Posts Tagged ‘drunken’

Howl of the Hyenas

June 9, 2012

Hyenas are canine-like animals that hunt in packs and are known as skilled hunters and opportunistic scavengers. They are widely considered to be vile creatures that feed on babies and will attack whatever weak prey they can find. Just recently I have discovered that the hyena species has evolved into a new form, a human one.

Anyone who has ever been down to Carlsbad is familiar with the term cougar. It is used for a woman over thirty-five who is interested in dating men who are at least seven years younger than them. There is nothing wrong with that, but young men beware. That older woman who just bought you a jager bomb and is now fondling your junk might not be the friendly cougar you pegged her for. Be wary, because she might a Human Female Hyena and the rest of her pack could be circling you from the shadows.

Much like their animal counterpart Human Female Hyenas are always on the lookout for an opportunity to scavenge a kill. By last call at a lot of bars scattered all across the country if a Human Female Hyena has yet to make a kill their desperation to receive some younger dick reaches a frightening level. They prowl the bar looking for the easiest prey. The drunker and lonelier looking the guy the higher the chance that they will be attacked.

From a distance or in a dimly lit establishment a lot of Human Female Hyenas look fairly attractive. It is likely that in their younger days before pregnancy, divorce, alcohol and random dick turned them into raging bitches that they were at least somewhat sexy. This is why so many young, drunk and horny men are easily lured back to the den of the Human Female Hyena, a vicious skankdom littered with cobwebs, KY and broken promises. Once the dim light of the bar goes out and the allure of the alcohol wears off the Human Female Hyenas true form is revealed. As the morning light seeps into the den most victims upon seeing what lies next to them flee as quickly as possible.

In the wild Hyenas are prone to cannibalistic tendencies and in some instances have been known to eat other Hyenas young. Human Female Hyenas aren’t quite that extreme but they will turn on the pack if they believe it will help them make a kill. I have witnessed two Human Female Hyenas square off in an attempt to seduce a male target. It normally will begin with a who can be the sluttiest dancer contest. If the potential victim buys these Human Female Hyenas enough shots the duel usually escalates to hand jobs in the men’s room. The end result is a Human Female Hyena fight that can only be broken up by the most elite of door guys. According to someone much younger than me videos of these Human Female Hyena fights are all the rage on YouTube.

In some scenarios Human Female Hyenas are married but do not allow their wedding vows to get in the way of prowling the town for some strange. Be aware that married Human Female Hyenas are the most aggressive and putrid version of their species. As they enter a room it becomes filled with the stench of untreated vaginal diseases and vodka red bulls. The jukebox is usually their first stop where they pump the machine full of songs their kids listen to and then scream as each new song begins to play. Dancing ensues and if no young men approach them they begin to grind on whatever random guy is in their near vicinity.

I have been observing a particular pack of married Human Female Hyenas and have been disturbed with my findings. They seem to be a more desperate version of their species making them all the more dangerous. I have witnessed one in an attempt at seduction tell one of my fellow researchers that she wanted to take him to the alleyway out back and “lick his face.” Clearly this Human Female Hyena was so removed from society that she had forgotten what would even pass for a proper come on.

Several nights later while observing the same Human Female Hyenas I was approached by what looked like the leader of the pack. She fell on her way in and blamed her shoes. Based on the state of the pack it was clear this was not the first bar they’d skanked with their presence that evening. The leader, who is usually the best looking but is always the craziest bitch of the bunch ordered an ice water in an attempt to maintain her sobriety long enough to complete a kill. As she drank it she watched the rest of her pack who had found a group of nerds they could easily prey upon.

“Look at those sluts. All those bitches over there are married,” she said as she stared at me. “Isn’t that disgusting?”

I nodded and looked at the pack. Two of them were already making out with guys. I looked back at the leader. She was staring at me. I tried to avoid eye contact as best as I could. I noticed she was wearing a wedding ring. She put her water down and took my hand into hers. She began to caress it.

“You hate my husband.”

She was staring intently into my eyes as she said this.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I said, you hate my husband.”

