INTRODUCTION: i’m a bit of a dick. i kind of thrive on that neg­ative energy. i love hating shit. maybe on my head­stone, i can have “equal oppor­tunity hater” on there or some shit, just so people know what kind of guy i was. whatever, i don’t have any tol­er­ance for stupid shit, and there’s so much of it out there that let­ting it fly without making some sort of state­ment about it feels crim­inal. not that i think i’ll change any­thing — but iron­ic­ally, that is the exact reason why it is so fun to write about it. there’s a cer­tain freedom in not being able to make a dent in the world. ima­gine if you could actu­ally change the world? then people might actu­ally have a real reason to blame you. and i couldn’t handle that. respons­ib­ility? fuck that.

so, my next master work. a detailed ana­lysis and cat­egor­isa­tion of bar sluts. to the untrained eye, it might seem that a bar slut is a bar slut, but just like child molesters and fla­vours of ice cream, they are varied and sur­pris­ingly nuanced. this is a field of study i con­sider myself an expert in, but i haven’t really touched on in depth, sur­pris­ingly enough, even though the idea of com­piling this shit has been run­ning through my head for the longest time now. but it’s sunday after­noon, i’m stoned, i’m bored, and i need some­thing to do while listening to a bunch of 2006 releases. so here goes.

ROOKIES: seems like the most appro­priate place to start. this girl is one of the easier breeds to spot. mostly, she’s a first year university/​college stu­dent (drinking age in canada is 18/​19 depending where you are), cel­eb­rating her birthday in a real bar for the first time, and she is so over­whelmed by the exper­i­ence that she doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it so she gets her­self shit-​faced so fucking fast that she passes out within the first thirty minutes of walking into any given joint. how­ever, if she is unfor­tu­nate enough not to pass out, you can find her an hour later crying her miser­able eyes out because she just puked all over her new clothes, her hair, her purse, and her boy­friend, and none of her friends really know what to do with her, so they kind of give up and leave her alone because she’s being such a fucking bitch. then she totally flips out and has to be unce­re­mo­ni­ously tossed out of the joint by her hair, ending prob­ably one of the shit­tiest nights in her life. i know half of you have been there.

STRIPPERS: think fuck-​me boots, boas, fishnet stock­ings, blinding red lip­stick, and miniskirts. they come in two fla­vours: new york and montreal. new york strip­pers are stupid bitches. montreal strip­pers are fun bitches. and there’s no way to find out which type she is until you try. maybe this ref­er­ence is lost on you ’cause you ain’t so world weary — if you’re an exper­i­enced sleazebag, you know that in montreal, it’s full con­tact in the strip joints, whereas in new york, you’re gonna get your ass kicked if you even think about cup­ping a feel. granted, most of the time, these girls aren’t actu­ally strip­pers but they might as well be seeing as how everything’s hanging out already anyway. you’ll find these girls clasping bottles of smirnoff ice on the dance­floor as they’re grinding up against all their friends while making eyes at guys. they’re a death trap ’cause if she ends up being new york when you’re trying to get your pony up in there, she’s gonna scream and you’ll be tossed. the best way to approach these ones? don’t. the chances that they might be montreal is so slight that it’s not even worth playing. they’re gen­er­ally just atten­tion whores with nothing to offer except the clap. understand?

PUMAS: an off­shoot of the stripper is the puma, a variant of the cougar but a decade younger. while cou­gars have aged so con­sid­er­ably that they think wearing leo­pard print clothing is okay, pumas are a little more toned down in their dressing method. while they don’t always adhering to the stripper dress code, you’ll find these ones honing their cougar-​to-​be skills by floating around the wood trying to snatch a free drink from some loser fatass who thinks he might actu­ally stand a chance. see, that’s the thing with pumas. while cou­gars are looking for a fuck ’cause they know their tits are already half way to sagville, pumas don’t really feel that bio­lo­gical pres­sure to get stuffed yet, so they’re just out there to take your money in the form of the most expensive cock­tail they can think of (usu­ally double cosmos). (btw, i ain’t gonna talk about cou­gars ’cause there’s really nothing new i can offer, but under­stand that they are a breed too.)

BAR STARS: the hier­archy of barslut cul­ture is com­plex and varied (thus the reason why this is being written) and at the top is the bar star. bar stars never wait in line ’cause they’ve fucked all the boun­cers and sucked off the owner. they know half the people in any given joint on any given night, and are fol­lowed by about ten guys who are under the impres­sion that he is her boy­friend (fucking idiots). they are the biggest cause of bar fights because of these crossed sig­nals. the shit part is that they’re usu­ally pretty obli­vious to the fact that so many douchebags are con­vinced that they’ve got some­thing spe­cial with her, which causes even more prob­lems. bar stars have a short life because every bar slut wants to rise to that level, and there isn’t a shortage of bitches who are willing to give brains for this kind of shitty glory.

HOLLYWOODS: these are more com­monly referred to as groupies. these are the ones that only go to bars that they know someone mar­gin­ally famous is gonna hit up. they somehow always manage to get back­stage passes any­where they go, making all their friends hunt them down for hours after last call won­dering where the fuck they went off to. even­tu­ally, she’ll be found on the internet get­ting her back burned, dug and slammed, on a hidden cam.

CONVERSATIONALISTS: prob­ably the most subtle breed, these are the ones who aren’t body-​confident enough to expose their mid­riff (even though they have no reason not to be), so they’re more into talking, more into chilling out in booths, because they aren’t “that kind of girl”, jus­ti­fying their exist­ence by the fact that they aren’t get­ting busy with half a dozen guys on the dance floor, even though they secretly want to be booty dan­cers in rap videos. so they play it a little more low key, hov­ering, waiting for some nerdy looking intellectual-​looking cat to drop some know­ledge on van gogh to catch their atten­tion. they usu­ally know the bar­tenders pretty well because they can’t dance, so all they do is talk. unfor­tu­nately, they happen to be the most boring bitches in the world. all they ever do is bitch about everyone else having way more fucking fun than they are, and all you want to say is, “why don’t you stop being such a crappy cunt and have a little fun for once?”

NON-​ALCOHOLICS: if bar stars are the queen bees, then non-​alcoholics are the shit-​eating para­sites of the bar scene. and here’s why: while all the other ones have the excuse of drinking too much to explain their actions, non-​alcoholics have no such fall back, and are just nat­ur­ally pre-​disposed to showing their snatch to any guy with a smile (and some­times not even that). these ones don’t need any lub­ricant (social or oth­er­wise) to get all ready-​steady-​go on your ass.