't see why we can't do that." Third Entry-->

Bad mom on the freeway

I saw the most appauling thing this morning on the way to work. As I was entering the freeway, a little Honda Civic was bobbing and weaving through traffic coming off the on-ramp. I just figured it was some teenager late for class or something until I saw a baby seat in the back. When I pulled up next to it, there was indeed a baby in the seat. I hate seeing bad drivers with babies in the car. On top of that, the bitch was drinking coffee and talking on the cell phone while going 75 mph on a wet road. I wish I would have gotten a picture of this, but I left my video camera at home today (a rarity). To her credit, she was kind of Milfy. No excuse though.

Demotivational poster about gambling

A weekend of football inspired this poster. I was in Vegas a couple years ago and I happened to be walking past the sports book on a Saturday. I stopped to catch a part of one of the games when the entire room started yelling at the TV wall. They were yelling not because of who won or lost the game, but at a simple field goal. I learned later that the field goal ruined the point spread, therefore losing alot of people's money. Losers.

The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend ChroniclesFirst Entry

This will be my first installment of the Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Chronicles. Every Friday, I will be sharing a single story from a collection I have about my relationship with a girl that was a few gallons short of a full tank. A few shots short of a fifth. A few guys short of a gangbang. A few...well, you get the point. I know I can be an asshole at times, but posting these may be a bit far, even for me. I've tried to extend the olive branch to this girl a couple times in the past few years, but to no avail. She is actually the first person to label me an asshole, so you can blame the last few years of my life on her. But I’m not bitter or anything. I really don’t know if this is me bad-mouthing a troubled young lady, or me exposing how completely stupid and blind I used to be. Oh well. You be the judge. It all started when I was seventeen. I had already graduated from high school, but I had no car and I still had to live with my mom. The girl I was seeing had a car, but also still lived with her folks. Whenever we were broke and we wanted to be together, we had to decide to either be at her parent's place or mine. It tended to be a 50-50 split on those decisions. For whatever reason, the drama always happened at my place. No matter where we decided to hang out, we pretty much did the same thing every night. Our routine consisted of a little TV/movie watching until everyone went to bed, then we'd disappear into my or her bedroom and fuck like we just made the shit up. We had to do it on my bedroom floor when we were at my place. My waterbed made too much noise. One paticular night we went through the normal routine and, at midnight or so, I decided to call it a night. She wasn’t too happy about that. God forbid I be a little tired after being up since 5am and having to do it all again the next day. She refused to sympathize. I had to actually talk her into leaving and going home. While keeping my composure, I ushered her out the door. Silly me, I thought my night was over. I really should have known better. This girl was more predictable than a nun's menstrual cycle. After staring at my cell phone (and a big one it was) for ten minutes, it rang. It was the girlfriend. She called not to tell me she made it home, but to say she’s still in the damn parking lot. Our conversation went something similar to this… Me- Go hooooome Her- Why did you kick me out? Me- I’m really tired. Please go home. Her- You always do this. Why do you always do this? You don’t love me. If you did, you would never kick me out. You just wanna fuck me. Me- (sigh) Can we talk about this tomorrow? I know its cold out there. Go home and good night. (I hang up) Why did I think that would be the end of it? *ring ring* Me- What? Her- Come outside. Me- No, it's cold. Go home. Her- Come. Outside. Me- Just talk to me on the phone until you get home. Her- I'm taking off my clothes. If you don’t come out here right now, I’m gonna lay naked on the top of my car. I bet someone will come out here for me if you don’t. I bet you won’t even fucking care. Me- You can’t be serious. You have an actual problem. You should really leave. Her- Whatever. We’ll see what happens. (she hangs up) I look out of my window and, sure enough, she was topless and proceeding to follow through on her promise. From where she was in the parking lot, she could have easily been seen by 72 different apartments. All of which consisting of either children (including my little brothers), or married couples, or random perverts, or anyone that just wanted some fresh air, or a combination of. All they had to do is glance outside to see an eighteen year old girl/woman, damn-near naked, laying on top of an old hatchback. Fuck. Me. I run out there and make every fake apology I can think of. I tell her that I’m a bad boyfriend. I tell her that I love her. I tell her blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. I tell her to 'PUT YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES ON!!!!' After freezing outside for 45 minutes (freezing may be an exaggeration, but it was cold), she finally leaves. I wouldn't be surprised if she was giggling uncontrollably while she was driving off. Fucking Psycho. ”I’m just calling to let you know I made it home ok. I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, baby. I love you.” Second Entry--->

