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05:03:29 - 2000-03-20


In 1984, at the age of 22, I took a job as a bouncer in a bar called Bentley's.

I was in college at the time, and needed to earn a little money to stay afloat. Bentley's ran an ad in the paper, I answered it, the manager took one look at my size and hired me.

I'm not HUGE. Currently, I'm 6'3" and 242 lbs. Then I was probably closer to 220. I'm big, but I'm not ready for the travelling freak show yet.

Anyway, I was broke in by a guy named Jerry. Jerry didn't have a mean bone in his body and was more of a "doorman" then a "bouncer". He held the door open for all the ladies and flirted with each one of them.

Me? I wanted to kick some ass.

Bentley's was a more up-scale bar than a biker bar, so we didn't get a whole lot of fights in there. I was there about eight months and remember just a handful of physical altercations that I was involved in.

One, I will NEVER forget. This guy came in the bar, all by himself and proceeded to get really drunk.

He then started stumbling around and talking to all the women in the bar. Even if they were already with men.

Which...for those of you looking to get a serious ass a good way to start.

The crowd started thinning out and a lady came up to me and said "You need to get over here on the dance floor".

I quickly made my way to the dance floor and saw my drunk buddy on the dancefloor.


Shaking his pecker at a table full of women.


Out of his pants and everything.

I quickly got over to him, grabbed him by the back of the collar with one hand and his the back of his pants with another and practically picked the little shit up (he was incredibly light for as much as he had drank), and forced him to the front of the building.

Once we got to the door, I literally THREW him onto the sidewalk.

I had no idea I was capable of such a physical act. I was pretty proud of myself.

The drunk redneck splatters onto the sidewalk, hollering "motherfucker" the entire time.

I was FURIOUS at this point. It was all psychological, and complicated, but I'll try to break it down here.

IN ORDER FOR A bar to be successful, you must have two things...whiskey and women.

In the bar business, a table full of women is gold. Four women at a table will keep twelve guys in a bar, buying more and more whiskey.

When the women leave, the men leave, the whiskey goes back on the shelf, and the club quits making money.

Trust me, there's no quicker way to get a table full of women to leave a bar then putting an ugly, drunken weasel of a redneck in front of them, yanking his pathetic crank for all to see like some disturbed mental patient.

So Cletus here had actually fucked with my paycheck when he decided to organize his one-man public forum on masturbation.

After he had hit the sidewalk, screaming and cussing, he scrambled to get up to take a swing at me.

By that point, I had bartenders, deejays, customers, boyfriends, EVERYONE behind me. The little shit looked up and saw about 20 guys staring back at him, ready to whip his never-before-seen ass.

"I'm gonna get you, motherfucker," he slurred at me.

"Get the fuck outta here and don't come back," I growled back.

I've seen the guy several times over the years since then and he never acknowledged me. I think he was so damned drunk that night that he remembers none of it. He certainly doesn't remember me, or if he does, he's not about to cross me.

Another guy ... heh...God bless him. He picked on the wrong bartender one night.

My wife.

I'll be the first to admit, at the time, my wife could be a bitch. To this day, I'm appalled at the way she treats grocery store cashiers and waitresses. She's not rude, but she's not nice either. Just cold.

Anyway...geeez...before this turns into a "Bash Mrs. Bob" entry ... I had switched to a club that my wife was bartending in. One night, Susie came up to me almost in tears.

"Some guy just called me a bitch," she said.

If I recall, we were both having a bad night. This club was about three times the size of Bentley's, so I was constantly monitoring the crowd, making sure everyone was staying cool.

And then the one guy who can't stay cool slipped past me and called the one woman that I would physically defend a "bitch".

Susie walked back over to the offending guy with me in tow. She pointed at him and kept walking and I stopped at the offender.

"Did you just call the bartender a bitch," I asked.

"Hell yeah ... she IS a bitch," the guy said. "She cut my ass off." the bar business, employees usually get called a lot worse than "bitch" on a busy night. But, seeing as we were newlyweds and I was her macho knight in shining armor, tonight I felt I had to defend her.

I looked at the guy and smiled and said "That bitch is my wife. C'mon, you're outta here."

He looked at me and said AND I QUOTE "That's fine, but she's STILL a bitch."

I snapped. The guy was just being a drunken jerk and wanting to get the last word. I grabbed him with both hands by the collar and jerked both fists and collars upwards into his jaw, stunning him.

Then ... and I don't know why I did this...I pulled his collar apart, and ripped his shirt open, popping his shirt buttons everywhere in a crowded bar.

I did all this in a matter of seconds before the guy could react. All he knew was he had been popped in the jaw and stripped topless before he could blink.

I'll never forget the guy's pale, flabby chest. Joe Cool looked like my grandfather naked.

Meanwhile, the crowd around him started laughing. I ushered him outside, tossed him in a taxi and wished the taxi driver good luck.

The next day, the guy called the club and demanded we pay him for his shirt.

I got docked $26.

Oddly enough ... we apologized to each other a few nights later, he assured Susie he had been shitfaced and she did the right thing for cutting him off. We'd shake hands and smile when we saw each other.

But I never began to like the guy. I was just employing professional courtesy.

Man...I can't discuss being a bouncer without discussing the ladies.

Young guys out there...if you are single and the LEAST bit physically intimidating ... get a job as a bouncer.

Jerry taught me well. There was a little coat closet that was never used right off the front of the club.

Jerry was in there CONSTANTLY with women. And the bastard wouldn't come out for air either.

Meanwhile, I would have to keep an eye on the club myself while he got his chain rattled.

I took a few girls in there, but just kissed.

One God, whatta cutie...was in there with her fellow female softball team players. She got tipsy and decided to come keep me company.

She asked me if I had ever had a blowjob while the woman had ice in her mouth. As I had experienced about as many blowjobs as I had bullet wounds at that time, I told her "no".

"You want one," she asked innocently.

Those of you that know me, know my fear of oral sex.

I had to decline.

So we just did some deep kissing with ice cubes in her mouth. It's the only time I've done that, but it was really cool. Slipping an ice cube back and forth between us.

Never saw her again after that. Wouldn't spot her if you put her in a police line-up either.

All I remember is she was blonde, tan, had blue eyes and one cold-assed tongue.

There's other stories I could tell, but geez...It's 5:30 a.m. and I've been writing for an hour. It's time to get productive around here.

Hey...have a great day. And I GUARANTEE ya ... if ya click on those links to your left, you can stay entertained for hours.

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