During my recent trips to the bar, I’ve noticed that the same types of people congregate there. Like there was a meeting I missed and the bar-god (I’d like to think his name is Drinkalthor) divvies up the freaks and geeks in the same proportions every night.

Despite having a hangover that actually introduced itself to me this morning, I’ve taken it upon myself to put forth the definable list of “people you meet at the bar” for your enjoyment, and to give my swollen brain an activity other than pounding.


Meet "John Douchebag"
Meet "John Douchebag"

Age: Usually 21-25

Blood Alcohol Level: Stratospheric

Annoying Factor: 10!

THAT GUY is someone that we’ve all met. He’s usually not too bad looking and has just enough charm to appear friendly and enter the conversation without getting punched in the face. It all goes downhill from there. Like a rabid salesman, once his foot is in the door, he goes for the kill. He talks the loudest, makes outrageous demands, begs, borrows, steals, and pisses salt ALL over your game. Keep in mind the common “That Guy” has no particular target, except the closest pair of breasts. He simply fires cock-blockage in all directions like a giant ‘Salt Volcano’ of anti-sex. He is often named “John” – I have no idea why.

Drunk Slut Indeed
Drunk Slut Indeed

Drunk Slut

Age: 21-29

Blood Alcohol Level: 1.2 (varies)

Annoying Factor: 7

The drunk slut or “Slunk” comes in many forms. She is sometimes attractive and sometimes ugly as Satan’s asshole. But two things are a given. She is drunk and she wants it bad. She usually flirts outrageously with several guys from different cliques. She makes goofy comments like “I haven’t had sex in SO long” or “Someone give me a ride home”. She actually would do quite well in the capture of her beloved penis, if not for her penchant for far too many super-rich drinks. There is nothing less sexy than a girl orally ejecting maraschino cherries and bright-green midori like she’s auditioning for an exorcist sequel. The common Slunk usually ends up zeroing in her asshole radar and somehow selects the most morally devoid asshat in the entire place (see: THAT GUY) to take home and breed a new generation of welfare adoptee’s.

This is his Polite Face
This is his Polite Face

Angry Dude

Age: 28-34

Blood Alcohol Level: 50%

Annoying Factor: 9

The Angry Dude has a problem with life. We don’t know what it is, we may never know, but he’s angry. This particular breed of bar-goer is deceptive. Much like the common chameleon, he may blend-in with the crowd, appearing somber or even friendly, before launching into a fitful and loud rage. Angry dude picks fights, he hassles the waitresses, he doesn’t tip and he starts conversations like he’s storming the beach at Normandy. He often becomes wildly contradicting denying or rebutting every statement put forth within his hearing range. Leading to such comments as “I’m not drunk, you’re a bitch”. He usually frames himself out of every theoretical social situation and either gets thrown out, or leaves in a dejected haze to punch photos of his ex-girlfriend back in his studio apartment that smells like bourbon and cigarettes.

Careful: She's Full of Snakes
Careful: She's Full of Snakes

Annoyingly Hot Girl

Age: 21-27

Blood Alcohol Level: A perfect .08%

Annoying Factor: 6

I know it sounds difficult for a woman to be ‘annoyingly hot’ but its there all the same. The AHG is usually dressed to kill, and is completely stacked and sure of herself. AHG’s sometimes move in packs and smoke expensive cigarettes and have cute purses. They seem to have no reason to be at a bar whatsoever, as they do not like to socialize, barely drink at all, and they usually sit silently in a corner with a disapproving stare. They occasionally get hit on when some guy or another gets up the courage to approach. This is a mistake. The AHG may look like a sex-goddess, but she is actually a deadly scorpion with huge breasts. Note the complete disemboweling of the potential mates confidence as he’s simultaneously given the ‘cold-shoulder’, the ‘stink-eye’ and a complete dismissal. The only saving grace of the AHG is that they are pleasant from a distance and other than the slight chill they emanate, they will generally leave you alone if you play it smart.

Whiskey on the Rocks, I need to compensate hard.
Whiskey on the Rocks, I need to compensate hard.

Old School

Age: 25-35

Blood Alcohol Level: .08%-.10%

Annoying Factor: 6.5

Old School is the guy at every bar, who has been going to THAT bar since time out of mind. He’s immensely proud of the fact that he loathes every other bar in existence and practically lives at this one. He usually has a crowd of regulars around him and banters well with the staff. The Old School usually drinks the same drink over and over again and hits the same level of inebriation every time. At a certain point in time he will extol the sad state of the bar and explain how it used to be “so much better” than this and makes a loud point that the current crowd of boozers have “No business being here”. He essentially wants the bar to himself and as a result will become hostile to those around him when he realizes that it is not in-fact HIS BAR. Closely related to the Old-Schooler is the New-Schooler, who despite having never been anywhere else will reassure everyone around him that THIS is the best bar on earth.

Will You Be My Fwend?
Will You Be My Fwend?

Awkward Lurker

Age: 21-40

Blood Alcohol Level: .01%

Annoying Factor: 5

Awkward Lurker is always on the fringe of the conversation. He may or may not know anyone at the bar. Chances are you’ve seen him before and give him ‘the nod’ before moving on with your evening. He is known to lurk at the shadowy corners of the bar or is seen sitting at the table full of people, with his chair pulled back JUST enough, that you’re not sure if he’s actually sitting with them or not. He wants desperately to be liked and involved but lacks the confidence to take charge of the situation. The resulting social impotence is displayed by nervously shifting, fake-laughing, and occasionally wandering around to admire the woodwork or plants. He spends most of the night like a busy beaver, building a soggy dam of self-confidence. Then near the end of the evening he buys a round or asks to go along to a party, forcing everyone into the awkward position of wondering who the hell he is and gently denying him. While generally harmless, he sometimes oversteps himself and makes extremely tasteless jokes or kills the mood with fake sincerity. (Warning: Sometimes becomes Angry Dude)

Now you know,

And Knowing is Half the Bottle…

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