Raise your children well...

In honor of Graduation season (High School and College), I offer the following:

I'm told it takes a village to raise a child. Evidently, there are villages across this nation screaming for me to go on a rampage and burn them all down, because they are producing a new breed of douchebags of a stunning magnitude at an alarming rate. As a resident of the global village, and since I can't find my lighter fluid at the moment, I submit the following for your graduating children. Clean it up, if you feel they are too sensitive or frail, but share it with them. Their status as douchebag hangs in the balance. Be advised, though, if you really do feel you have to clean it up for a person of graduating age, they're probably already spoiled douchebags rapidly winding down the road to being an uber-douchebag...and that blame rests predominately on the parent.

1) You don't know the law:

"What do you mean I can't come in? My i.d.'s good, you have to let me in/serve me! This is a public place, you have no right to keep me out!! I know the law!!!" If any of these words ever come (or have come) from your mouth, you're a douche. And you obviously don't, in fact, know anything about the law as it pertains to establishments that serve alcohol.

Establishments have the right to refuse you for virtually anything, save race, sex, religion, etc. If your i.d. has been questioned, throwing a tantrum really will not help. Similarly, if a bar/club has rules re. hats, sneakers, or argyle sweaters, you have nothing to say about it. Your recourse is to take your business elsewhere

When/if you use the old "public place" argument, you show true ignorance. I've worked in bars over half my life. Never has one nickel of taxpayer money gone into opening or running one of them. A public place is a park, or a library, or any other place provided for the public good by your community. A bar ain't one of those...douche.

If you try to pass yourself off as an attorney knowledgeable in liquor law, it makes it worse. If you say your daddy is an attorney, walk away from this blog. It's much too late for you...you're an uber-douche.

2) Short and sweet, your parents lied to you. You're not the smartest/prettiest/most charming person in the world. You're just another in an endless parade of youthful dumbasses that think they can get over because their parents told them they're special.

2a) Men - All women do not find you desirable. Don't be a douche when you get shot down in a bar. Yes, I know, your mother says you're the most handsome guy in blah, blah, blah. Get over it and move on.

2b) Ladies - You're not hot enough to act bitchy and men with an iota of experience will know when you're trying to get over by flirting. The only guys that fall for, or are attracted to that are the douchebags mentioned above. If you procreate with them, you'll get what you deserve...asshat babies.

3) Also short and sweet. No one cares who your daddy is. If name dropping is your thing, save it for the other douchebags. If your daddy is the most impressive name you know, though, even douchebags will think you're douche-y. Nuff said.

4) If you regularly think you're the smartest/funniest/richest person in the room, odds are you really aren't. In fact, odds are you're just a monumentally pretentious douche in need of a neck punch. Additionally, even if you are the smartest/funniest/richest, the fact that you even take time to consider such things makes you an asshat.

5) When you show up to pick up a friend/date/whatever at their house, go to the friggin' door. Sitting outside honking the horn is disrespectful to the party you're picking up and the neighbors don't want to hear it. Yes, your Mama told you anyone would be lucky to have a boyfriend/girlfriend/friend like you, but it's another lie.

5a) If a neighbor asks you to stop honking and go to the door in an even remotely polite way, especially due to the early or late hour, do it. If you yell or curse at, or berate the neighbor, you deserve a neck punch. If I'm the neighbor, I'll beat you til your Mama cries.

6) If you're smoking outside an open door or window of a non-smoking establishment and are asked to step away from said opening to prevent your smoke from blowing in, just do it. It's generally called being considerate, or "getting along". The "you can't make me" crap may have worked with your parents, but I promise, it won't work with others...certainly not me.

6a) If you're outside, or in an area where smoking is permitted, and someones smoke is bothering you, ask them politely to put it out or change hands, etc. to alter the flow of the smoke. Making demands, being bitchy, getting preachy or citing shady statistics only make me want to chain smoke and/or shove my cigarette butt up your butt.

7) If someone gets up from the bar, but leaves his/her jacket on the chair and/or has a drink in front of the chair, he/she is NOT leaving. Only a mouth-breathing moron would make that assumption. Only a complete douchebag would argue when the person returns from the bathroom/smoking/whatever to reclaim his/her spot.

