Peep Dis, No. 8

Meathead At The Bar

Last night, I was hanging out at my favorite dive bar in Santa Barbara, The Sportsman, drinking some Bud Lights and throwing away an opportunity for no-strings-attached sex with a knockout blonde. All in all, a pretty standard weekend night. Standard, that is, until a meathead showed up.

I was minding my own business, sipping and staring at a TV. This guy, this total meathead, comes up to the bar and yells, "Hey, can I get a drink or what!"

The bartender finished pouring what he was pouring and walked over. "About time," the meathead said.

After getting his drink, this guy started talking to his buddy about kicking somebody's ass. He was wearing a shiny long-sleeve striped shirt, with the cuffs rolled up one fold. His jeans had a sheen to them. His shirt was unbuttoned to mid-torso. He looked ridiculous.

The meathead was talking to a buddy, another college-age guy dressed like he was trying to look like the biggest douchebag in the county. In a loud voice, the meathead said, "So I said to him, 'Look, asshole, I'm going to knock you out like Chuck Liddell if you keep looking at me like that, you fucking pussy!' Can you believe that shit, dude?"

I went to the bathroom to piss, though I wanted to throw up. When I got back, this meathead was being restrained by his friend and yelling at the bartender, something about not making his drink strong enough. The bouncer, a nice guy, started asking the meathead to leave. The meathead started yelling at him. The bouncer asked him to leave again, this time lightly pushing him toward the door. The meathead took off his shirt.

Ten minutes later, this meathead was in the middle of the street, sans shirt, yelling at the top of his lungs about killing everyone in the bar.

Click here to see this sad, sad meathead.