Why I don't drink vodka

In my second year at my current job, I still didn’t really know anybody. I was newly 21, I hadn’t drank since I was in the 9th grade, and I didn’t go out that much. Thanks to a bunch of friendly people, that all changed when I was invited to a small party that summer. I’ve been out once or twice with co-workers after work before then, so I kind of knew these people, but I really don’t know them. This party was no different. I just sat there sipping vodka and listening to these great stories that happened before I started working there, making every attempt to not look like a nerd in front of my new friends. All drunken stories start out as either, “we decided to play a drinking game” or “we decided to do some shots”. This one starts with the game. Someone broke out the playing cards and we played Kings. We played four games in all. I lost all four games. I began drinking ruby-red vodka during the games, while pounding straight vodka when I lost (I did get some help with the last one). When the grapefruit ran out, I used cranberry. When the cran ran out, I drank it straight. The vodka never ran out. I wish it had. I held on to my glass like it contained the nuclear launch codes and my friends were terrorists. Throughout the night I ended up consistently slapping the ass of anything with a vagina, jumping in an above-ground pool with most of my clothes on, playing an additional drinking game with a girl who threatened to cut me if I slapped her fat ass again, and eventually passing out in a living room chair. Oh, but the fun’s not over for me. A couple hours later I attempted to get in my car and leave. If it hadn’t taken me ten minutes to do it, I would have gotten away. Luckily, someone talked me back inside (didn’t take much convincing). I snuck away about an hour later. The closer I got to home, the worse I felt. I was literally holding my dinner in my throat to prevent me from befouling my car. Sparing details, I got to know my mom’s toilet intimately for the next 3-4 hours before I realized I had to be at work in thirty minutes. I’ve never called in sick before (still haven’t) and I wasn’t gonna start now. I made it to the job parking lot with ease, but the closer I got to the building, the worse I felt. I was clocked in for a full fifteen minutes when my second wind of drunkenness kicked in and I couldn’t take my eyes off the floor without the room spinning. Although, I wouldn't really call it spinning. You know those big gyro-spinning contraptions they used to have at the fair where they'd strap you in, spread eagle, and it was supposed to resemble being in space? If they had one of those in a country & western bar in hell, that's what it felt like. It was bad enough to where I needed a ride home because I couldn’t drive. After pulling over twice to dry-heave, I made it home. I didn’t eat (or stand, for that matter) until the next morning. I have yet to take a sip of vodka ever since. Most. Drunk. Ever. On a positive note, a really funny rimjob story came out of it. So there's that.

Stupidity is a curse

So I used to work with this girl (we’ll call her Dumbshit for conversational purposes) a few years ago. Well, not really with her. She worked in the same building as me. Let’s just say she wasn’t that bright. She was kind of odd, actually. For instance, during the slow part of her day at the job, she decided to start reading her book, Sex For Christians. I guess they do it differently or something. She was a 24 year old, born again, Christian. I really shouldn’t have to say much else, but I will. Another time we went to catch a movie, and she took 15 minutes at the counter deciding which one to see, rather than choosing the one we’ve been discussing for the past two and a half hours. Maybe that one drink she had at the bar messed with her memory. Maybe she was just dumb. With that being said, here’s a short story on the defining moment of our short-lived friendship… Dumbshit was genuinely a nice girl. Wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, she was always happier than the first thirty-five minutes of the movie Bambi. We hung out a bunch of times because she was actually fun to be around. On a sunny August afternoon, as I was picking blackberries (it relaxes me, okay?), she calls to tell me she wants to hang out. I told her what I was doing and she took that as an opportunity to show me her new dog. Now if I was looking to hook-up, I would have told her not to, so I told her she could (for some reason, girls tend not to fuck in front of their pets. Something about being watched or something. "They know!") So I told her she could. Here’s a math problem she couldn’t figure out: dumbass dog without a leash + dumbshit owner + thorny bushes = ...we didn’t stay long. We go to my place so I can shower. She decides to take her dog for a walk in my (I stressed this to her on the way there) dog-less apartment complex. Yeah, that didn’t go over too well with management. Then we go to her place to drop off the mutt. Even her mom knows she’s dumber than shit. I thought that was funny. We go eat at a place that “has the best Mexican food” that she’s never been to. It didn’t. I decided for us to come back to my place to see a movie and get drunk. Usually that’s a code word for something else, but not in this case. She proceeds to get trashed on 100 proof vodka (thanks mom!) and passed out in my lap, an hour and a half into the movie. It was a long movie. Remember this part: I put a blanket over her, shut off the movie, and went to bed. That is all that happened. Got it? She left the next morning before I got up, but only after her phone rang for a straight hour. I may have seen her once in the next 4-5 months. I assumed she had moved away like she had talked about doing, or she was embarrassed about passing out. Then I got a call out of nowhere. Dumbshit begins to apologize for ‘blowing me off’ and says she has a good reason. Maybe its because it never dawned on you to charge your phone every couple of days. I could care less really, but I was oddly curious. She goes on to tell me that she caught something, and it wasn’t the flu. “What the fuck does that have to do with me?” I ask. “I haven’t been with anyone lately (bullshit. Sex For Christians anyone?), so I thought you took advantage of me when I passed out on your couch.” she replied. What. The. Fuck. “But its ok now. I just recently decided that you didn’t. How have you been? Hello? Hello? ...click. That was the last I've heard of her. If you're reading this Dumbshit, I'm sorry. I had to tell somebody.

