Stamped: October 20th, 2006 | Toggle Similar
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Okay, so a few days ago I turned the ripe old age of 26. (That’s right boys, this ass is PRIME. Get it while it’s h-o-t.) Anyway, despite being at the top of my game physically, I’m a getting a leetle old for all the games.

I’m actually pretty over it. I’m pretty done with the late twenty to early thirty-something peter pans who defy all logic and are still JUST trying to get into your pants - even though conventional wisdom says they should be, oh, I don’t know, GROWING UP. In a city like San Francisco where it’s literally a straight man’s personal playboy mansion every god damn weekend, we straight shooting gals here on the west coast are left to play the universally fun game called, “Who just wants to get in my pants?” on an almost daily basis. The guys here are SPOILED and you consistently see some fugly d-bag walking out of a bar with a knockout on his arm. I mean it makes sense, if there are plenty of disposable women hanging around the less carefully you’re apt to treat them, and the less concerned you are about ending up alone – despite what a fugly d-bag you are.

Now, this is all fine and good. Not necessarily noble, but law of the jungle nonetheless. We’re the stupid bitches that LIVE here after all. Furthermore, the fact remains that a good number of females want the very same thing. It’s like trying to decide what kind of shoes to wear. It’s really about mood. Do I want to go out and shamelessly flirt with something yummy yet mildly retarded, or do I want to go have a serious conversation and meet a potentially interesting person for future dates? Like I said it’s about mood. And, I’m sure it is for guys as well. All I’m asking for a little honesty when it comes to intentions. I’m sick of guessing and you fools MUST be sick of lying. I swear, I would have so much respect for a guy who just came up to me and said with a weary brow, “Hey, so, you’re cute, and I’d like to sleep with you. I have more mommy issues than I know what to do with and I still would rather play video games than do the dishes. I really don’t want a relationship but I’d love to make you scream…in a good way.” I think I would buy HIM a drink. The world needs a little honesty and integrity and so I give to you the last bastion of both those virtues….

Yes, that’s right. The Booty Bar.

Every town needs one.

Oh, and I want royalties from all you dickwads who steal my idea. The first rule of Booty Bar IS…We don’t talk about Booty Bar. Just kidding. NO, the first rule is - All booty, all the time. You don’t come to Booty Bar if you are looking for a husband, or a date to your sisters wedding, or even a semi-coherent conversation. You come to booty bar if you want guys to buy you drinks, if you are willing to buy drinks, and if you are willing to go home at the end of the night with someone whose name you may or may not remember in the morning. This will be the first truly enlightened bar. It will mirror the zeitgeist of L.A. in the sense that everyone is superficial and skin deep and they DON’T APOLOGIZE for it, in fact they relish it. If you go to Booty Bar, everyone knows you’re there for booty, and they in turn are there for booty. The playing fields are leveled. Don’t you see? It’s brilliant. Guys can still swagger and boast and puff their chests out but they don’t have to pretend like there’s a real future at the end of the night, that there’s a chance for anything more than a damn good time. In essence, men don’t have to lie and women don’t have to guess. And really, what more can you ask for in a bar.

There will of course be very strict rules enforced. This is what will differentiate it from all those other poser booty bars out there that women still go to and secretly think they’re going to find a diamond in the rough, the kind that men still go to trying to find a “nice girl”. None of that bullshit at Booty Bar. Oh no, no, no. There will be no giving out of “numbers” unless those numbers are designated for the singular use of “booty calls”. There will be no talk of “heading to Napa” for the weekend or going for a jog together at Chrissy Field. Sorry, take your romantic interludes elsewhere. Anyone seen engaging in such behavior is promptly thrown out and banned from the Booty Bar for three Bootyless weeks. That’s right. THREE. Further, there will be no couples. You people are fucking everywhere and you WON’T get Booty Bar. You can inhabit the rest of the earth with your “Oh baby’s” and your inside jokes, but you won’t cross this threshold. However, if you are one half of a disgruntled couple that’s another story. Don’t ask, don’t tell is the Booty Bar policy but be careful because you’re girlfriend probably knows where to find you. Just like how your mother knew where to find those Hustler’s under your mattress when you were thirteen. Not rocket science. But, the Booty Bar welcomes all forms of immorality and tom foolery, so come, play, get laid – but you must be honest about it. There is no taking off of the wedding ring at Booty Bar - but don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a girl right beside you who, Just. Doesn’t. Care.

So there you have it my friends this is my gift to you, this is truth for the modern man, this is nobility in a raunchy age of meaningless sex and cute tops. This is BOOTY BAR.

Last 5 posts by Lo

• Hello, God? It's me, Fashion Mullet. - March 30th, 2007
• To Slut or Not to Slut, That is the Question... - October 26th, 2006
• Slacker Central - October 12th, 2006
• Lo's Weekly Rant: I Call Bullshit. - October 5th, 2006
• Lo's Church of Unattainable Men: Part Deux - September 28th, 2006