Dear name dropper,
You think you're so clever. You've got it all figured out: "I'll ask about someone who works there to show I have connections, then he'll let me in for sure!" False. Unless you know me or currently have my boss on the phone, you might as well go play in traffic. Great, you might have friends who work her, but do I look like a friendly guy right now? The answer is no, dickweed. I work from 10pm to 4am and I have to clean up tampons, vomit, and lost dignity; I don't have any friends for the next few hours. I hope you have good health insurance if you have the audacity to ask me if another door guy is working. "Hey man, is Joe working tonight?" Do I fucking look like Joe? Do you think Joe pulled a Silence of the Lambs and is just trying to trick you by wearing someone else's face? Again, you worthless afterbirth, the answer is no. If Joe is not sitting right where I am sitting, he is clearly not at work. Even if you do know Joe, the fucks I give exist about as much as a leprechaun riding a flying narwal. It's not my problem. Move your sorry self out of line before I shove my foot so far up your doodoo puss that you can taste my filthy shoe.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Underage Swag
Dear underage kid,
I spotted you 50 yards away. You're 5'4" and have peach fuzz that looks like midget pubes. You're not fooling anyone, but for some reason you walk up with the undeserved confidence of an oiled up guido. Aside from these telltale signs, your ID is about as convincing as a porno actor. Speaking of acting, I wanted to let you know that your performance didn't help either. Don't talk to me when you come to the door unless there is a life threatening emergency, because every word that leaves your mouth makes me want to punch you in the jejunum just a little bit more. Just hand me your sorry excuse for a fake ID so I can embarrass you in front of your friends already. I really don't appreciate the McLovin style, "Oh? I haven't been carded in so long. Makes me feel young again!" My guess is you were born in '94 you Justin Bieber little chicken shit. Don't look me in the eyes either. It's not helping, and honestly I don't want to look at your ugly face, I can already see it on the flimsy laminated card you just handed me. Don't ask me how I'm doing. I know you don't actually care, and I don't care enough to waist my breath in answer. You're denied anyway. "Come on man, my friends just walked in!" you'll say. You cannot divide by the number of fucks that I give. Since you're dumb enough to try to argue with me, I'll go ahead and assume that you didn't know that you can't divide by zero. Please leave before I mop the sidewalk with your face.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
I spotted you 50 yards away. You're 5'4" and have peach fuzz that looks like midget pubes. You're not fooling anyone, but for some reason you walk up with the undeserved confidence of an oiled up guido. Aside from these telltale signs, your ID is about as convincing as a porno actor. Speaking of acting, I wanted to let you know that your performance didn't help either. Don't talk to me when you come to the door unless there is a life threatening emergency, because every word that leaves your mouth makes me want to punch you in the jejunum just a little bit more. Just hand me your sorry excuse for a fake ID so I can embarrass you in front of your friends already. I really don't appreciate the McLovin style, "Oh? I haven't been carded in so long. Makes me feel young again!" My guess is you were born in '94 you Justin Bieber little chicken shit. Don't look me in the eyes either. It's not helping, and honestly I don't want to look at your ugly face, I can already see it on the flimsy laminated card you just handed me. Don't ask me how I'm doing. I know you don't actually care, and I don't care enough to waist my breath in answer. You're denied anyway. "Come on man, my friends just walked in!" you'll say. You cannot divide by the number of fucks that I give. Since you're dumb enough to try to argue with me, I'll go ahead and assume that you didn't know that you can't divide by zero. Please leave before I mop the sidewalk with your face.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
Ladies
Dear ladies,
I found you sensual, elegant, polite, neat, and desirable until the first time I cleaned the women's restroom at the bar. The moment I opened the door, some small part of my soul died, and I wanted to quit on the spot. I will admit, if I ever wanted to play out an episode of CSI in real life, it would be the perfect place, but I'd really rather not. It looks like a slaughter house in there; the sink is not a proper receptacle for your used tampon. Nor is the toilet, the floor, the back of the toilet, the counter, or literally everywhere but the trash can. Oddly enough, I never have to empty used tampons out of the trash can. I don't want to finger paint with your menstruation, I just want to go home. Thank you for making my life miserable by believing that you also need an entire roll of toilet paper shoved down the toilet before you're done. Not used in pieces, no, just the entire roll, intact. The shit you took on top of it smells like bigfoot's dick, so thanks for that too. What did you wipe with? You already submerged all of the toilet paper there is. I hope you wake up tomorrow morning with skid marks on your sheets. If I ever hear you complaining about how messy guys are ever again, I will punch you in the ovaries.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
