Bottle Poppin’ = Panty Droppin’?

In the nightlife scene of “playas” and “smuts”… Yes.

I wasn’t going to do a post about clubbing, the club scene, OPM or the laundry list of shitty people that attend this crap… But I came up with the catchy title so I might as well. I’ll keep it short though, because it’s really not worth spending a significant amount of time on. I need to disclaim this by saying that I have a personal bias against people who club hop, promoters, the “VIPs” and everything else. I used to be heavily involved with this nonsense and it just drove me crazy. I basically avoid OPM like it’s the plague.

First of all, how do you not get tired of doing the same thing with the same people over and over? The music is the same. The sluts are still stupid. The guys are still assholes. Why are you still going and then complaining that your life sucks and nothing changes? You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Were you actually expecting to meet your future husband at OPM? That’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Unless you want your husband receiving oral sex in OPM bathrooms forever. How could you even use one of the toilets at this point? Smut juice is just all over that shit. Plus, the best place to find your boyfriend in the club is probably with your “best friend” in some corner with their clothes off.

Secondly, all the girls that go there to meet up with promoters that pop bottles. I HAVE NO WORDS. That actually never happens. I feel like the girls that go there belong somewhere between a trailer park and a trash dump. Especially the FAKE ones. News Flash gentlemen, boobs aren’t supposed to touch a girls’ chin. Their cheeks are not supposed to be higher than their ears. AND their lips are not supposed to be 7 inches wide. The pictures that come up on facebook the next day are retarded, and embarrassing. This is why your unemployed ass is mooching off promoters in shitty clubs, no one will hire you if you have a picture of your own boob in your mouth. Plus, all these bimbos look the same, dress the same, wear the same shoes, have their pin straight hair the same way. How do you tell them apart?  By how wide their vaginas are, clearly.

Next, the damn apparel. Typical conversations are like “Bro, is that an Emporio shirt bro?” No, it just has EMPORIO ARMANI written across the chest in one foot tall silver letters, but it’s NOT that. The amount of gucci loafers seen in that place is unacceptable. If I have a Hermes belt and YSLs on I’m automatically a better person than you who deserves better vodka to look trashier in my expensive clothes. Leave the club, get into your maxima or infiniti (haven’t decided which is worse yet) and drive into the bay. Half these guys have been in the USA for at least 18 years if not their whole lives, yet they somehow have a Russian accent. Bro, go to school and read, bro. Brooklyn is all about brands. You spend more on clothing than education. Anyone else see a problem with this?

Men also really need to learn to approach girls. Grinding up against a girl without introducing yourself is the equivalent of asking a girl out on facebook. Neither is classy and neither will get you the girl you want to bring home to your mom. The girls you find in these places use the epic excuse “I just came here to dance with my friends”. No, she didn’t. She came there to get treated like the hoe that she is and then complain about why “all guys treat her the same way”.

My dear friend Allen S. had this to say about his expectations of OPM and the women that go there:

“Once I step in there I’m already running visual identification as to what half-drunk, or non-drunk, but dressed like a nympho female is primed for “buttocks grind introduction” asap. I separate from my male friends and enter “the game,” crotch first and hope that she’s an emotional and psychological mess to the point that sex to her is the only option. That’s a good night.” 

I’ll leave you all to ponder why you probably shouldn’t be visiting these places on a regular basis. Although I heard Snoop Dogg was there a couple of week ago, perhaps he got desperate for ass.

Hamsters in a wheel.