We are The Guys form South Florida
, we don’t pay for shit. We are masters of the open bar. We tip well and stockpile 18 drinks in under 45 minutes, finishing them all before the ice melts and before either of us yack. And we’re not giving any to you. So don’t fucking ask. We’re so fucking good, we go out to clubs you only see on Extra and Us Weekly, and pay about $20 each for the entire night. And we’re lit. We don’t buy ANYTHING for girls, ever. No matter how hot they are, we’re not giving them shit. But some guys do. Some guys are stupid and think buying a drink will get them laid. Guys with names like Cam
and Trev and Topher who wear striped
shirts and jeans, fall prey to pretty girls every day and never seem to learn their lesson. And for this they should all be shot. Because without them, girls wouldn’t think they deserved things they don’t. Of course, without them, I wouldn’t have had the euphoric experience I had Friday night.
Before the stabbing, there was an hour-long Open Bar at Mansion. Right next to me and my stockpile an extremely attractive blonde, probably about a 9, was chatting up Cam and Topher (in town from Portland, I would guess) dressed in their Banana Republic Best. After a couple of minutes, Cam, being the sucker that he is, throws down his Platinum Visa for a round of expensive-looking mixed drinks for the blonde and her three slightly-less-attractive friends. He was greeted with a thank you and a prompt migration by said blonde to the other side of the club. Our Striped-shirted hero was left about $48 poorer and with about the same chance of fucking the blonde as the homeless guy outside offering to sell me his shirt. Although said bum was pretty ripped, so he might actually have a leg up. Fifteen minutes later, we are about four drinks each into the stockpile, with roughly ten still sitting on the bar, and who should walk by but Hot Blonde in a Miniskirt. Yep, the same one that took Cam for that quick fifty bucks. She looks at our stockpile, and then proceeds to stand directly to my left without saying a word. And then she starts dancing. Not with anyone, mind you, or really by herself, but close enough to me that her ass and the occasional hand touch me. Just enough so that I’ll turn around, thinking she’s interested, and start a conversation. A conversation just long enough for me to offer her some of the stockpile. Except she picked the wrong bitter local to fuck with. Living in Miami, you can sense these things, and while it is not every day a tall, hot blonde tries to dance with me, I paid her about as much attention as I did to the guy cleaning up litter on the dance floor. The more she tried, the more I talked to my friend, and the more free vodka-cran I dumped down my throat. That she wasn’t getting. After about ten minutes, she finally gave up and asked the bartender for two drinks. She gave me a quick glance and smile after she ordered, which I promptly ignored. As she dug, defeated, into her Fendi Bag and took out her LV wallet, I looked at my friend and smiled. “Aw, look at that. Hot girl has to pay for her own drinks. Out-fucking-standing.” We stood with shit-eating grins as she pulled out the only $27 in her wallet and grudgingly handed it to the bartender. I couldn’t help thinking I’d taken one small step for mankind. If no other sucker bought her shit, she would either be stuck drinking tap water or busting out her credit card for the rest of the night, and it was only 11:30. I made her use up all her allotted cash, which she was probably hoping to spend on weed or pizza or something later. Nope, not today honey. Today you made the egregious error of thinking that I was dumb enough to give you anything. And for that you must pay. I think $25 for a couple of dirnks is an appropriate penalty. And not that Grey Goose Martini that Cam would have bought you, but a delicious, delicious Skol and 7. Drink up, you paid for it. I’m sure you figured we were gay, and that was why I was able to resist your cheap solicitation disguised as a mating dance. But no, I am not. I’m just smart and seasoned, and take pride in teaching lessons to inflated-ego tramps like you. Not every guy is going to be fooled by your looks, so don’t assume you can get whatever you want just because you’re hot. White Dade 1 Hot Chick 0.