I found you sensual, elegant, polite, neat, and desirable until the first time I cleaned the women's restroom at the bar. The moment I opened the door, some small part of my soul died, and I wanted to quit on the spot. I will admit, if I ever wanted to play out an episode of CSI in real life, it would be the perfect place, but I'd really rather not. It looks like a slaughter house in there; the sink is not a proper receptacle for your used tampon. Nor is the toilet, the floor, the back of the toilet, the counter, or literally everywhere but the trash can. Oddly enough, I never have to empty used tampons out of the trash can. I don't want to finger paint with your menstruation, I just want to go home. Thank you for making my life miserable by believing that you also need an entire roll of toilet paper shoved down the toilet before you're done. Not used in pieces, no, just the entire roll, intact. The shit you took on top of it smells like bigfoot's dick, so thanks for that too. What did you wipe with? You already submerged all of the toilet paper there is. I hope you wake up tomorrow morning with skid marks on your sheets. If I ever hear you complaining about how messy guys are ever again, I will punch you in the ovaries.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
The Friend-Seeking Missile
Dear friend seeker,
Yes, I got it, you're looking for your friend. You told me that twelve times already. What you don't seem to understand is that every time you tell me that your chances of getting in lessen exponentially. "She's right inside!" you cry mournfully. She could be literally two inches inside this gate and I would still not let you in. We're closed, and I don't care how hot you are, I don't want to put up with your bullshit or get chewed out by my boss. "She's super drunk, though!" you plead. Oh look, it just started raining all of the fucks that I give. By the way, it is not raining. Get the picture? Unless your friend somehow gets paralyzed in a freak beer pong accident, I assure you that she will exit the bar at some point and meet you. Here. OUTSIDE. You and I both know you have a cell phone. Use it. If you don't, well, the 70's called and they said "fuck you."
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
Yes, I got it, you're looking for your friend. You told me that twelve times already. What you don't seem to understand is that every time you tell me that your chances of getting in lessen exponentially. "She's right inside!" you cry mournfully. She could be literally two inches inside this gate and I would still not let you in. We're closed, and I don't care how hot you are, I don't want to put up with your bullshit or get chewed out by my boss. "She's super drunk, though!" you plead. Oh look, it just started raining all of the fucks that I give. By the way, it is not raining. Get the picture? Unless your friend somehow gets paralyzed in a freak beer pong accident, I assure you that she will exit the bar at some point and meet you. Here. OUTSIDE. You and I both know you have a cell phone. Use it. If you don't, well, the 70's called and they said "fuck you."
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Loiterer
Dear disgruntled loiterer,
I'm so very sorry that I was not able to permit your entrance into the bar, but it appears you either look like you are 12 or are dressed like the cast of Jersey Shore threw up on you. For some odd reason that will forever be a mystery to me, you have chosen to remain awkwardly standing outside the gate for well over half an hour now. I applaud your tenacity, but you are still not getting in, no matter how hard you stare at me, because frankly you pissed me off when you walked across the street. What are you thinking? "Fuck it, I'll give up my entire night out on the town just to annoy this door guy. Yeah, I'll show him!" There are dozens of other bars, yet you have your mind set on being your assholish, friendless self right outside this one. Come to think of it... Do you have friends? Are you downtown alone? Did they leave you here to freeze while they went inside? Oh yeah, I forgot, you annoy the living shit out of anyone you come in contact with, so it's probably all of the above. Have fun sharing your plot of land with the usual hobos. Your plan has no logic. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
I'm so very sorry that I was not able to permit your entrance into the bar, but it appears you either look like you are 12 or are dressed like the cast of Jersey Shore threw up on you. For some odd reason that will forever be a mystery to me, you have chosen to remain awkwardly standing outside the gate for well over half an hour now. I applaud your tenacity, but you are still not getting in, no matter how hard you stare at me, because frankly you pissed me off when you walked across the street. What are you thinking? "Fuck it, I'll give up my entire night out on the town just to annoy this door guy. Yeah, I'll show him!" There are dozens of other bars, yet you have your mind set on being your assholish, friendless self right outside this one. Come to think of it... Do you have friends? Are you downtown alone? Did they leave you here to freeze while they went inside? Oh yeah, I forgot, you annoy the living shit out of anyone you come in contact with, so it's probably all of the above. Have fun sharing your plot of land with the usual hobos. Your plan has no logic. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy
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