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5:59 a.m. - 2007-01-22

WELCOME TO SKANKVILLE. POPULATION: YOU

I had a great party the other night.

T'was a birthday party for four individuals ... all turning 30.

T'was held at a local bar/restaurant that was recently purchased by a new owner.

T'was a prime opportunity for me to turn around and use the word "t'was" in this entry to assist in describing the evening.

At first, nobody would dance and I was a'sweatin' it.

Until I realized that this was the type of crowd that would need some liquid courage before they got on the floor (aka copious amounts of alcohol).

I remember the turning point ... I was playing "The Grease Megamix" because there was a slew of pretty ladies there and that got them singing and moving slightly.

Followed it up with "Jessie's Girl" while a drunk gal stumbled over to me and said "Play the dirtiest nastiest song you have because we're nothing but a bunch of dirty nasty SLUTS!"

Yes ma'am.

So I put on a song called "Cum In My Mouth".

She was right. Those dirty nasty sluts packed the dance floor, screaming the lyrics out like they were human oral ejaculation receptacles.

I fought the urge to get on the mic and say "Looks like we've got a roomful of dirty nasty SLUTS here tonight!!"

Because ... well ... I sell myself as being a "professional" and there were probably at least a handful of women there that weren't really keen on being called a dirty nasty slut in public.

After that ... putty in my hands.

About a half hour later, I played "Sweet Home Alabama" because I'm in Alabama and it never fails to get drunks to squeal and shout the lyrics.

So it's playing, the crowds squealing and this HUGE guy ... easily 6'8" grabs my mic when I'm not looking and shouts "ROLLL TIDE!!" which means he prefers cheering on the University of Alabama when it comes to college football contests.

I give him a pained smile which lets him know that while I'm not going to taser him for doing this, I do not approve of it either.

Here's a tip folks ... if you're drunk and at a party with a DJ ... don't think that just because you're drunk you can just start using the DJ's equipment.

I mean ... you wouldn't get behind the bar and start ringing up drinks on the cash register, would you?

No??

Then fucking leave my shit alone too.

So I flipped the on/off switch for the microphone off.

This little trick irritates the shit out of drunks.

Because they have no clue which of the little switches all over my mixer turns the mic back on.

So another guy comes up, grabs the mic and shouts "WAR EAGLE" into the mic. This lets everyone in attendance understand that while the last gentleman prefers the University of Alabama in all of its college football endeavors, this person leans toward professing his allegiance with Auburn University.

It's a crazy little ritual that makes drunken fucking rednecks feel important.

It's like they're saying "By God ... I will not REST until everyone in this room completely grasps the fact, that I ... Mr. Drunken Fucking Redneck ... fully support a school that would have never let me attend (due to poor grades and lack of tuition funds) by hollering out two simple words because three words would have confused me and made me go hide under my trailer while sobbing for several days until I got hungry and had to come out to go kill me a deer and eat it with my bare hands. Or something."

So when the guy grabs the mic and screams, nobody heard him.

He was apparently one of the guys in charge of humping one of the dirty nasty slutty birthday girls after the party.

So the guy looks confused like "How do you use this thing to shout 'WAR EAGLE' into?"

And then the dirty nasty slutty birthday girl decided to interfere.

"Turn on the microphone for him!" she demands.

"I can't," I lied. "My insurance doesn't cover letting clients use my equipment."

Before I go any further ... drunks do not care about rational insurance policies when they're drunk.

They just want to scream into the microphone because they just saw someone else do it and then they want to hand the microphone over to one of their friends who will then scream out the two words that symbolizes their college football allegiance and so on and so forth until someone decides to deliver a monologue as to why their school of choice is better than their rival's school of choice and do so while screaming the word "fuck" into the microphone in every single one of its connotations.

For instance: "Fuck them fucking motherfuckers! Roll fucking Tide, fuckers!!"

So then, the dirty nasty slutty birthday girl says "We're paying you $750 for this!!"

And this was true. Stupid on their part ... but true.

Now maybe this statement was supposed to instill some fear in my heart or make me change my way of thinking and flip the switch so that they could be satisfied by yelling so loud into the microphone that they blow out my speakers.

Sorry, dirty nasty slutty birthday girl.

"Yes, you are paying me," I said firmly. "And you also signed a contract that said that you understood that NOBODY was to use my equipment other than myself."

Check and MATE, slut.

Oh.

May I add a "BOO-YAAH" to that as well??

She looked at me, looked at her dejected man-slut who really really really really wanted to yell "War Eagle" into the microphone but had been rebuked. He looked as if he wanted to cry.

They then walked away and began yelling in people's ears over the music and pointing and glaring at me.

I just smiled and waved.

I'm sure their guests were sympathetic to their plight of not being able to use the microphone to scream our their allegiance to certain universities.

But the guests sure didn't show it.

They just kept smiling and dancing.



At the end of the night, the new management of the bar wanted to talk with me.

I was sure I was in some kinda trouble for having it too loud or for not letting people scream into the mic.

Nope.

They said they wanted me to start doing ALL of their private parties. They want to work out some sort of package deal where people rent the place out and they give them a set fee which includes me in the package.

I was honored and told them my price.

They grinned and said they'd call me (today).

I really don't want to tie myself down to any one certain bar anymore after just quitting a bar last month.

But hey ... if they're going to pay me my party price rather than my club price ... hell yeah.

I might even let their customers shout in the mic for that kinda deal.

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