Blog Spotlight: Stuff Black People Hate

If you are not reading Stuff Black People Hate, well you’re missing out on some laughs. 

No, this is not just another Stuff (ethnicity) People (feeling) site trying to get a book deal. It’s a bunch of funny entries about life’s crazy annoyances which happen to be stuff the author hates. You might find yourself agreeing with him too, hence the title Stuff Black People Hate. 

Check it out. 

Here’s a post to get you started: ON CLUBBING:

 

clubscene2.jpg

Figure 1: Ugh…

The clubbing experience is, at its core, a very depressing one. When you arrive at a club you will be presented with an unfathomably vast cornucopia of bullshit that will assail your senses like crashing surf for upwards of four hours. So let’s go together, you and I, on an item by item safari through this social horn of plenty, starting with…

  • The Guest List: To get into a lot of good clubs (at least in DC) you have to be on one of these goddamn lists, and this is the stupidest fucking concept ever because in DC it’s not even hard to get on the list. To get on the stupid goddamn list you either have to a.) know a promoter (or someone who knows them), or b.) print out one of those ridiculous flyers on the club’s website. This sucks for everyone because a.) promoters are usually idiots who simply put the names of their equally idiotic friends on the list, and b.) why the fuck do I need a stupid fucking flyer? If I ever open a club, the ‘door policy’ will consist of me letting in 10 hot chicks for every 1 dude who passes a ‘Dipshit Test’ (which 90% of men will fail MISERABLY). It will also consist of my biggest and strongest bouncer bludgeoning people I deem to be…
  • Corporate Douchebags: This is the jackass that just graduated from college, has abullshit job, makes $60,000 per year, and thinks he’s King Kong because he just pulled up to the club in a brand new 3-Series BMW.

    jerk.jpg 

    Figure 2: Asshole

    This asshole is usually asian, indian, or white. He has a metric ton of gel (or Soul-Glo) in his hair, wears square-toed black Bruno Maglis, and is otherwise covered in crap from Banana Republic or J. Crew. He will brag to chicks about his bullshit job and symbols of ‘wealth’ all night. He will not mention that he lives with roommates, does not own his home, and can’t do his own laundry. You’ll recognize this guy by your sudden and barely controllable urges to punch him in the spine. This is not to be confused with…

  • Athletic Douchebags: this genus of ‘bag’ is usually black, but will occasionally be white or even asian. He will show up to the club wearing a combination of $300 sneakers, clean but very baggy jeans or white ‘designer’ track pants, and some kind of track or track-derived jacket to match the pants worn atop a huge t-shirt/man-dress that contrasts sharply with the jacket (red and white is a popular combo these days).

    athldouche.jpg

    Figure 3: The rare white athletic douchebag

    His hair will be unnaturally wavy, usually as a result of being employed at McDonald’s – where wearing a stocking on your head during the workday is both accepted and encouraged. This asshole will also wear shades even though it’s the middle of the fucking night, and will be covered in shiny faux jewelry worth about as much as a heroin-addict’s piss.

The guest lists and douchebags are horrible, but the pain has only just begun. Once we move closer to the door, we will inevitably encounter…

  • The Douchebitch: I generally discourage calling any woman a bitch, but the person I’m about to describle is a fucking VILE, SNARLING, HOSTILE BITCH in every sense of the phrase.

    hillary.jpg

    Figure 4: Applied douchebitchery

    This is the girl who thinks she’s way more attractive than she actually is, and should therefore be given star treatment like she’s Beyonce fucking Knowles. This girl is equally likely to be a member of any race – douchebitches will be black, white, asian, hispanic, etc. with alarming uniformity. She sneers with contempt at every single person in the venue, will demand a drink at your table, grits ferociously on the girls in the club that are actually pretty, and spends the entire evening railing about how “there ain’t no real ballers up in here” (or whatever the white/asian/indian/hispanic equivalent of this phrase is). This is in spite of the fact this chick is, herself, a complete waste of human life. If she’s lucky enough to be employed, she makes $9 an hour. She knows nothing about current events. She does not read for leisure. She has never exercised in her entire life, notwithstanding the half-crunch she does every morning to get out of bed. She doesn’t know how to cook. She doesn’t even enjoy people. She sucks, but not quite as much as…

  • The Bouncer: a bouncer is a large man whose life is utterly meaningless between Sunday and Thursday.

    bouncer.gif

    Figure 5: Hates his life 5/7 of the time

    But for two glorious nights, this meat popsicle holds the keys to your very soul. He controls your ability to enter the club, and he can ‘bounce’ you out of the club at any time and for virtually any reason. He feels cool because he gets to wear one of those little earpieces like Secret Service agents. If he wants to impress a girl by looking important, he’ll put his finger up to his ear and assume a concerned facial expression so it looks like he’s receiving critical information from a very important person – e.g. “drunk chick vomiting in the third floor bathroom, please respond” from the busboy with questionable immigration status. Once the bouncer lets you in, you’re almost certain to find a bunch of dudes who have reserved…