8) Pull up your pants!!! You look like a jackass!!! If you're over 21, the phase is over. Buy pants that fit and invest in a belt. Nobody wants to see your boxers or, God forbid, your plumbers crack.

9) If you BYOB to a bar and are caught with it, it will be confiscated, you will be charged a corking fee, or you will be asked to leave. At my place, I'll take the booze AND run your cheap ass out. I'm one of the most frugal guys I know, but give me a friggin' break with this. Call Daddy and have him put some money in the account...dumbass.

10) This is a big one, kiddies. No one owes you respect. No one owes me respect. Respect is earned. Courtesy should be a fact of life in a civilized society, but you can't act like an idiot and expect respect. I want to pimp slap every 21 year old douche that tries to demand respect.

Example: After finding an uber-douche trashing the bathroom at the bar (literally dumping trash from the can on the floor), I took him by the arm and escorted him to the door. There was no incident until we got to the door and I released him. His friends saw he was getting tossed, so they went outside to wait for him. He jerked away, now that he had an audience.

Uber-Douche: You better respect me!

Me: What?

UD: You better show me some respect!!!

Me: I should respect you for dumping trash on the floor? Dude, you're an idiot.

UD: (glancing over his shoulder at his pals, then back to me) You better respect me!!! You don't know who I am!!!

ME: (taking out a small note pad and pen, writing a quick note) Why don't you just interpret not getting smacked as a sign of respect, then? (handing him note) Here. Give this to your parents.

UD: (glances at the note, then looks up to say something, but I'm already back inside)

the note:

Dear Parent,

Your son is an idiot. Please don't have any more children. Consider sterilization, if necessary.

thx,

Matty

Please don't make me send a note home to your parents.

The only people that love you unconditionally are your parents and Jesus. If you're an asshat (or worse), believe me, I'll tell you.

It's only Thursday, for the love of God

As the crowd began to thin, around 2:30 a.m., I took a seat at a booth near the door. I was checking my emails from my phone when my new friend joined me. He was a gent of Spanish origin, though I can't specify his nationality. He plopped down next to me while staring intently into his beer. His head abruptly popped up and turned to me with the old "stink eye". Evidently he was under the impression I had encroached on his space, even though I was in the booth close to the wall, while he was on the same bench at the other end, obviously there first.

Drunk Guy: Homina placenta mowli fee.

Me: I'm sorry, bro, I don't understand.

DG: Homina dooby goo placenta mowli fee!

Me: Sorry, bro, but I really can't understand you.

DG: Dooby goo coochella sibby mo quesadilla...Texas!

Me: I think I got Texas and maybe quesadilla, but I have no idea what you're talking about.

Obviously disgruntled, he turned back to his beer. He shifted his body so his back was to me and he was facing the bar. It appeared, from my vantage point, that he was contemplating his beverage. After several moments, I grew bored and restless and attempted to excuse myself. He would need to let me out of the booth, of course.

I nudged his shoulder and asked him to let me out. He grunted and nodded. After waiting a few seconds, I repeated my request and tapped more firmly. He just nodded. I leaned on the table to make sure he was conscious, and lo and behold he was in a state of perma-drool. The drunken asshat was in the early stage of full-blown dry heaves. Great.

Flagging one of the bouncers to assist, my new amigo was escorted to the door. The air seemed to do him some good, as he appeared to become more coherent and wandered off into the night. A few minutes later, however, my new friend returned. Now sitting on a chair at the door, I engaged Senor Sloppy.

Me: No more tonight, my friend. Call it a night.

DG: Mumbo dogface banana patch.

Me: (sigh) No more tonight. Go home.

DG: (in a clear and remarkably articulate voice) It's OK, I'm cool.

Me: No more tonight. Go home.

DG: Homina rondlestat moo shoo pork.

He stumbled over to the parking meter and leaned against it...or attempted to lean. He bounced off the meter, double-shuffled his feet, then executed a pirouette...before crumpling off the curb, into the street, right on his drunken ass. He remained there for several moments, looking quite confused that gravity had betrayed him. Eventually, a good Samaritan helped him up. As Mr. Helper was trying to check on the walking mess, he jumped back and exclaimed "Dude, you're pissing all over!"

