Do Pick Up Lines Even Work?

Works everytime....

 

Do pick up lines even work? Even I think they’re corny, I can’t imagine what a girl thinks when some drunken fool spits a pick up line in her face.

 “Hey is your dad a baker? Cos you have nice buns!” hehehe

What exactly is hoping for? Seriously? Does he think that she’s just going to go “Oh my god! You are the greatest male specimen I have ever encountered!” “Not only do you have the debonair charm and wit of James Bond, but the way you got into that fight with the bouncer after puking on the dance floor is most invigorating. Please oh please make sweet love to me on this bar stool! And then allow me the honour of being the mother of your unborn child!”

 And if these pick up lines do actually work do any of those relationships ever last?

I can’t imagine if you had to ask your Mom and Dad how they met they would say “Well son, I had just been in a fight with a bouncer for throwing up everywhere, when I saw your mom in the shortest mini skirt I have ever seen…And the rest is history” “In fact I’m pretty sure that’s where you were conceived, you little bastard!”

 One of the things that scares me the most about dance clubs is when it gets towards the end of the night and the club starts emptying and you can smell the desperation in the air, it smells like sweat and rohypnol.

 At this time of the evening the body is just craving 24hour Steers or MacDonald’s, but you can actually hear some of the guys saying stuff like “Dammit its 3am! It’s burger time, I have to come right with something before the club closes!” at which point he is faced with a very troubling dilemma that has plagued mankind for centuries… do you go home alone, or drop your standards significantly!

chicks dig pandas

 And you can see these guys circling the dance floor like sharks looking for ANYTHING to eat, these sharks would be happy with the ass end of a leather boot let alone anything living. But this doesn’t scare me half as much as the “minga” chicks still there on the dance floor during this feeding frenzy. They’re dancing there thinking… “One of these guys might drop his standards significantly tonight and I might get lucky.” Some of the uglier ones are even hanging around the dance floor shaving their back then they whip out a Big Mac… here boys, here boys.

 I had a friend who had no problem with this, he used to say that every guy needs a “practice girl” and so even these girls served a purpose. Of course we called him the sexual janitor because of this, but he didn’t seem to mind. Heck his favourite pick up line was “you want grab some pizza and then have sex, or we can get something else if you don’t like pizza”

when in doubt...be honest

The Freaks Come Out at Night: The DJ

Look how awesome I look when I press play on my iTunes

What would a nightclub experience be without the DJ? I mean besides “better”. Talk about the most overrated job in the nightclub; this has to go to the DJ. The DJ gets so much credit for basically clicking play on his iTunes playlist, mincing around like a drunken hobo and then occasionally telling people what to do.

“Everybody get down!”

“Put your hands in the Air!”

“Everybody Scream!”

Gees, what a control freak! He could at least say Simon says first. Then he’ll play whatever the “flavour of the month” song is about 4 times every hour and yet you’ll still hear a million women scream “Oh Em GEE! It’s my song!”

Let me get something straight here, a Club DJ is not a live act. I understand there are electronic musicians who make dance music and some call themselves DJ’s, but the guy who clicks play on his iTunes then occasionally listens into his oversized earphones and pretends to finely adjust certain buttons and dials is not a musician. He is as much a musician as the guy who presses play on the DVD player is a movie director or the guy who forwards email jokes is a comedian.

Heaven forbid these “DJ’s” actually try and do some real mixing… what usually happens is either a garbled mess of 2 songs where the beats don’t sync and you end up dancing like a one legged man wearing roller skates during an earthquake (an actual description I’ve heard of my dancing). Even better is when there is that “death” between two badly mixed songs and everyone on the dance floor kind of just stands around staring at each other like they were all crammed into the largest most awkward elevator of all time (except at least there there’d be elevator music).

Regardless of what’s playing I’ll be trotting side to side doing the boyfriend dance in a circle around girls’ handbags while some strange loner guy who is clearly way too “in touch” with the music dances in a world of his own on stage or on top of one of the speakers hoping that it will attract some equally strange mate.

Sometimes DJ’s will be a little less authoritarian and ask people for requests. Although not once has one of my requests been acknowledged, probably because the requests are to “stop playing immediately”, “stop butchering my ears” or the ever popular “eat #### and die”.

Thank you Mr DJ for everything you do. From the way you peroxide your hair to the way you wear your sunglasses inside. From the way you pretend to be doing something important from behind your laptop to the way you always find the most inspiring things to shout over the microphone.

I salute you for without you the nightclub would be a very different place: A place I could possibly stand going to.

The Freaks Come Out at Night – Promo Girls

I'm pretty sure if I buy whatever alcohol they're selling one of them is contractually obligated to sleep with me

Next under the microsope: Promo girls

What genius thought up this vampiric marketing scheme? You can actually imagine the boardroom discussion. When are men most likely to buy things they don’t need? When they are drunk or when they think it will impress a pretty girl. So let’s combined the two by having scantily clad skanks sell alcohol to these men! Genius! Give that man a raise, in exchange for his SOUL!

