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New Years Eve always has been and always will be the most overrated holiday of the year. There’s all this pressure to have this legendary night that never happens, and in the mean time you spend way too much money, stand in lines that are way too long, and you’re forced to be around people who suck at life. Nothing better illustrates my point than “clubs” like “Royale Boston” that charge you for tickets and offer “VIP” services to wannabe ballers from all over:
I would rather Occupy Wall Street than pay $150 for VIP tickets to a night club that’s probably gonna require me to take out a second mortgage in order to get drunk on New Years Eve. And how much of a moron do you have to be to by the $40 ticket to come in after 12:30? Think about that for a second. You’d be there for exactly one hour while they’re serving alcohol. And for that privilege it would cost you $40. No drinks included with that though. You’re literally just paying for the privilege of standing next to a bunch of Euro-trash that just got their eyebrows touched up that day for the big event.
My question is, are you really having $300 worth of fun by going out to a place like this on NYE? Because for $300 you better be getting to at least third base in order to for it to pay dividends. Let’s be honest. For every guy in America the possibility of a night cap HJ is literally the only point in going out. If it weren’t for the slim chance that you’d actually be getting lucky at the end of the night then there would be no point in going out. Sure, it almost NEVER works out the way you planned. But the remote possibility still exists, so you go out on New Years Eve anyway.
But there’s a million ways you can have a good time on New Years Eve without paying $300. And after paying for the “tickets,” “VIP,” cabs, man-scaping, overpriced drinks, and your $120 t-shirt, you’re probably gonna spend more like $500. And for what? To hang out with these guys at Royale?
Looks like fun.
Seriously though, 99% of the time you’re left with a hangover and blue balls. There’s plenty of time for that when you’re married. I don’t really go out much anymore, but if I did, I’d be having a Blarney New Years Eve this year. I know I’m basically giving them free advertising right now, but you’ll never get drunker for cheaper than you will at the Blarney. And if you’re like I was back in the day, you’re looking for one thing, and one thing alone in your women – mediocrity. That’s the whole purpose of drinking. Turning mediocre babes into junior smokeshows. Two $4 Blarney long islands always do the trick. You’ll be making out with some Clark girl who doesn’t love you in no time (preferably someone who didn’t occupy Lincoln Square last month).
I think the best part about being a grown ass man is that I don’t have to pretend that night clubs are cool anymore. Back when I was 19 I used to go to this magical place called “On the Rocks.” It was the only place my shitty, shitty ID worked at. But places like that and Royale play techno music until your brain explodes. It’s literally impossible to talk to anyone, which I think they do on purpose because these guys have nothing interesting to talk about
The goal fore these dooshnozzles is to try to look as fancy as possible in order to impress the Israeli girls in cocktail dresses. Naturally these babes wanted nothing to do with some Goober like myself with a backwards hat draped from head to toe in the finest American Eagle apparel from the clearance rack.
Another thing that’s great about the Blarney is there’s no dancing. When the music is too loud it’s because the DJ wants to be the center of attention. Hey asshole, my dance moves consist mainly of slowly creeping up behind a strange girl and commencing with the bump and/or grind. By playing the music so loud my only play is dancing. That’s not the strength of the white boy. I just MIGHT be able to pull in some mediocrity on New Years Eve but that would require me being able to talk to a girl without shouting in her ear and watching her clear away the spit while she says, “WHAT????”
Last thing. I just wanna talk about the most legendary New Years Eve of all time. It was NYE ought one going into ought two. We were on Southgate St, which is a lovely cut through street that hookers use to shoot up while they’re on break. When you’re 20 years old and you’re looking for a party there are very few friends who actually have their own place, so you take what you can get.
But the problem with partying on Southgate St is when the neighborhood kids showed up. Now these were some legit gangsters. We were cool with them, but only because we gave them daps and avoided eye contact. They called my friends the “Corporation” on account of our fancy health care, lack of children, and plans for the future.
Well one of the corporates fucked up around 12:30 that night when he slammed the door to the 2nd floor apartment in some girl’s face. Turns out the girl was someone’s baby momma. Since my buddy was a 22 year old South High grad, he was obviously crazy and thought he was invincible. Naturally then he thought it wise to accept the challenge to fight the neighborhood street toughs in the back yard for what he thought would be a one on one fight. These things NEVER end up as one on one on Southgate street though. It ended with him going down in flames while Canterbury Street School’s finest alumni reigned blows down upon him.
Once word got inside to the other corporates that this kid was jumped, let’s just call him “Billy,” shit hit the fan. The disadvantage for the corporates were that they weren’t crazy enough. The Southgate street kids had nothing to lose, and there isn’t anything scarier than a Main South kid with nothing to lose. The teams weren’t fair.
So when round two broke out inside the house it was like a World Star Hip Hop video except almost everyone was at least partly white. I watched as a china hutch was purposely downed on top of some poor drunk girl decked out in her finest Abercrombie vest. I saw people hiding in closets as plates were then thrown across the room in abject chaos. I tried to find refuge in one of the bedrooms only to discover a bunch of 13 year old junior street toughs emptying my buddies closet of it’s clothing. The whole thing lasted ten minutes and we were left to look at a completely destroyed apartment with blood everywhere. It was AWESOME.
So tonight I’m happy to say that I’m old and loving it. I’ll be drinking wine with Mrs. Turtleboy and playing Cards Against Humanity. And it will be free, and I will be drunk, and merry times will be had by all. So if you turtle riders heed my advice for tonight I guarantee you a happy new year.
Feel free to share your thoughts to keep the conversation going.
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