Before I started working as a bouncer at a bar in East Lansing, MI, I had a hypothesis regarding dudes who started fights when they are out at the bar or a party. There was an inverse relationship between size and likeliness to fight. That is to say, the smaller the guy, the more likely he is to pick a fight. Being a bouncer, I find this troubling and kind of funny at the same time. Also, I’d like to start this off by saying that I absolutely am judging these guys/sometimes girls. Judging you all with extreme prejudice.
Generally, there are two types of tough guys. You really can only pick one out of a crowd, but the other one is a lot more dangerous (relatively).
1) The all-around bad motherfudgeer
These guys aren’t that fun to write about because they are super tough 24/7. It’s a lifestyle for them. They train for their fights 5 days a week at the gym (biceps and abs everyday). It’s pretty routine, they start a fight and get kicked out of the bar. Nothing special aside from the fact that these guys (9 times out of 10) are always wearing the most bedazzled Ed Hardy shirt that money can buy. Side note: Ed Hardy t-shirts are among the most expensive, stufftiest t-shirts on earth. Yet, people continue to buy them and wear them to bars even when it virtually disqualifies you from conducting any poundage trains with any girl with any sense in her.
2) Beer Muscles
Every single person reading this knows this guy. This guy is really skilled. Really skilled at getting one beer in him, sizing up everyone in the bar, then fabricating a reason to fight the lowest common denominator in the bar. The drunkest and smallest. I find that most of the time the guys who pick fights actually do have reasons to be angry. Most of them are fat douchenozzles. The majority of them come into the bar with the mentality of: “I came here to find me a ripe pound mound, and kick some ass. But since I’m a total fudgedonut, I ‘spose I’ll just kick some ass.”
So here’s my advice to both of these types of people in the form of a “versus” chart:
Quite a few fights start over girls. A naked woman is the prime motivating factor in the majority of guys’ lives. It’s a little bit like oxygen in that it’s only really important if you aren’t getting any. Guys will focus on little other than the question of how he can get a girl to let him violate her.
Fighting, for most bouncers, is a lose-lose situation. A little bit like traveling to Mexico. Mexico sucks, not a single redeeming quality. It is almost never a fair fight size-wise, and it is absolutely never a fair fight because 99% of the time, the person is drunk. So I avoid it at all costs.
A few weeks ago, I was checking ID’s at the door of the bar I work at. There was a very typical Beer Muscle type of guy that came into the bar relatively early. I want to describe him, but it’s hard. I found a picture that is no doubt his childhood photo.
He was about 6’4”, 250 pounds of pure, unadulterated mush. He was definitely living his life through the teachings of Michael Moore. Anyway, he passed me a few times throughout the night to go outside and smoke, and every time he came back in, he jawed at people in the line. This is pretty typical, but he was flipping them off like he was Marilyn Manson flipping off a crowd of people disgusted with him. Cut to about two hours later, he was getting dragged out of the bar by two bouncers for starting numerous fights. This is another case of knowing when to cut your losses. He needed people to know that he had the biggest swinging dick in all of East Lansing. Side note: The East Lansing Police Station is directly across the street from the bar I work at, about 50 yards away. Once outside, this fat butt wouldn’t leave and go home. I try to avoid threats because it’s never really good to antagonize a big slob like this, especially if you hate kicking the stuff out of someone with the motor skills of a gorilla with cerebral palsy. This is how it went.
Me: Alright, man, it’s time to get off the porch and go home.
ToughMuffin: Fuck that, fudge you, I’m coming back in, it’s bullstuff you kicked me out.
At this point, I can see his eyes are completely glazed over, and he takes a half swing at another door guy and stops as though to strike the fear of God into my co-worker.
Me: Okay, Rocky, it’s time to leave or we’re calling the cops.
TM: Yeah! I am Rocky, motherfudgeer!
After that, he, and I stuff you not, started shadowboxing. In the street. While every single person who walked by laughed at him. Watching this mess of a human being shadowbox was a lot like watching that fat dude getting hit with a cannonball in the stomach in slow motion. There was a lot of movement in his face and midsection that was just plain offensive to the eyes. I threatened to call the police again and he split. He didn’t run, obviously, but he left. He actually left before anything terrible happened, but I have seen guys get beat up by the police and get arrested for being obnoxious douchecopters.
There’s not a lot of advice for this person. You know who you are, but you probably gave up reading in high school so you’re probably not reading this. Guys, in general, just keep it together.
