So last week, while wandering around Coronado Island, I was walking by a store and I saw this:

Really. Like really.
You took traditionally garments from my Mexican people, and whored them up 128 percent. WHAT. First of all, shut up. Secondly, what ridiculous person would even wear sure a terrible looking thing. I mean Mexicans wear these traditional garments because they’re practical. Or something.

I mean the red, blue, and green strips are designed to dissipate heat in the summer days. It’s Mexican Science that proves these colors are anti-heat insulated. And they are made of old news papers because every Mexican knows that old news papers are considered to be a sign of wealth. And then comes a long little Mrs. Polly, with her pink furred boots and her whore Mexican shirt, totally disgracing my people. My people have suffered many moons, and I will not stand for this Whore-zilla taking anything away from my heritage. In fact I’m going to call all my cousins, and go down there, well, and get all loco on that store fool. Orale well. Leave embarrassing Mexicans to embarrassing Mexicans like me. I don’t need your help, well.

Another thing.
Dear Douche Bags who wear black hats at Moondoggies on Thursday night,

I hate you. Why don’t you and your clone army all go back to bald white guy on riods island. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Look people, I’m an engineer which makes me a numbers person. I am going off hard empirical proven statistics. Don’t just think this is just Ol’ Steven going off on a rant for no reason. It’s all in the numbers. Please see graphs and percentages above for details.

Okay, Okay, extremely harsh I know. And slightly unfair towards ALL guys that wear a black hat. I exaggerate to make a point and I feel like being a jerk tonight.

So you’re asking where does this deep routed dislike for black hatted jerks stem from.
Bouncers. The bouncers at Moondoggies. And planet earth for that matter.

By day, they wake up at noon, head the gym, maybe the beach, take some shirtless photos of themselves to post on myspace, then take an afternoon nap. Maybe even a few of them have day jobs, maybe their lawyers and doctors and engineers, or maybe and more likely their busing tables or doing construction or a janitor. I’m not looking down on these types of jobs, not all. I respect these jobs, I used to have these jobs. I understand these jobs.

What I don’t understand is why when they start their job as a black hatted wearing bouncers at Moondoggies they become all powerful super jerks.

And they know they do. And they can be. They are the keepers of the line. They and they alone have the power to decide who gets in and waits in line for an hour while the place is half way filled up. I don’t understand. I mean I can see tons of space inside, but yet the line is at a stand still. This is the mystery of the line. This is why he gets paid the big bucks. And when you finally make your way to the front, it’s like being hand pick by Jesus himself. It’s your turn. You’re soo close, but yet still at the mercy of the gate keeper. You’re trying to be cool, like you been in a thousand times and it’s no big deal that your about to go in. But in reality the little voice in your head is screaming for joy, like you just won the super bowl, waiting for the moment the bouncer lets you in so you can walk in and pass a smug smile to the rest of the chumps in line. Because you know for that moment in time, you are better in every way possible than every person still in line. Every way.

What other occupation do you have people begging you for services, girls flashing you for what you have and people bribing you like you had something to do with owning the bar? When else can someone with a myspace headline of “Sup ladies, baller in da house ” decide whether to let in the Nobel Peace Prize Winner or the hot blonde. Actually, I’m just jealous. Extremely jealous. Because as I patiently wait in line with all the “normies”, and at any given time a horde of attractive girls can swoop in and get in an hour ahead of me. And I’m not going to lie, I’ve bribed my way into “Linedoggies” once or twice before. Actually my buddy Dan is the king of bribing the bouncers at Moondoggies. He sometimes bribes them to get in, even though there’s no line. But I side track. I hate bribing the bouncer, I mean it’s MOONDOGGIES. In PB. It’s not like I was at some super hot club in Vegas, or a Cher concert.
I know they have a job to do, and I know they do it. But I’m just bitter is all and all I have is writing in my online diary making fun of them in secret. P.S. I would be banned from Moondogs for life if one of the bouncers read this. Good thing for me, they don’t know how to read. ZING. Just kidding. I don’t actually mean to offend them, and if by chance one of them actually is “reading” this blog, they do great work. Please continue to form unnecessary lines, inside and outside the bar, please continue to let in whore-zillas hours before me, and please please continue to let me bribe you into your wonderful establishment.

With that said, if anyone would like to meet up next Thursday I can be found waiting in line for Moondoggies.