Yes, gentle reader, he was dousing his dungarees...pissing in his pocket...urinating his underoos...making onesies in his big boy pants. Mr. Helper had received a liberal piss-rub as thanks for his help, and was not happy about it as he stormed away.

My new buddy pulled himself together long enough to wave goodbye as he shuffled off into the night again.

Another satisfied customer.

I Only Need a Dollar!!!

Working at a bar on the Lower East Side, I grew accustomed to encountering the new breed of urban street entrepreneur (translation: bum). There was one gent, in particular, that stands out in my memory.

He was generally pretty straight forwarded. "I'm a hungry, bro, can you help me out?", "I need to get lit, my man. Help a brother out?", "I wanna check out the peep show next door. Can you spare a buck?" are prime examples. I never gave him money, but he frequently entertained me with his rap. Or at least what I thought was his rap.

One pleasant fall evening, I had gone outside for a smoke. Two doors down, was a "video store". I list it as such because they sell just enough regular videos to be able to sell adult videos and toys, as well as operate video booths under NY law. For those of you that are unfamiliar with the video booth, it basically works like this...you go into a room w/ a chair, a coin or token operated tv and a box of Kleenex. You feed the coin box and watch a porno for a fixed amount of time or until you're...done. Yes, you're initial reaction is/was correct - ewwwwww.

So I was enjoying the fall weather, when the "honest bum" came bursting out of the store, drawing the attention of myself, other bar patrons that were outside smoking and random passers by.

"Can somebody PLEASE give me a dollar!" cried the obviously frustrated, financially challenged, chicken choker.

"Please, I ONLY need a dollar...I'm almost done!!!"

He turned towards the bar and I realized his hand was inside his sweat pants, apparently attempting to keep his boner going.

"I'll be done in like a minute! I'll come back and tell you all about the movie!!! I ONLY need a DOLLAR!!!"

A random chick gave him a dollar to go away. He sprinted back in to the store to finish his business.

He emerged approximately 3 minutes later, seeming much more relaxed.

"I need a cigarette! Can somebody please help me with a cigarette!!!"

You can't make this shit up.

Wait...rain isn't yellow, is it?

Upon closing the bar one evening, the bartender (Autumn), the barback (Rick) and I were having a quiet drink together recounting the general fuckery of the evening. It was about 5 a.m. Sunday morning, and the clientele Saturday evening had made me worry that a little yellow bus had crashed in the neighborhood, and the riders had wandered into the bar. While we were chatting, I heard the gentle sound of water running.

Me - "Did you guys leave the water running in the sink?"


They both responded that they had not. I leaned up on the bar to verify this, as I was sure I heard water running. As my butt came back to rest on the stool, I glanced over to the door. The interior doors were still open, but the gate was down, to prevent the drunken fucktards still on the streets from stumbling into the bar. It was at this time, I noticed the water running under the gate, puddling just inside the door. "When did it start raining?" I asked no one in particular. It wasn't raining.


Walking to the door, I heard voices. Yes, gentle readers, a pair of asshats were peeing onto the security gates of the bar. Gravity and slope bringing said pee INSIDE the bar.


Me - "Hey guys, you're peeing into the bar."

Douche 1 - "I think somebody's in there." (rocket scientist)

Douche 2 - "Well, he better stay in there, if he knows what's good for him." (sigh)


I threw the gate up as the two of them were finishing their stream.

Me - "OK, which one of you hard asses wants to show me what's good for me?"

Douche 2 - "Uhhhh....homina-homina...errrr...mumbo, dogface, banana patch."

Douche 1 - (points to Douche 2)

Me - "Son, did you not understand when I yelled you were peeing into the bar?"

Douche 2 - (pickle still in hand) "Hey, the door should be able to keep water out, don't blame me." (sigh)


The annoyed punch in the chest sent him tumbling backwards across the sidewalk, where he came to rest on the curb. Douche 1 ran to his side to help him up, apologizing profusely for their unwise choice of urination stations.


