Posts Tagged ‘skinny jeans’

Jon Domino

April 12, 2013

Southern California craft beer overlord, Stone, usually known for their employees’ humble attitude and the brew pub’s beautiful beer gardens has come under close public scrutiny after a couple of violent incidents took place on their property. Both incidents resulted in injuries, one of which was fatal.

The first incident took place at the brewery’s Stone Cider release. Two hipsters got into a heated argument about whose chest tattoo was better when a break dance fight broke out. Unfortunately for one of these heated hipsters, his skinny jeans were too tight and as he tried to twist his left knee the bone moved but the flesh did not, resulting in a gruesome compact fracture.

The second incident in question took place last Wednesday during Stone’s weekly California Condor Wing Night promotion. As usual the place was packed with ill tempered rich people since the delicious wings of this endangered species are on special every Wednesday for fifty-five and sixty-five dollars a wing.

On this particular California Condor Wing Night one customer was extremely upset that he couldn’t take his wings to go. The floor manager was forced to step in and did so with a blade in his hand. He then stabbed the unruly patron five times in the face in front of a full restaurant. The floor manager, who has since been fired, had to be restrained from stabbing other random customers who  he screamed had crossed him on past California Condor wing nights.

Under great public criticism and amidst a press nightmare Stone announced that for the first time ever they were going to hire a head of security whose sole job it would be to maintain the safety of both Stone employees and their customers. The search began and for a moment it seemed like the general drunken public’s outrage and verbal abuse had ceased.

The search ended with the highly controversial announcement that former mafia enforcer and known felon, Jon Domino, was being hired for the head of security position. Public outrage ensued yet again. People questioned why Stone, which boasts to be a family friendly establishment, would bring in a man notorious for being extremely violent to ensure their customer and staff’s safety.

Jon Domino was born in 1976 in Patterson, NJ to Shaun and Shauna Domino. Shaun Domino was a low rent thug who ripped off Kwik-E-Marts and toy stores and Shauna was a common street walker. Jon Domino’s first assault charge was filed against him when he was fourteen by Shaun Domino. Allegedly the son broke the father’s pinkie over a controversial call while playing the family’s favorite sport, dominoes.

Jon Domino dropped out of high school in 1993 to pursue a highly promising career in the mafia. Domino started out as a runner for the Pacino family but quickly advanced up through the ranks. With a heavy drinking problem and a relentless violent streak Domino made his way up to the esteemed position of enforcer for the Pacino family.

Domino was a sort of loose cannon, often breaking people’s legs for little or no reason. Don Don Pacino looked the other way due to Domino’s great performance as an enforcer. Despite several trips to jail a year Domino still dominated the mafia world in stats. For an eight year period between the years 1998-2006 Domino led all enforcers with the most legs broken, most bitches smacked and, by a large margin, most conjugal visits.

In 2008 Domino was forced to leave the Pacino family due to the fact that he had sex with two of Don Don Pacino’s wives and three of his mistresses. When the family turned on him Domino fled out to the West Coast settling in Los Angeles where he worked as a rotating random criminal character on various versions of Law and Order.

Now hired as the head of security at one of the most powerful breweries in the world Jon Domino took questions from the media in the middle of the breweries beautiful garden.

Jon Domino approaches the podium dressed in a black vest that says Officer Domino on the right breast and Stone Head of Security on the left breast. He is visibly armed with several firearms, a crossbow, a machete and several cans of pepper spray.

“What’s your motto for life?” asks reporter one.

“I’ve never met a pair of fucking legs I couldn’t break,”  answers Jon Domino.

“What are your thoughts on Stone’s no smoking policy?” asks reporter two.

Domino pulls a camel light from the front pocket of his vest and lights it.

“I love it and I look forward to enforcing that policy with extreme fucking prejudice,” answers Domino.

“What do you think of the beautiful grounds here at Stone?” asks reporter three as he puts his cell phone in Domino’s face to record the response.

“The grounds are beautiful and there are plenty of them. I see a lot of good spots to dispose of my enemies,” answers Domino.

Domino notices the cell phone is recording him.

“You god damn swine are you recording this?” yells Domino.

He rips the cell phone out of reporter three’s hand and smashes it under his foot.

“Hey, Jon Domino says go fuck yourself, this cock sucking press conference is over,” yells Domino as he storms off.

Three weeks into Jon Domino’s tenure as the head of security at Stone and there hasn’t been one incident. What that says to this reporter is while Jon Domino might be offensive and extremely dangerous he gets the job done. Maybe all restaurants/ breweries/bars should follow Stone’s successful lead and add a little Domino to their business plan.

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When Hipsters Attack!

March 31, 2012

Beware North County we are under attack. The invasion is underway. Hide your moustache wax, sweater vests, mustard colored skinny jeans and tall boys of PBR. The hipsters are coming. I recently traveled to the belly of the beast, North Park, aka Hipster Headquarters, to try to get a handle on this pretentious phenomenon before it is too late for us innocent folk to survive.

