Queens of the Frickin' Universe

There is a local club where occasionally, for reasons I will never fathom, I decide would be a nice place to spend my evening. The sticky bar, overcrowded dance floor and disgusting toilets (seriously? Do you girls stand with your back against the cubicle doors and try and hit the bowl from there or something?) obviously all just add to the pure class of the place and there is only one factor that lets this venue down: the god awful women.

Let's just pretend for the purpose of this blog entry that I'm not a female (I am, by the way, despite what the lack of breasticles might imply) because I have no idea what happens to girls the moment they seem to step over the threshold of this place. Whatever it is, it ain't pretty. Firstly, we must remember that by day these women are probably reasonably normal. I would assume only a small minority of them spend their days watching Jeremy Kyle and eating Iceland's finest chicken nuggets and that, for the most part, the majority have jobs. These jobs may even occasionally involve conversing with other people with some manor of decorum and class. I would also assume that these women weren't actually spawned by the Devil, despite the unquestionable evidence to the contary, and that they might even have families. That love them. Basically I'm just trying to get across to you that these women aren't always god awful, they just seem to transform into absolute twatheads once the sun goes down. Like vampires. But not the Twilight kind. The twathead kind.


Once darkness is upon us and these women have got a few cheeky WKDs down them, they are ready and 'excited 4 a nite out wiv the girlies', things change. I'm not sure if it's the badly applied fake tan (not that I can talk) or the unevenly drawn on eyebrows that does it, but somehow these women convert from being reasonably normal job-having females, to absolute monster bitches who think they are Queen of the Frickin' Universe. Well let me tell you something, honey, just because you managed to put your eyelashes on straight today that does not mean you don't have to say 'sorry' having poured your horrendously overpriced vodka-redbull all down my new dress. 

I don't know what it is about this club. You can go to the club in the next town and, yes granted, you are far more likely to get stabbed but at least they'll say 'excuse me' as they do it. Manners don't cost nuttin', people! In this particular club though it is almost the rules that you have to shove your way through the crowd, stamp on stranger's feet, spill your drink and give the trade mark 'out of my fucking way, minion' pout, just to find the stranger whose tonsils you were getting acquianted with earlier. Don't even pretend you know what his name is. I'm not saying you are not more than welcome to go and be a slut on your own time, but instead of thinking you are the most important hoe in the club, why not appreciate that others are here to have a good time too and they don't particularly appreciate having to be carried home because your stilleto has gone through their foot? 

These women also seem to become extra mouthy after stepping into this club, with 'what the fuck are you looking at?' becoming one of the most over-used phrases of the night. Actually, I was going to tell you that you've dropped your phone but NEVER MIND ME. CARRY ON. HOPE YOU TRAMPLE ON IT WITH YOUR OWN HOOF. Suddenly, every man who looks in their direction is a pervert who is trying it on, rather than a human being who happens to have a penis and thought that you looked like someone they knew. I don't know what gives these women such a jumped up sense of their own worth but it is completely unjustified. Some of these women literally look like their cheeks are made of two ballsacks sewn together. 

There doesn't seem to be a particular 'type' of woman who goes by the rule of 'I'm the most important person here and I am not going to politely ask anyone to move, I'm just going to use my elbow as a weapon'. I guess you'd expect it to mostly be the stunners that think they own the room, which might be fair enough. But, get this, the fatties think they do too! And they do a lot more damage on account of all the 'extra weight' they are carrying. Girl, it is not fair to use your body against other people in the club and become a human wrecking ball. Selfish. Selfish. Biatch. Whatever happened to just being nice to each other? And not acting like wilderbeest? And saying 'excuse me' if you need to get past? And accepting that there is no such job as 'Queen of the Frickin' Universe? And that, if there was, that title would obviously go to Lotte?