Another motivational poster

This is actually a great way to pick up cute, cashier girls. This has become my new way to kill time. I may put up more.

I like girls who like girls...who like girls

I'm sure everyone agrees with me when I say that (as a whole) women are the most beautiful creatures on Earth. And bunnies. Women and bunnies. So I can completely understand the whole lesbian thing. Everyone loves women. How can you not? Actually, I consider it to be unnatural for a woman to not be into other women. Its a crime against nature. Just like white Christmas trees. All women are bisexual, its just that simple. You have the girls that kiss each other for 'attention'. You have the girls who comment on other women, saying things like, "She has great tits." or "I wish I had her ass." All great things. Its that Freudian type of thing they really need to pay attention to, and then act on. They just suppress their true feelings because of society or their religion. Liking men and women all of a sudden makes you 'dirty' or 'slutty' or something. The hardcore religious ones won't ever admit to being turned on by other women, not even to themselves. Whatever. All that suppressed sexual energy will eventually give you a nasty ulcer. In a perfect world, every woman would have a husband/boyfriend and a mistress on the side. There's benefits on both sides of that fence. I mean, seriously, who can please a woman better than another woman? Sadly, there's nothing a man can do to a woman physically (when it comes to sex, anyway) that a woman can't do to another woman. Shit, its how I learned to eat...properly. Well, its how I learned to do it better anyway. I suggest if you aren't as talented, ask or watch a lesbian. You'll learn something very valuable that day. Plus, its really entertaining. So to all those women who still claim that women don't do it for them, stop lying to yourself. Try it a few times with your best friend, most of you have anyway. Daddy won't think any less of you. Your mom may, but she's just battling her own demons. She'll never tell you she used to munch in college.

FedEx is bullshit

I ordered something online about a month and a half ago. After a month (last week) of not recieving it, I contacted the website. I just assumed they sucked at their job and neglected to send me my shit. Instead, I was told that I should have recieved the package 3 days after I ordered. In fact, their records showed there was a delivery. "No shit?" I checked the Fedex website to track my order and, sure enough, it had a confirmation. Was the address correct? Yes Was it on the formentioned day? Yes Was I home? No Was it taken to the apartment office? No Was it left on the fucking doorstep? Yes I would think that it's common knowledge to not leave a package on any doorstep, let alone an apartment one. UPS don't play that shit, so why should FedEx? Pissed because I really needed this item for my laptop, I sent this exact message to the store's website in response to them telling me I should already have it: Hi -lady's name-, I'm sorry. The geniuses at FedEx decided to leave my package on the doorstep...in an apartment complex! It was probably traded for a vial of crack or something. That's life, I guess. Needless to say, I had my replacement package sent overnight and delivered at nine in the morning. I didn't appreciate the wakeup call, but I got my shit, so all is well.

My de-motivational poster

I though this could be a great poster. Anyone see how they rushed the DVD out (Sept. 5) so it would be available before September 11th? They want to cash in on the 5th year of 'mourning'. That's good marketing, sure, but its a bit much. I guess they're giving a little to the familes or whatever. Just thought I'd share.

Why its wrong for me to go to an 18+ club.

I tend to 'date' younger women. Legal, but younger. I find it more and more difficult to find places to go out at night with them in tow. Alot of them say, "I wanna go dancing!" which just won't work for me. I know its the biggest aphrodisiac and I know its, like, hours of foreplay, blah blah blah. I refuse to go to an underage club. Reason #1. I'm too old. My being there is the equalivent of that 40 year old guy at the regular club. No one wants to be the 'old guy' at the club. Reason #2. Regular people go out to a club to have some drinks and get a little loose on the floor. Underagers get drunk before they go out, then just sit around telling everyone how drunk they are. Reason #3. I bump into someone at the 21+ spot, I apologize, we laugh, and then we go about our way. I bump into someone at the 18+ spot and I gotta go back to my trunk and grab my gun because his basketball shoes that he wore out may be ruined. Reason #4. At a regular club, 18-20 year olds sneak in. At an underage joint, 15-17 year olds sneak in. I'd be damned if I take home a 16 year old. Reason #5. I enjoy a mixed drink from time to time. At a club, I expect them to water them down. At an underage spot, I just get tap-watered down water. Reason #6. Pulling out of the parking lot is a bitch. Parking lot pimpin' brings out a whole new meaning. Plus, there's a good chance everyone's mother is waiting outside to pick them up. Reason #7. Women go out to clubs to have fun with their friends and feel sexy. Girls go to clubs to dance and beat bitches up. Reason #8. At a regular club, there are 0.75 guys to every girl. At an underage joint, there are no guys to any girl because they're all standing on the fucking wall. Reason #9. Underage clubs only last until someone burns it down or the police shut it down. Regular clubs....wait, nevermind. Reason #10. It just is.