To Club-Goers With Their Unhappy Faces On

Occasionally, I’ll put down my pen and glass of bourbon and head for the Avenue for some Whyte night life. There’s nothing quite like waiting outside a club in the Canadian winter for 30 minutes out to consume $6 draft beer and dance a little.

What could be better? Well, there seems to be a growing number of people on the weekends wearing their unhappy faces. These people in the latest styles dancing and drinking while looking as if they just came from a funeral. Don’t worry beautiful sad people, your cat didn’t die in a microwave, your mom still hasn’t found those spring break videos you made after drinking tequila for the first time,  and your boss hasn’t discovered you haven’t finished any work since you’ve started your job. There is no reason to look so upset.

Perhaps some people realize the promise of drunken casual sex and bathroom coke won’t rescue them from themselves, yet continue to engage in the nightlife out of habit. Who knows? Just try to look amused when I throw up on your shoes…

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

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4 comments on “To Club-Goers With Their Unhappy Faces On

  1. Al says:

    I hear you, I don’t even go to Whyte ave. now ’cause of the recent stab-a-thon.

  2. Mingus says:

    Go to the sidetrack on Friday. Me and a producer or two are going drinking and watching The Secretaries play their Dean Martin variety hour thing.

    Should be fun.

    How the fuck are you, anyhow?

  3. Dumbo sat idly by as the chicken ate his shit.

  4. Cassandra says:

    Update, dammit! Update!
    “I need more letters,” noted the frozen girl near the Hudson’s Bay. She noted later that noting doesn’t mean said, it means to note: to write down, or make special attention of an idea in one’s mind.
    J-school does serve a purpose.

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