What I found was a community overrun with these hipsters. There are few normal humans left down there. The streets are littered with guys walking around with sunglasses in the rain with their hands tucked into gray sweater vests unaware that raindrops dangle from the curly ends of their well-manicured moustaches while their skinny jeans threaten to cut off all circulation in their lower body.

I believe these are all strategic wardrobe choices. They wear their shades at all hours of the day to hide the fact that they just cried because the coffee house was out of their favorite mocha tocha gelato vende cream drink. The curled moustache gives their hands something to do as they mindlessly talk about how cool they are. It seems obvious to me that hipsters are constantly cold even in the middle of August which explains why they always have on a sweater vest or scarf or wool hat. Lastly we have the skinny jeans. Honestly these made the least amount of sense to me at first. In my opinion the last thing I want to wear is a pair of pants that have to be painted on to me. Upon further thought it dawned on me that the reason these hipsters wear such constricting jeans is because it makes their junk look bigger. This must be because all the blood from their legs is forced up into their genital region as soon as the suffocating denim is applied and the result is that their balls swell to an alarming size.

Female hipsters may be more frightening. They dress exactly the same as the male hipsters so it can be hard to tell which is which. Often times one has to get within hearing distance of a hipster’s conversation to determine its gender. I followed one female hipster exclusively despite the direct detriment this act inflicted upon my brain. What I found is that she demanded constant attention and when people finally awarded her with it she had nothing important to say.

The one thing I found I had in common with hipsters was my love of alcohol. This made it easier to follow them as having a drink was necessary when coming in contact with them. They truly love their PBR, which is funny because North Park is full of great beer to choose from. Do the hipsters care? No. As long as their PBR’s are tall and cold they will have none of that other tasty stuff.

Now I know hipsters aren’t directly dangerous to our physical well-being. That’s not what I’m worried about. It is the mental state of us as a species that concerns me. I for one believe that a world filled with over-tattoed guys with one leg of their skinny jeans rolled up because they ride bicycles (I guess?) and arguing with other hipsters about what would be more retro “bro”, having an eyebrow or cock ring. To me it seems like if we let the hipsters take over we will be cursed to drink tall boys of PBR ourselves. I know these notions are disturbing but we must face our fear if we have any chance of preserving our sanity.

North County has already been infiltrated to some degree. Fortunately our hipsters are outnumbered so their influence over our lives is minimal. Beware I say though. They may scare now easily but if they return, and in greater numbers, we will have a full-fledged war on our hands. From now on let them know you don’t approve. Feel free to tell that dip shit who just walked into a bar at midnight with shades on that his future isn’t that bright. Or the next time you watch a guy take twenty minutes to put on his scarf and jacket in the middle of August let him know if he can spend that much time getting bundled up outside it isn’t that cold.

To any hipsters who happen to read this, don’t worry, it’s never too late. We can remove those shades from your head although it will take several weeks for your eyes to adjust back to natural light. We could just clip the curly corners off that skinny moustache of yours, but due to the large quantity of grease trapped between the hairs it is highly recommended to remove the entire thing. The sweater vest is simple, just take it off and donate it to a shelter so that someone who might actually have to stay warm for survival could use it. Taking off those skinny jeans is going to require the Jaws of Life but once you do your private parts will thank you.

St. Patty’s Day 2012

March 16, 2012

St. Patrick’s Day is a celebration of Irish culture. To Americans that means let’s get wasted. Apparently in this country we believe getting shitfaced while being all decked out in green is a great way to celebrate Irish tradition. I am not saying that all Irish people are a bunch of drunks, but I believe that is what most Americans think. My theory is that Americans use Irish culture as an excuse to get wasted because we as a people are a bunch of drunks.

Amongst bar employees and regulars St. Patty’s Day is also known as Amateur Night. Everyone who never goes out drinking at a bar decides to come out that day. It is New Year’s Eve on crack and instead of people starting to get wasted at 8pm most people begin lining their livers with liquor around noon. It is Mardi Gras except the beads are replaced with funny green hats, shirts with dirty limericks and green skinny jeans. Guinness is consumed at an alarming rate and the shot of the day is the shillelagh which is normally dropped into a half pint of Guinness. The name of this is an Irish Car Bomb and it is yet another example of misguided Americans thinking that they are honoring the Irish.

The combination of amateurs chugging pints of Guinness topped with Jameson and Bailey’s means anything can happen. There will be vomit, and a lot of it. Beware and get ready to duck and cover the second you see a curdled shillelagh floating in the beard of a man who has just shot his fourth car bomb all the while that cottage pie he just scarfed down is quickly working its way to returning itself to this world. Our bar backs will be wearing rain slickers that day so any unwanted fluids flying at them will rinse off with a quick hosing.

When faced with a bar full of people who go out so little that they don’t understand the rules of the bar, as employees we have no rules. That means there is zero tolerance on everything. Since it is impossible to properly enforce a zero tolerance policy upon 500 drunken people I will be personally monitoring the crowd myself. I will be dressed as a leprechaun and in my hand I will hold a real shillelagh which is a wooden walking stick with a large knob at the top. My shillelagh will be encrusted in gold. If I observe anyone getting out of line I will be tapping them on the shoulder with my golden cane to inform them that they have to leave. That means anyone puking, fighting, calling me bro, string ordering, groping other guy’s girlfriends, pissing on the side of the porta potty,  and honestly anyone who rubs me or my staff the wrong way will be getting shoulder tapped by my golden shillelagh.