Furthermore, at what point do they choose the promotional items to give away? Let’s see, we’ll need 4000 T-shirts (all size XXXXL), 4000 poorly stitched caps and a cubic f**kton of lanyards. I have so many lanyards I actually have to buy more keys. If you don’t know what a lanyard is, it’s those ropey/ribbony pieces of crap that douche bags carry their keys or wallet on and let hang out of their pockets ala “Dope on a Rope”. At some point in the past few years someone discovered that lanyards cost about 20 cents to make and they can retail for up to 50 bucks and so became the promotional item of choice for everything from beer, to cigarettes, to lanyards themselves and if you buy just 50 shots of tequila you get this classy lanyard free so all your friends know what a raging alcoholic you are.

But what is a promo girl without her “oh so classy” outfit. The fact that the outfits these girls have to wear stand out as being particularly skanky amongst the sea of skank that comprises most night clubs is really a tribute to the designers, who have removed any need to possess an imagination. I can’t decide whether these outfits are meant to be so skimpy or if these promo girls are buying their outfits on the instalment plan. I don’t drink and I have to say having a girl come up to me with her vagina hanging out is unlikely to get me to start, unless it’s supposed to make me feel sorry for her being unable to afford a complete dress and thus offer to buy her one.

One thing I will say there appears to be a direct correlation between the exclusivity of the brand and the quality of the women they employ. So while Moët and Johnny Walker appear to take some care in who they have representing their brands as all appear to be lingerie models or from the covers of fashion magazines; there are other brands that, either due to budget constraints or because they know they’re not fooling anyone (since their product is known to cause memory loss, internal bleeding and memory loss and is brewed in a bath tub) will take less rigour in choosing their brand ambassadors.

 

DO NOT MOVE! Their vision is based on movement

 

Thesy choose the kind of “girls” who look like they derive most of their income from testing experimental medicine and posing for “Before” pictures for plastic surgery and extreme weight loss programs. The kind of classy girl that it wouldn’t surprise you to find out that they’re pregnant while doing their promo work, not that that would stop them letting you buy them shots of tequila.

What scares me most when noticing how trampy and “less-attractive” these girls are, is that promo girls from all brands appear to travel in packs of at least two and in my experience, as limited as it is, there is always one who is definitely the ugly friend (here’s a tip she’s generally the one carrying the box of caps, t-shirts and lanyards) Now this is fine when we’re talking about the supermodel promo girls because then the “ugly duckling” could actually just be seen as someone attainable or in the league of “normal looking” people, but when it comes to the girls selling 2 buck Sambuca Shots the ugly girl is likely to be feral.

So next time you see Shrek and the Box Donkey limping your way do not make eye contact or you may turn into stone or even worse buy a lanyard.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the nightclub journey so far; next up… the DJ.

 

The Freaks Come out at Night…

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t go “clubbing” often, in fact I’m quite proud of the fact. Don’t get me wrong: the thought of standing in an overcrowded fire hazard with a bunch of sweaty drunken strangers as we “shake what our respective mothers’ gave us” while paying exorbitant drinks prices, is incredibly appealing to me, I just have better ways to waste my life (and my money).

Once in a while I am caught up in the frenzy of festivities such as birthdays and other celebrations, which for some reason, need to culminate in going to the club. The propensity towards ending up in the club is directly related to the number of single people in one’s group of friends;  the number of women with unhealthy self denial as to their age and stamina as if clubbing the night away would delay the ides of March marking the assassination of their fading youth;  or if there is a newly single member seeking to regain his confidence (because nothing builds confidence quite like dancing like a retard and rubbing up against some floozy with more body glitter than self respect).

What a theatre of dreams!

Regardless, on occasion I will find myself at the club doing the “boyfriend dance” (swaying side to side to the beat, pretending to have a good time) as we form a circle around the ladies’ handbags as the DJ plays crappy dance hit after crappy dance hit, occasionally breaking the monotony with random outburst of wit such as “Shake it, ladies” or “What happens in *club name here* stays in *club name here*” – yeah, except syphilis, idiot. Ever so often he will play a fairly decent song for about 10 seconds, before butchering it by revealing it to be a Dance remix of said classic.

Then we head to the bar to order shooters with names that sound more like experimental surgical procedures or what a coroner might right down in his report under the heading “cause of death”. As we shovel money across the bar, the only thing that is preventing me from going completely broke is the fact that service at the bar is so slow one only gets about one drink every hour.

As I take a look around the club, it doesn’t take long to identify several key “personalities” present; people I would hazard to say without whom the club experience would be vastly different, perhaps even enjoyable…

Over the next few posts I’d like to present my impressions of these amazing characters. Here in the magical world of the night club; a land of mystery, intrigue and cover charges.

First up… the bouncer