Why Clubs Blow

Clubbing seems to be the 'hip' thing to do for people around my age - fresh out of college, hormones still ablazin', and no partners for the sexual tension dance conveniently lined up - like sardines - in the dorms.

And I've given clubbing many a shot as well. I wanted to enjoy it each time, I really did. But instead I came up with 5 points as to why clubs, to put it lightly, blow giant steaming chunks out of a monkey's ass.

**One quick thing to note, as well, is that this is from the perspective of a single guy. I'm pretty sure clubs can be fun if you're a girl going with friends or in a relationship of some sort. I think.

1) Cost. It's one thing for the drinks to cost a lot. I actually don't mind paying $15 for a drink once in a while, as long it's for something different or interesting. But what I can't wrap my mind around is why I have to pay $20 to get in to the building, and then have the pleasure of overpaying for drinks. Girls can charm their way in, but guys are always out of luck. And, once we get in, there's:

2) Noise. Yes, I know it's a club. And people like to dance - especially to loud music. But is it really necessary for every fucking atom in my body to be gyrating to the beat before I 'have fun'? Maybe I want to dance to something that doesn't tear a new asshole in my ears.
And what if I actually wanted to say something? I think I'd have better luck underwater.

(Above: Better learn some goddamn sign language if you want to communicate in a club. Or you can also thrust morse code onto the other person.)

3) Space. Or lack thereof. I think the point of paying to dance is to have room to dance, right? Apparently, club owners think that dancing shouldn't be so much about movement as exchanging sweat with the creepy man next to you. How can you not have a great time? I think a lot of my experiences in clubs can be boiled down to this:

4) 'Dance.' One of the biggest misconceptions of clubs is that people go there to dance. No, most people actually go there to grind. This is exacerbated by point #3, leaving me helplessly lodging my elbows into my rib cage in a futile attempt to avoid the thrusting couples on either side of me. I'm surprised they don't tear holes in them apple bottom jeans. And I really don't think it's a good sign when one pair of people can grind more in 3 minutes than this:
If I placed a crate of avocados between two people at a club, I'd have a fucking lifetime supply of guacamole.

5) Girls. Girls in clubs can often be separated into three categories. The ones who go for fun with their friends (they're mostly fine, except when they insist on making a circle and spreading it farther and farther apart). The ones who go with their boyfriends or boytoys (see: #4). And the ones who go looking like they had about a square foot of cloth, 5 inches of thread, and 3 minutes with which to make their clothes before they came here.
Some of the girls that show up at clubs put Pop Tarts to shame.

(Above: Guess what that's supposed to represent?)

When clubs are populated by these scantily dressed, sexually diseased (perceptually, at least) specimen who are presumptuously deprived of self-esteem, that's when I really want to go home.


Instead of clubs, I much prefer going to bars. If the bar happens to have a dance floor, that's fine too. But sometimes I like to sit somewhere and be able to talk to somebody. I think that How I Met Your Mother episode also did a pretty good job summing up clubbing.

At the same time, I can't say I'll never go back to a club again, if only because my friends and I have yet to try out the Sexy Robot, which is probably the best thing that I've come up with ever...ever.