“Mam, I don’t believe I know your husband.”

She leaned in closer to me.

“I hate my husband more than you do.”

I pulled back feeling a trap being set. She continued to stare at me when suddenly the song on the jukebox changed. She screamed and ran over to her pack to go grind a helpless nerd. I was able to slip away into the shadows unharmed.

I was one of the lucky ones, but I fear that I am in the minority. This cross breed of hyenas and women are a cunning bunch and are not to be taken lightly. Beware of packs of half attractive older woman rubbing up on any young man available because if you’re not careful you might end up back in the den without protection, and a Human Female Hyena may just fuck you for life.

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Churchill’s Renaissance III Revisited

March 10, 2012

We survived Renaissance, barely, and once again Churchill’s Pub and Grille proved to have the best selection of craft beer and food served by the finest restaurant/bar staff in the world. That’s right, I said THE WORLD. Feel free to further expand our egos at the pub by showering us with over exaggerated compliments in regards to our exceptional skills. That being said I reiterate that some of us barely survived and that’s not even in regards to the staff. Sure we worked our asses off but you, the general drunken public, drank and ate your asses off and for that we love you.

The line to enter the pub allegedly started at 3:30 Saturday morning. We have since confirmed this to be true by consulting one of the many secret cameras we have hidden in and around the pub. By 6:30 it was already leaking out of our parking lot. When I walked up at ten it had grown to a thousand according to the crack head at the halfway house who repeatedly cursed at me to stay off his porch.

At 10:55 the staff shared one last moment of meditation followed up by a group hug. Then, the doors flung open and the madness began. People bum rushed the bar in a frenzied attempt at being the first to order Churchill’s Finest Hour. Waves and waves of customers slowly marched in and filled the entire bar, restaurant and patio. Ninety-Nine percent of the crowd was polite and patient as they realized that amongst the insanity the entire staff was doing everything in their power to keep people drunk, fat and happy. Those who were rude or impatient usually only got served once.

The vomit level was low much to the relief of our bar backs who were forced to bring their own puke buckets from home. The one glaring upheaval did unfortunately happen in the fire pit which was thankfully not on. Anyone who has ever caught a whiff of a flaming pool of vomit knows how horrible it can be and that it often leads to a ferocious cycle of group puking.

While most customers ordered efficiently so we could help them as quickly as possible there were those who decided that they were more important than all the other customers waiting for food and drink. That’s right string order boy, I am talking to you. At a quiet bar where it’s just you and your buddies making the bartender or server make multiple back to back trips for you is accepted, although still frowned upon. At a bar filled to max capacity with rabid beer aficionados foaming at the mouth to be served a drink this sort of behavior is unacceptable. If you can’t order all your drinks at once you are making others suffer. Even at my most busy and scatter brained I can handle up to eighty-one drinks in my mind at once, so please don ‘t be scared to try to overwhelm me. The quicker I move on from you the quicker I can help the cute girl in the corner, who if I keep serving in a speedy fashion may get drunk enough for you to get lucky.

Other than string orders the only other glaring ordering offense was found in those people not ready to be waited upon. As I pour beers I scan the bar and have a pecking order in mind of who I am going to serve first. It goes regulars first and then it switches to first come first serve. I generally plan out the next five people I am going to help even before I have approached any of them. If I ask you what you want and you look away to consult a friend or beer list then by the time you face the bar again all you will see is the back of my head. I will return, eventually, but that pecking order I just talked about, you’re now at the bottom.

The ultimate asshole award for the day goes to that idiot I personally had kicked out myself. While I doubt he lacks the ability to read I hope he gets a hold of this because I have a message for him.

“No, bro, I didn’t think you were drunk enough to be cut off, I just plain didn’t like you. Your constant groping and sexual harassment of every woman who walked up to bar coupled with your loud and obnoxious voice/laugh/personality/presence/face/existence was what did you in. Had I not been stuck behind the bar I would have grabbed that cell phone you were shit talking me on and shoved it so far up your ass your tongue would be text messaging every time you spoke.”

