Club Chronicles: Club Etiquette

I’m on a diet. Diet equals no alcohol. No alcohol equals moderate partying. Moderate partying equals no Swag Surfin AND P-Poppin on a handstand Dougie . One or the other. Moderate, sober dancing equals more time to notice what’s actually going on around me. I feel it necessary to set the standard for what is decent and orderly when in a club setting. So, I’ve compiled a list of things the masses should take note of in order to maintain proper club etiquette:

*Disclaimer: The timing of this post comes now only to protect my livelihood and avoid being severely battered with quarters and Tropicana oranges by Africans and Guccimaniacs. As such, it’s content may not be as hearty and/or entertaining as some of the others. In addition, any Africans and/or Guccimaniacs reading this should learn to respct my gangsta.

1. Don’t stand directly in front of me. Firstly, you almost stepped on my toe. Secondly, I can’t see my friend. No, we’re not talking or dancing, but I need to be able to see her, and you, sir, just put your rainbow gator shoes right in the middle of our imaginary barrier. Thirdly, I’m tall. Like REALLY tall. Especially when I put my heels on. 6’3″. Not only do I now have the pleasure of observing your balding scalp, but I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME! GET YOUR OOMPA-LOOMPA ASS THE FUCK FROM IN FRONT OF ME!!! Furthermore, when I tap you to let you know you’re in my way, please do not feel compelled to look at my breasts. Yes, they’re eye-level. Yes, they’re big. What, you’ve never seen a titty before? Move.

2. Watch them elbows. This especially applies to women with oversized purses, women re-adjusting their strapless tops, people holding drinks and trying to squeeze through the crowd, and anyone dancing to “Hit ’em with the Flex”.

3. At no time is any man supposed to be bent over to form the perfect 90 degree angle. Lol. I have to chuckle a bit when I think about this guy. You know him. He’s the over-zealous mofo in the middle of the circle that he created by dancing on everyone’s feet and breaking up each individual imaginary boundary. He especially enjoys the songs, “My Dougie”, “All the Way Turnt Up”, “Mo’ Money Mo’ Problems”, “Freaky Girl” (?), and “Say Ahhhhh” (???). I’m all for bending over in front of strangers and shaking a tailfeather, (If we’re facebook friends, please reference the pictures from my birthday party) but just like grabbing boobs, kissing a man, and drinking any brand of rum, I can do it because I’m a woman. When you do it, you look mighty gay. Migh-ty gay. You stand up straight, and take whatever bending over I’m going to do in front of you like a man.

4. Offensive tattoos. “Whoa Nelly”……….. That’s just rude no matter where you are.

5.  Trying to dance with me when you look like you just stepped out of the 9th ward after Katrina hit. You’e sweaty and gross, and if you even look like you’re thinking that you might want to touch me, you will surely perish. And by perish, I mean, I’ll call the Africans on you. I know them and they have machetes. All of them. Something about they need them to “bring dinner home”. I don’t really know why all Africans have machetes, because all Africans also have fly ass cars and wear velvet blazers. What kind of lifestyle are these people living where they’d ever need to carry a machete and wear a purple velvet blazer and drive a Range Rover in the same day? Are they hunting antelope before they go buy up the bar? I digress. Go cleanse yourself in the waters of Lake Minatanka, doll.

To be continued…

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