It Aint Easy Being A Bouncer

People don’t really know me. They think they do, but they don’t. They just see me as the giant at the front of the club. They know I’m huge, I mean totally fucking jacked out of my mind, and they know I’m totally cool, (Do you think a nerd would spend so much time in the gym building muscles like these?) but they don’t know the real me.


I am a bouncer. I stand at the front of bars or clubs and check the ID’s of people coming inside. Depending on the rules my boss gives me, if someone is under 21, I either flex and turn them away, or I flex and mark an X on their hand. People get mad at me, when I catch them with fake ID’s and don’t let them in, but it’s not my fault. Do you think I like marking “X’s” on your hands? Do you know how limiting that is to my creative juices? I have spent many a night lying awake in my totally sweet leopard print bed; just waiting for the day my boss says “Okay, D-Bo, tonight instead of using an “X”, we’re going to draw a Unicorn.”


And people think I’m stupid, just because I’m totally fucking huge. Well I’ve got news for those people; Shut up, and no I’m not. I mean just because my biceps are the size of toddlers, doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate the science or the arts. I mean, just yesterday, right after I was doing some power cleans, I mixed some Stacker 2 with some Creatine and some Ephedra, and now my lats are looking ripped. I mean A.C. Slater right after making sweet, sweet love to Jessie Spano ripped. And as for the arts, I have and appreciation for music and cinema that you would not believe. When I’m driving to work in my Festiva, nothing puts me in the mood for checking IDs and telling drunk sophomore girls to stop dancing on tables then listening to some Pan-fucking-tera. And there is no better example I have found then Patrick Swayze’s uncanny rendition of James Dalton in Roadhouse. I mean, I doubt that any other actor in Hollywood could have said the line, “Take the biggest guy in the world, shatter his knee and he’ll drop like a stone,” and have it mean so much to so many people.


People sometimes make the mistake of thinking I’m an asshole, but that’s not true at all. It’s just that I work late into the night and sometimes, I’m tired. Sorry, if I don’t smile at you, or if I don’t offer any explanation as to why you’re not getting in, even though you swear to God you are the first blond haired blue eyed girl to ever be named Jamal Muhamad Aziz. You try carrying around arms this heavy all day and see if you feel like being nice at the end of it. Besides it’s just like what Patrick Swayze says to his bouncers in Roadhouse, “I want you to be nice until it’s time to not be nice.”


Sometimes the ungrateful punks who come to the club make fun of the way I look, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt my feelings. I mean, I know their just jealous of my sweet black jeans and Adidas Superstar shoes. They totally wish they could make a black tank top look this good, but they can’t. And sorry if I wear this big gaudy silver cross, but it has sentimental value. It was a graduation present. Well, actually, it was a present that I got on the day I passed my GED High School equivalency exam, but I still wear it with pride. Besides, your probably just mad that your girl eye-fucked my brains out when she saw my frosted tips, and my sweet tattoo of a dragon choking the shit out of Minnie Mouse. I keep my hair standing at attention like this, because a party could break out at any second, and I don’t want to ever be underdressed.


I’m sorry if I come across as being rude or short with anyone. It’s just that once I get five or six Red Bull and Vodkas in me, I can get a little jumpy.



Sorry, I must be boring you out here, when you’re trying to get in and drink. Here, let me see your ID. You’re over twenty one you say? You don’t look six five. HMMM” Anti-Tanning? I didn’t know that existed, but I guess it explains why you don’t look dark anymore. What’s your sign? Yep” story checks out there” Capricorn. Do you have a second form? Yeah, I also go out with a wallet full of money but no credit cards and only my old tattered driver’s license. Well what’s your address? I mean, if you were able to memorize the address written on this card, then it must be yours.



Go on in, buddy, but just know that there is more to me than being totally fucking jacked and acting like a douche bag to people when they come in here. I’m a sensitive, complex, and emotional individual, and though I may come across as being a massive tool, I really just want to be understood. Is that so much to ask of people? Start any shit in there and I’ll break your face.