  • Tables: there are two types of men that reserve tables, and therefore there are two types of tables. One is the ‘Practical Table’. This table is populated by sensible men who realize that it’s cheaper and more convenient to do bottle service than wait for drinks at the bar if your primary aim is to get drunk. You’ll recognize this table by the fact that its occupiers are huddled in a circle, drinking as fast as they can, and ignoring everyone and everything else in the club. I see nothing wrong with this table, probably because usually that’s MY fucking table. But then there’s the other table: the ‘Pompous Table’. This is the table populated by idiotic men who, since they’re sitting at a table behind a velvet rope, think they’re all P. Diddy and that girls should be knocking each other over to leap onto their cocks.

    notdiddy.jpg

    Figure 6: Yet another sad truth…

    You’ll recognize this table by the fact that it’s occupiers are standing nowhere near the table itself, instead opting to hover near the rope with their hands in their pockets, gazing hopelessly at women who are as out of their league as they are uninterested in them, in spite of their stupid fucking table.

So now that we’ve pushed our way through the first six degrees of stupidity, we arrive at the dance floor. Here we will witness a dizzying array of social offenses. Let’s start with…

  • The Sneak Up: every girl has been through this. You’ll be dancing and minding your own business when next thing you know there is a grimey dude behind you thrusting his cock imprint betwixt your butt cheeks. He did not ask to dance with you, and he did not introduce himself.

    freaking.jpg

    Figure 7: But friggin’ Goldilocks here is practically begging for it

    All you can be sure of is two things: a.) he’s probably ugly, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been afraid to approach you head on, and b.) he’s probably socially awkward for the exact same reason. A girl whose been ’snuck’ will roll her eyes angrily and humor the offender for a minute or so, or try to subtly scuttle off to some other part of the dance floor. That is, unless she’s rescued by one of two forms of cock blocking, the first of which is…

  • Blockery by Mockery: this has been tuned to perfection by black women. This is where a girl’s friends will mock with merciless fervor a guy they deem to be unsatisfactory until he finally runs away with his balls tucked between his legs*. This is a much more confrontational but far less annoying tactic than that preferred by white/asian women, which is…
  • Body Snatching: unlike the mockery method, the Body Snatch tends to be executed for no good fucking reason. Even if the girl is actually interested in you (i.e. you’re making her laugh, and you’re both happy and smiling) – her friends will swoop in like the buzzards they are an relieve you of each other’s company, dragging the girl by the arm away from you even if it’s against her will. The ‘why’ behind women doing this has never been adequately explained to me, so I’m simply going to assume it happens because all women secretly hate each other and want their female friends to be as unhappy as they are.

Let’s not pick on the ladies, though. We gentlemen are also executors of two unacceptable methods of blockery, the first of which is…

  • Blockery by Proximity: this is where a man’s friends refuse to disperse when he’s started dancing with a girl. Instead of scattering to the four winds like they’re supposed to, they hover three feet away from you, immobile as fucking Easter Island statues intimidating the bajeezus out of the poor girl who has no choice to feel like she’s about to get Eiffel Towered in a bathroom somewhere. The girl will inevitably run off, leaving the victim male with no choice but to retaliate later with the second method of blockery…
  • Injection: ever been chatting up a girl when your fucking friend leaps uninvited into the conversation to introduce himself? That’s injection, and it should be a fucking felony. Suddenly you’ve gone from being a cool guy to being the guy with the idiot friend which, by extension, makes you an idiot for having him as a friend. Being victimized by injection creates the rare circumstance where it’s actually OK to kick another man in the nuts.

Alas, the end is drawing nigh. It’s 3:30am, and the final chip falls:

  • The Closing Lights: when all the lights suddenly come on at the end of the night, you realize just how much of a disaster your life is. Somewhere in the room, a tipsy girl realizes she’s been dancing all night with a man who could be legally classified as a dwarf. Elsewhere, a drunken guy comes to the understanding that he just made out with his cousin. People are vomiting everywhere. Mascara and makeup are running down the sweaty faces of women making them look like Sweet Tooth from Twisted Metal.

You survey all the damage around you. The spilled beer, the mixing straws all over the floor, the drunken stragglers squinting against the harshness of the lights, the unfulfilled dreams, the broken promises, the horror of it all…

You feel like Charlie Sheen at the end of ‘Platoon’.

loveplatoon.jpg

Figure 8: Yep.

*I am aware this is where the balls are tucked all the time, but it’s a figure of speech. So gimme a fucking break.

 

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