An open e-mail to bouncers everywhere

-----Original Message-----
From: Will "The Thrill" Grasty
Sent: Friday, May 22, 2009 1:30 AM
To: Self-righteous bouncers
Subject: The futility of your existence



Dear cocksuckers,

Allow me to speak for the general public when I say that we're all terribly intimidated by your husky physique, cargo shorts, and $1 sunglasses. Your brand of toughness should be bottled, packaged, and sold in GNC store locations everywhere. We cannot help but envy your status amongst the cultural elite. If only one day we could have the power to waddle into a bar, fill out an application, and sheepishly admit to having no skills beyond existing. What a wonderfully impressive form of social climbing. But alas, that's what separates the doers from the dreamers.

Yeah, I get it. You smash that which you don't understand, you think Lattimer from The Program is the coolest guy since Rocky Balboa, and you were voted Most Likely to Commit Statutory Rape in high school. You are a regular Joe Beefcake, women swoon at the sight of your barbwire tattoo, and the world salutes your courageous efforts in the war against underage drinking. Every night you pound your HGH shake, drive your Mazda 6 to work, use the employees' entrance, and flat-out get the job DONE. You are a true competitor; your prideful spirit coupled with your minimum wage salary has cemented the bouncer species as recession-proof.

Unfortunately, you are not the gatekeepers of responsible alcohol consumption, nor are you the heroic protectors of sanctity. You are not a beloved warrior who gracefully walks the earth, instilling justice and retribution along the way. Nope, you are just another guy with a buzzcut and misappropriated facial hair who just happens to sit on a stool outside a bar with the task of subtracting 1988 from 2009. While you might believe that you stand between good and evil, much like Gandalf (oops, nerd reference), you actually stand between prospective drinkers and their inevitable battles with their own inner demons. In the grand scheme of things, that's a pretty insignificant place to occupy.

In case you forgot, your primary job requirements involve (a) wearing a t-shirt, (b) sweating a lot, and (c) taking up space. Without question, security is a necessary evil, especially when alcohol is prominently involved. But you untrained and unskilled meatheads don't secure anything. If I'm ever in danger, I really hope my livelihood doesn't rest in the clumsy hands of Ram, the former D-III special teamer.

Please don't misunderstand: this is not to say that all bouncers are bad. Certainly there exists a noble contingent that thankfully understands the meaningless nature of their career. We appreciate the humble bouncers who quietly and respectfully spot fake IDs, escort belligerent patrons outside, and even break up the occassional fight. But too many of you take yourselves too seriously. You know who you are. If you cross your arms, chew on a toothpick, and use oh-so-witty catchphrases like "Time for you to leave," then do us all a favor and reevaluate your inflated sense of self-worth. Your cankles are not a force to be reckoned with. For realz.

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