Drinking Problems and Gay Bar, Part 2

I can't remember the name. The place was loud and crowded. A lot of girls were there, and they didn't look like lesbians. Believe me, I can spot a lesbian. Or maybe I can't. I've had a lot of crushes on girls that look like lesbians. That one girl, she turned me onto Townes Van Zandt. Short hair but raging, shapely breasts. And she didn't even feel the need to advertise. I could've loved her. She was a lot of female.

A contest was going on. Guys were dancing around on stage, all with underwear on. The one with the most cheers and applause won, that's how it worked. I don't know what the prize was. I cheered for the short guy, the homely looking one. He looked nervous. I gave him huge applause, but he lost. The place was fun. The people weren't dull. They seemed to have guts and vigor.

By this point I was trashed. The perfect time to consume my tequila, my precious treasure and souvenir, had arrived. I still don't know why I showed it to the bartender. The impulse, a mystery. Maybe I was so proud and happy, I wanted to share my joy. The son of a bitch took it from me, but calmly. He just nodded and smiled and reached out and took it. I was fucking devastated. I thought about kneeling down below eye level and sneaking around the bar to get it, but the bar had a little door that was locked. The only way to retrieve it was to climb over the table.

After the bartender dissuaded me from fully  traversing the bar ( I was halfway), I got real mean, verbally so. He said he was gonna call the cops. I kept waiting about thirty seconds and then asking if I could buy a drink. He didn't forget like I thought. Insulting this prick, I didn't go for the typical stingers. He's been called every gay expletive in the book. That shit is useless. I called him all kinds of animals, like he was a damn hyena, a fucking poodle or smelly feral hog. I flicked him off. I called him over to flick him off. I said, fuck you!

The bouncer, who came up to about my chin, was called to kick me out. He said I needed to leave. I told them I wasn't leaving with him, he was ugly and scrawny and I wasn't interested. Then he said he was the bouncer. I laughed it up, right in his face. He went to grab my arm. I yielded. Perhaps in the back, there were large, ripped, mean, gay bouncers just waiting for me to give their little brother some shit.

He was a good door guy, I guess. At least he didn't beat me up. I was drunk. He probably could have. He was just firm with his intentions. I would have smashed him had I not been drunk and we had a suitable venue to do combat in. That will never happen. It was a fun night.