In order to be a successful Floor Lout you must have several things:
1) A nearly infinite reserve of patience*.
2) An ability to interpret stripper-slur* that borders on the superhuman.
3) An insanely powerful S.O.S. or Strangulation Override Switch in your skull that kicks on like an emergency generator when needed to prevent you from making the world a better place one dumb slut at a time.
4) An extraordinary capacity for relating to and communicating with people who are so fucking drunk that special needs children could make better decisions than them.
5) A cranium that you can break 2X4's over and only cause negligible cosmetic damage.
6) A voice that can go from cajoling solidarity to imminent berserker with a minimum of fuss.
7) The ability to back up your imminent berserker voice with swift and efficient
containment or, failing that, sudden and remorseless violence should the situation demand it.*
8) The empathy to realize that sometimes one's massive income must be spent on blow, rent be damned.
9) The talent to make instant friends or at least make people feel guilty for causing any ruckus.
10) The ability to identify potential allies and draw upon them if the situation calls for it. Intraparty intercession is your best friend and your first line of defense in times of impending brawliness.
11) The courage to take all of your pride, dignity, self respect and job satisfaction and cram them into a tiny space inside you, not unlike the process of turning a baby cow into veal, except that you forget to feed them or put airholes in the box so they die inside you, eventually rotting and causing a foul odor which you one day mistake for your soul.*
12) The God given gift to pull back the curtain of fantasy for a split second and reveal the horrifying face of reality that all mortals should fear.
Or something like that.
In the immortal words of W.C. Fields:
"If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit."
And greater words were never spoken. Except for maybe "Yes. I would love a blowjob."
Anyway, as I ruthlessly bludgeon my internal organs with various poisons, I believe i will pull out my metaphoric gee-tar and play you The Ballad of Scuzzy McCraterTits. (original lyrics by 2 Pac-Marked Shakir)
Ha. You thought I was going to write a little song there didn't you?
Well I was. Then I thought better of it. I did however come up with the first lines. The melody for it is pretty catchy, but since I can't write or read music and wouldn't know a chord if it jumped out of a tree and bit me, you'll just have to make up your own.
"There once was a lass with slack, shanty ass
And her name was Scuzzy McCraterTits...."
Yeah. That's good folk right there.
But I digress. Remember the delightful little gal who wished death on a serviceman over $20 this past Memorial Day? Well that little charmer was back at it this weekend. What a little rascal she is.
Let me assure you if, God forbid, I ever control America, this girl will be euthanized.
She will be liquidated. She will be put to sleep. She will go to her reward. She will meet the Gorgon.
She will, in fact, be sent to a farm where she can run around free all day and play with other metaphors for being killed.
She is surplus to requirement and her baby hatch smells of neglected guinea pigs.
Yeah, I said that. Our family used to raise various rodents for
I'm not going to go into what she did this weekend. Its too aggravating. The sheer unfounded arrogance of this girl is astounding.
And that's all I have to say about that.
Now I'm going to end here and write the next installment,Stripper-Slur: The Game.
Herding my way through Shangri-Blah,
-The StripperHerder
*I don't really have this, but I'm way better at it than a lot of guys I've worked with.
*Keep an eye out in a future installment for the the Stripper Slur: The Game.
*It is not strictly necessary to be particularly big nor exceptionally tough to be a bouncer, but I recommend it. Sometimes no amount of words are going to prevent some bloodshed. Yee-Haw!
*That was one big sentence.