Me - "Don't sweat it. Just take your friend home before he gets himself in trouble. Explain to him tomorrow that he wouldn't have a bruise on his chest if he just would have apologized, or even kept his mouth shut."

Douche 2 - (beanie weenie STILL hanging in the breeze) "Hey, fuck you man! You can't do that!! You don't know who my father is!!!"

Me - (sigh) "I'm assuming he's the limpdick that didn't teach you not to piss into someones place of business? Or that using a line like that makes you an uber-douche? If you tell me he's a lawyer, I'm gonna wanna know his address so I can go pinch a loaf in his ficus tree tomorrow."

Douche 2 - (thoroughly confused, being led away by Douche 1) "I'll be back. You watch your back!"

Me - (waving) "Bring pie. I like pie."


With the departure of God's Special People, I went back to the bar to finish my now warm beer. Rick had mopped the mess and re-secured the door behind me.


Rick - "Uh, bro?"

Me - "Yeah, man?"

Rick - "Is this yours?"
(turning, I focus on what would be the house trophy for the evening)

Me - "Is that a shoe?"

Rick - "Yeah. He came out of it when you popped him". (I had noticed the dipshit limping, but assumed it was from the roll)

I admit, I felt more than a smidgen of machismo at having knocked the turd, literally, out of his shoe. So much so, that after a dousing in the sanitizer, the shoe was hung on the back bar.

After pouring a smaller glass of beer to finish off the night, a gentle rapping came from the gate. It was Douche 1.

Douche 1 - "Umm. I think my friend lost his shoe"

Me - "You're kidding right?"

Douche 1 - "Well, we gotta go back to Westchester, and he'd like to get it back."

Me - "Did he finally put his cock away?"

Douche 1 - "Yeah. We're looking for his shoe, though."

Me - "And?"

Douche 1 - "Can I have it?"

Me - "Haven't seen it. Tell him to enjoy the train ride...and to say hi to his dad for me...and don't forget the pie when he comes back...I like pie."


The freshly minted uber-douche never did come back like he said he would...so I had to get my own pie...fucker.

That's no leprechaun...

Upon arrival in the city, I took a job working the door/bouncing at a little neighborhood spot call "The Looking Glass". Dark and divey, it was the kind of place you really shouldn't let any exposed skin touch anything. Unless, of course you had already received your Hep C shot.

8:15 p.m., Thursday night:
The asshats hadn't started flowing into the streets, yet. That wouldn't happen for a few hours still. Only about a dozen people were in the bar. There were a few aging tipplers left over from happy hour, a couple of 30 somethings that had stopped in on their way to dinner, and a few bro-dogs from NYU pre-gaming for their evening festivities on $2 pints of Bud.

Even though St. Patrick's Day had come and gone over a month earlier, I didn't think twice when I saw a gent down the block sporting one of those green plastic derby's that are common on that holiday. I simply assigned the guy as a "colorful NYC outdoorsman" (translation - half-crazy bum). Realizing I was out of smokes, I ducked into the bodega next door to grab a pack, nodding to the guy as I passed.

Having purchased my smoky treats and chatted w/ the deli guy for a few minutes, I was back on the sidewalk lighting up. I looked up and saw the aforementioned gent exiting the bar, counting his change.

"Hmm. Maybe I was wrong" I thought to myself. "Maybe he's just one of those eccentric New Yorkers you hear about stopping in for a quick shot".

I looked into the bar and saw a confused look on the face of the bartender (and childhood friend), and agitation on the faces of a few of the customers. I went in to investigate.

Erik the bartender - "Did you see these guys put any money on the bar?"
Me - "Well, yeah. About 5 minutes ago before I went for smokes."
Customer - "I had about 15 bucks on the bar."
2nd Customer - "I had 10 bucks or so."
(light bulb going off over my head)

Realizing the bum had entered the establishment and raked the bar of all unattended cash, I was out the door like I was shot out of a cannon and down to the corner. Looking down the street, I could see the wayward leprechaun crossing the street, looking over his shoulder (presumably for pursuers). My days of foot pursuit being long behind me, I turned with disgust to head back to the bar. At that point, in what can only be described as serendipity, the light changed letting a cab cross the avenue to me.