There is a repeated crime against humanity found on every St. Patty’s day. That is the ordering of a green beer. Beer isn’t green. It’s not supposed to be green. To make beer green you have to put green food coloring or some other liquid in there. There’s no better way to ruin a tasty beer other than sticking random green liquids into it. Not only is it nasty, it’s messy. Any bartender degraded and disrespected enough to be forced to do such a thing suffers both the public humiliation of such an asinine act, but will also be forced to scrub their hands, as well as other body parts depending on individual personal practices clean of the green for days to come.

My advice to bartenders all across the nation on this upcoming St. Patty’s Day is as follows: when that thirty-two year old man wearing a fake afro wig sprouting out from underneath a green top hat with his cheeks painted green, wearing hippie glasses, a green tee-shirt that says “Kiss me I’m Irish”, finished off with green skinny jeans and green converse, approaches your bar and orders a green beer slam a Heineken down, double charge him and as soon as he pays point him out to the leprechaun with the golden shillelagh and trust that swift bar justice will served.

Dave A., Mira Mesa, CA. GULPU.COM

January 28, 2012

A guy walks up to the bar wearing skinny jeans and a V-neck shirt cut just low enough so you can see a portion of his chest tattoo which is undoubtedly the lyrics to some terrible Dave Matthews song. With a skinny mustache to match his kid’s size small jeans this guy has set my hipster alert for the day to a code orange. It’s busy and we are about four rows of customers deep. I am helping the customer next to him. As I am taking this person’s order the hipster interrupts. I ignore him but he does it again. I let him know I am helping someone else and that I will be with him in one moment. He is annoyed. I help three more people who have been waiting longer before I return to him.

“Finally”, he mutters under his breath.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Nothing. Give me a beer.”

“Okay. What beer?”

I point over my shoulder at my 50 tap draft system.

“Holy shit. You guys got a lot of beer.”

My patience wears thin as more customers pile up at my bar.

“You want a beer list?” I ask.

“I don’t do lists,” he says as he waves his hand in my face. “Just give me your favorite.”

“What style?”

“Doesn’t matter bro. I love all types of beer.”

I pour the most expensive beer I have on tap.

“That will be eight dollars. “

I go to help the guy next to him, but apparently the hipster has decided to string order me.

“I need a Newcastle and a vodka and tonic also,” he interrupts.

I finish taking the other person’s order before returning to the hipster.

“A Newcastle and Vodka and Tonic? Who are those for?”

“What?”

“Who are you ordering those drinks for? “

“My friends.”

“I need to see their ID’s.”

“Oh, no, they’re for me.”

“Go get your fucking friends.”

“Fine, watch my beer.”

I help five people in the time it takes him to return. He hands me two ID’s. I look around. His friends aren’t with him. I fight the urge to take his beer back and just ignore him for the rest of the evening.

“I need to see them as well as their ID’s.”

“Come on,” he says as he points at the ID’s, “They’re like thirty.”

“I would love to take your word for it, but I need to make sure the ID’s match the people.”

“Fine, watch my beer.”

I help ten people before he returns with his two friends. I verify the ID’s and go pour their drinks. When I return the hipster has his back to the bar and is engrossed in conversation with his friends.

“Here you go man,” I say as I place the drinks down on the bar.

He doesn’t respond. I repeat myself, this time louder. His friends get his attention. He turns to me.

“Eighteen dollars.”

“Start me a tab.”

“Cool, I just need a credit card.”

“Oh no, I want to pay cash.”

“You can’t run a tab then.”

“Why not?”

“Cuz you need a credit card to run a tab.”

“Just cash me out then.”

“Eighteen dollars.”

I feel the eyes of countless customers concentrated on me as the hipster struggles to pull his wallet out of his pocket because his skinny jeans are too small. When he finally gets his wallet out he slides me a twenty. On my way to the register I take three people’s orders. I return with the hipsters change and he is chatting to a girl who has just walked up. He takes his change.

“She wants a margarita on the rocks with salt.”

I make the drinks for the people I helped on my way to the register first, all of which takes thirty seconds. I make the margarita and hand it to him. He has put the two dollars back into his wallet and the girl already has a margarita in front of her. When he sees the second drink he points at the bartender I am working with.

“He got me.”

“You ordered from me.”

“I thought you forgot about me.”

I walk away and dump the margarita I just made. I help several more people before the hipster waves me down. He points at his beer.

“This is gross. Just give me a Michelob Ultra instead.”

“You told me you liked all beer.”

“I do, but not that.”

“As it states on our beer list we don’t take returns on beer.”

“I told you I don’t do lists bro.”

The urge to grab him by the back of his head and slam his face into the bar is nearly blinding. I decide instead to cut my losses.

“If I give you a Michelob Ultra will you go away?”

He nods. I give him his beer and he still doesn’t tip. In the future when my hipster alert reaches such a high level I will have a Michelob Ultra and my middle finger ready.


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