Things I Motherfucking Hate

I’m trying out something new here. At the end of every month (or near the beginning of the next one), I am writing a “Motherfucker of the Month” (MFOTM). In December, I’ll do a little showcase and decide on the “Motherfucker of the year” (MFOTY).

I don’t even know the name of this month’s Motherfucker. She does exist; she is a girl; I hope to never meet her again. Ever. She had a profoundly negative effect on my Thursday night (January 29th).

I was somehow roped into going to a Ski Team event at a club called Rouge on Thursday. I paid 10 bucks for a ticket to what I consider to be a pretty worthy cause, seeing as I have quite a few friends on the Ski Team and they get negative funding from the school (I wouldn’t be surprised if the school made them acquire the rights to ski under the McGill name, hence negative funding). I thought I’d donate. I’m not a very generous guy, so I guess they caught me on a good night.

Anyway, I hate clubs. Despise them. They are vacuous, soul-sucking, music-blaring sweat chambers. The people who frequent clubs are equally as vacuous and soul-sucked (if any of my readers (Mom plus two more people) frequent clubs, please stop reading. Forever.) It’s not just that you can’t hear anything, or that you wake up in your own puddle of… liquids, or that you can’t get a drink unless it’s red, pink or blue, has a mountain of ice spilling out of the glass and costs 11 dollars, it’s all of the above.

Plus, my least favourite person as of January ‘09 goes to them, so yeah, permanent blemish.

The night started out shitty, since, for some reason, Rouge thought to get the event sponsored by Coors Light. You’re telling me that I have two choices: I either get water in a beer bottle or a mixed drink that has no discernible difference from me licking a deodorant stick? I would pass on both if I could, but the heat and confusingly ever-present smell of urinal cakes was getting to me, so I needed… something. I’d save the Old Spice for later; at least the Coors was cold.

The thing I like doing when I go out to be social, is to be social. Social is sitting around a table with a few friends shooting the breeze, or spastically dancing, and embarrassing myself with a large group of people. Being social is having fun. I hate the isolation from dance clubs; shit just ain’t fun.

Anyway, I was trying to recreate my fun experiences by grabbing a beer and dancing with some friends. There was a lot of “WHAT!?!?” “I CAN’T HEAR YOU” and shoulder shrugging, but we found a rhythm. And then a friend of a friend came over who I knew, sort of, and with her came the MFOTM, Ms. January.

I thought, “hey, that’s cool, we are making the group bigger.” and grabbed another beer. For some reason, when I got back, this chick tried to grab the beer from my hands, and though Coors Light is not very high on my ’safeguard list,’ I was thirsty as all hell, and kind of wanted to drink it.

Of course when I tried to pull it back to me, she tried harder to get it away. And when she tried that, I shot a ‘who the fuck does she think she is?’ glance to a friend, and he did the ‘what’s going on; I’m confused’ back. I didn’t want this to turn physical, so I just tried to out-muscle her by pulling the beer towards my body.

At this point, I am unsure as to what happened. I have different versions of the story concerning the girl’s motivations, but the same event happened: she took her hands off my beer, and moved them to my crotch. And then viced down hard. Hard as FUCK.

My friend thinks she was flirting with me (huh?), so maybe if I saw her ‘potential,’ I would just surrender the beer.

I think she was trying to get me to keel over and cry on the floor, rendering me defenceless, and then beerless.

I did neither, as at that point, I raised a swift knee into her forearm while simultaneously turning my body away. I have a strict ‘do not hit girls policy’ that was rightfully amended because of a crippling force directed on my testicles. She wasn’t even hurt.

I then, after kneeing her arm off my balls, turned and grabbed the first person behind me, moved them in front of me, and pointed and yelled at Mrs. January. My whole group of friends also froze her out and she was never to be seen again, though I did have to look over my shoulder for the rest of the night.

Congratulations, hands-like-vice-on-balls girl, you are the Motherfucker of the month.

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