I flagged the cab and hopped in. "Next corner, please." The cabbie looked at me like I was nuts, but drove to the next corner. Having slid down in the seat, my quarry didn't respond when we passed him. At the corner, I told the cabbie to leave the meter running...I'd only be a second. I left the door open as I stepped out. The thief was still stealing looks over his shoulder looking for pursuit when I grabbed him by his shirt.

Now, bearing in mind, I do not now, nor have I ever claimed to be a tough guy. That being said, I hit that douche so hard that, quite literally, snot shot out of his nose. I threw him into the corner formed by a building and a dumpster and began unfolding a good old-fashioned south Alabama beat down.

The light having changed, the cabbie began honking his horn (didn't care about the beating, evidently, but he definitely wanted his $2.40). I grabbed the miscreant by his shirt and shook him like a rag doll. "Where's the money, motherfucker?" (bitch slaps to the head) "I want the cash from the bar, you fuck!" At this point, bills started flying out of every pocket.

"Fuck you, scumbag! I know there's more!!!" (obviously, I had absolutely no idea how much was taken, but I assumed he'd hold out). Sure enough, more cash came out. I released him, kicked him in the ass, and let him escape to whatever hole he crawled out of. Gathering the surprisingly large amount of cash on the sidewalk, I hopped back into the cab, telling the driver to drop me off at the same corner. The fare was $4.80. I threw him a $10 and tipped the change for the trouble.

Walking back into the bar...
Erik - "Where'd you go, bro?"
Me - "To get the money back."
The 4 guys claiming to have lost money walked up. The two that had already made their claims were given their money. The other two claimed $14 and $20 respectively, and were given that amount.

Then, confusion, followed by realization set in. I still had A LOT of money left. Going to the end of the bar, I counted it out. I still had nearly $400 dollars in my hand. I had, technically, rolled a bum and taken a cab to and from the scene of the crime. And no, it didn't bother me one bit.

He may not have been a real leprechaun, but I most assuredly followed him to steal his pot o' gold/Lucky Charms.

Introduction: The Journey Begins...

After much procrastination, and repeated prodding from friends, I'm finally getting around to starting this Blog. This will, more often than not, be a semi-educational general rant on the overwhelming stupidity by certain members of the general population. This blog will also contain random observations on other occurrences in my life, because...well, because it's my Blog and I can do what I want.

The majority of my observations will revolve around nightlife, as I've been in the industry, in various capacities, for over 20 years. In that time, I've encountered more than a few examples of how a once small number of self-entitled, self-important uber-douchebags with no sense of personal responsibility have proliferated into their own segment of modern American culture. Since that description is much too long to use repeatedly in this forum, I have decided to shorten it to, you guessed it...Asshats.

These Asshats are a constant source of both irritation and comedy - the tragic and the sublime, if you will. Future posts will chronicle the (mis)behavior of Asshats in general, and specific events and/or actions of the true uber-douche. They'll make you laugh. They'll make you cry. They'll make you want to punch them in the neck. Welcome to my world.

Asshats, like cockroaches or kudzu, have increased to ridiculous numbers. This has been facilitated by several factors. These factors include, but are certainly not limited to: over-indulgent/protective parents, a hyper-litigious mentality in this country, and modern medicine...things like these have led to a breakdown in natural selection. Whereas in previous time periods, the truly lazy/weak/stupid would be removed from the population for doing things like trying to hand feed a mountain lion, or looking up at the sky to "watch the rain" until they drowned, we've padded our world to the point you can't even get a cup of hot coffee from McDonald's anymore. We've, in effect, caused a monumental failure in Darwinism and natural selection.

As stated earlier, I'll also offer personal insight as to what makes me "the Matty". Things that make me happy, sad, angry and confused will be included. I'll also offer, things that are important to me, such as family, honor and the increasing value of regular bowel movements as my age progresses.

If you are squeamish, or easily offended, you should probably not be here. I'll make no apologies for anything written here. It surely won't be suitable for young readers, or complete morons.

That being said...check back, sit back and enjoy the Matty experience.

the Matty