Bully

I am a bully.

I have come to the realization that I am a scum-sucking lowlife bully.  I have always thought of myself as a pretty happy-go-lucky drunk.  The kind of jolly boozer that only really makes an ass out of himself much to the amusement of everyone around him but with no real harm done.  Unfortunately for me, reality doesn’t give a shit about what I think about myself.  Two weekends in a row and after the unanimous decision of everyone in my office it has become painfully apparent to me that I a total bully.

Exhibit A:
Some drunk nerdy types hit on my girlfriend while we are all down in OB boozing at the Sunshine Company.  I could care less, I trust my woman, if she wants to downgrade to some other dude that’s her problem.  But I’m a realist, she’s a good looking lady, dudes are going to hit on her – basic fact of life.  So when these nerds were talking up my girl at the bar while she was buying me Jager shots and vodka redbull it was no real drama.  The trouble arises when she comes back to the table and relays the information that they were being super rude and made insulting comments to her.  Now you can call me whatever you want all day long and I’ll just laugh, but when you talk shit on my woman at the bar you’re just dancing on a mine field.  I am the genetic equivalent to a shaved gorilla on steroids.  Out of the darkest and most primitive recesses of my brail lie the base reactions of a brutal primate and when you step to my woman I transform (much like the incredible hulk) into a drunken, roid-raged, nerd-smashing monster. The conclusion of this – me smashing into the whole pack of nerds on my way back from the restroom (where I went to piss, get cleaned up and squared away prior to the impending brawl).  As would any man-creature when it gets totally run over by a dump truck the three nerds (each weighing maybe 135 wet and wearing boots) crowd around me in a meager attempt to salvage their trampled manhood.  I simple flip my beer bottle around into battle configuration in my left hand, blast the nearest nerd in the chest with my right hand, and laugh as they all slink away and cower in the corner (relegating themselves to a self-imposed exile where they would talk shit and try to futilely pump each other back up in a social setting where they have been utterly and completely dominated).

Victory for me, pain and humiliation for the nerds.

Exhibit B:
I went down to PB to see my friend Summer off prior to her leaving town for Texas.  I haven’t been down drinking in PB in a very long time.  There are certain rules, certain situations that I had lost familiarity with.  PB is for the most part a college and post-college booze town.  Filled with stoned cool-guy losers and muffin-topped failed Psych majors all acting like Paris Hilton.  Everyone is confrontational.  Now up in North Park there are real thugs, real hookers, real drama – but the trouble only finds you if you go out of your way to look for it.  In PB everyone is acting like the whole town is an episode of Survivor and you have to either fit into a Breakfast Club archetype or find a frat-like clique of likeminded assholes to maintain social standing among the herd of drunken idiots.  I get into more shit in one night in places like PB and Downtown that all the violent drunken nights up in North Park combined.  So when I haven’t been around the surf-wax bravado of skinny pretty-boy college kids in a while it can really grate on a dude to the point of brutality.  A dude bumps into me.  No sorry, no apology, no anything.  He has a sense of entitlement and refinement because he’s wearing the latest fashion and a complicated haircut that matches his black fingernail polish and implied therapy bills.  I walk up and blast the dude to the floor.  When he looks scared I call him a pussy and he slithers back to his comfort zone.  A guy stumbles up and spills my brand new drink all over the bar.  I mean it was a just-been-poured brand fucking new vodka redbull.  It was beautiful – giant, cold, pristine, and sexy – glistening on the counter, its luscious eyes luring me closer and closer, its haunting melody beckoning me like a siren to the rocks.    “Come to me.” It called.  And this emo fucker knocked it right the fuck over.  My baby, my darling, my dear vodka redbull spilled out across the bar like bloody piss in a back alley.  Well I turn to the dude and address the issue.

Me, “Hey fucker, you spilled my drink!”

Emo Fag, “Huh, what? I did what?”

Me, “Don’t play dumb asshole. You know what you did, man-up take responsibility and buy me a drink before a stomp a mud hole in your face.”

Emo Fag, “Well it was an accident and I’m not really sure I even did it.”

Me, “All I gotta say is ‘Double vodka redbull’ because from now on I talk with my fists you emo fag!”

Well the emo fag bought me a drink.  After this drink I was kicked out of the bar for being too drunk.  These two losers from Typhoon set the tone for the rest of the night in my head, I then started shit with about 5-6 other people calling each of them an emo fag and generally pushing them around without significant retaliation.  Making people feel bad about being small or weak or cowardly.  Kind of like an evil Hemmingway.

Bottom line, I have been a bully two weekends in a row and now I am calling myself out.  The fact that I am identifying this trait in myself now illuminates several other incidents – for example when I swatted the beanie off a scrawny little hipster’s head in the Zombie Lounge, or even when I made a puny white-gold wearing Persian dude buy me and my buddy a shot and a drink for talking shit on America in the Pink Elephant.  Both funny stories, but both times I bullied dudes.  Basically I’m just a total asshole – planet earth be warned.

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