Despite these minor complaints Churchill’s Renaissance III, The Revenge of Ivan, proved to be the greatest day in the history of beer just as some brilliant writer predicted a week ago. What made it so great was the food, the beer and most importantly the people, both staff and clientele. For that I thank and applaud everyone involved in such a wonderful event. The next big pub event will be St. Patrick’s Day, which compared to the distinguished esteem of Churchill’s Renaissance will be a bro-infested slop fest filled with strewn jello shots and people’s wives being left for dead on bathroom floors. Can’t wait!

You’re Cut Off!

February 19, 2012

I take pride in serving alcohol in a responsible manner and over the years have had to cut off a lot of people. Its funny how once people reach the point of being cut-off they all share common personality traits. There are five stages a drunk goes through when they reach the point of being cut-off. Not every drunk achieves all five stages, but I guarantee most of them will and those that don’t will possess at least one of them.

Stage one is denial.

“I’m not drunk bro.”

“Are you serious? This is only my ninth drink.”

“No I haven’t been drinking elsewhere.That Coors Light can I threw in your ashtray was trash I found on my way in.”

They will argue in favor of their sobriety despite slurred speech and unstable legs that leave them swaying. What’s amazing is that they try so hard to act sober they forget that we are. I am the one who served you those three Long Island’s so I know you’re shitfaced.

Stage two is justification.

“My girlfriend just cheated on me.”

“It’s my bachelor party/birthday/new baby.”

“I’m not driving.”

The driving justification is by far the most commonly used. I applaud the responsibility you are taking in not driving drunk, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you pass out in a pool of your own vomit while you wait for a cab ride home. The bottom line is I am not going to risk my livelihood because the person you voted for on American Idol got voted off nor would I because your long lost mother just overdosed on pain killers. It doesn’t matter why, all that matters is you’re cut-off.

Stage three is a mix of bribery, financial posturing and threat of legal action.

“I will pay you seventy-five dollars for a shot of Jager.”

“Do you know who I am? I could buy and sell this place in a heartbeat.”

“I’m calling my lawyer and am going to sue the fuck out of this place.”

It’s funny how when people get really drunk they become extremely wealthy and have a team of lawyers on the ready to financially rape anyone who does their super client wrong. It’s even funnier when that person is a twenty-two year old pretty boy with skinny jeans and an open chest shirt that just ten minutes earlier could barely scrounge together four bucks for a beer of the month. The bottom line is it doesn’t matter how much money you have spent in the past, how much money you were going to spend in the present or how much money you might spend in the future. A good bar sees past money and puts more faith in their reputation than the bottom line.

Stage four is the stage of verbal threats of physical harm.

This stage is most popular with the guys. Once you tell a man he can’t drink for some reason he equates that to you questioning his manhood. In retaliation to their liquid castration they believe fighting is the only answer.  A fight is usually evaded and even if it occurs I will take a sober pair of fists over a drunken pair, especially when there are multiple employees and regulars ready to defend the honor of the bar.

When women engage in this stage it can get downright vulgar. An angry intoxicated woman is one of the most dangerous creatures known to man. Get ready for the curse words to flow and believe it or not expect some physical threat to be involved. They might not threaten that they will fight you, but their “crazy” boyfriends will crush your spine with their pinkie. They will tell you how small your penis is and on occasion accuse you of being a racist, as one blonde hair, blue eyed Italian did, clearly not knowing that my last name is Avella.

Stage five is a total emotional breakdown.

This is my least favorite stage. I would much rather get punched in the face then have to deal with some weeping guy who just wanted to fight me five minutes ago drunkenly sob into my shoulder. There is generally a reference to their justification stage before Niagara Falls officially opens up on their face. This stage can last all night and the level of babysitting involved is nauseating, but necessary. If they slip back to stage four because you are being a dick about them crying then beware of the wounded tear soaked bro now with double public castrations to overcome.

With over a 1000 cut offs on my stat sheet I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but believe me I am. As an expert and dedicated social researcher I promise to bring more reports from the front lines of human douchebaggery and the absence of sense amongst the over intoxicated masses.


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