A Guide to Bar etiquette.

You're a tactless oaf and your personality needs bubble wrap. That is my message for you, today.
“But the Ale-house is the sole location where my usually faultless gentile behaviour CAN degrade into that of a slurring monkoid!” I hear you trumpet. And how right you are my furry little trousersnap. But as we all know deep down in the brains of our dicks and the rationality of our oestrogen*, there are indeed don’ts and there are indeed “oh god please don’t tell me she’s oh you bastard you fucking bastard please!” don’ts. HA! Many’s the time I’ve approached a gate monkey sporting the courage that only 15 Glenfiddich and Lucozades affords, and tried to bribe my way in with a banana. One banana!? Do you know how much one of those things EATS? A BUNCH maybe, but this time of night with one, yer dreamin. One time I actually tried to eat a fake banana from a display, but lets not wax lyrical. We’re talking etiquette honey child. (For those of you who resent being called this we have the more fitting “grapefruit child” or even “tamarillo child”. Its really up to you.)
We’ll try to cover all of the sewer dwelling rat bastards that together form the social protocol, along with the appropriate way to squash and kill each one. Sure I could have summed this whole introduction up in one sentence. I just did.
On to the first rat bastard, then.

1.Vomiting? Unless you want to wake up in the morning with some seriously funky smelling dreadlocks, invest in a hair clip.

2. Sleeping? It is actually possible to pass out with your eyes still open to avoid ejection, it just take a very advanced state of intoxication. Very very advanced.

3. Shouting? Try your hardest luv but I can hardly hear myself think in here! Just kidding. Actually shouting someone a round can be good if you have
-Mistakenly grabbed a six foot eight ex-con’s girlfriend’s arse.
-Mistakenly grabbed a six foot eight ex con.
-Mistakenly thrashed him in pool- you get the idea.
-Lots of money. Chances are if you’re really that loaded you’ll have exploited at least one person in the room. This way you can give something back.
Shouting can be bad for example if you are sending a round of drinks to a group girls in low cut tops who are twenty years your junior, whilst wearing a similarly low cut open shirt that reveals an abundance of chest sproutage matched only by the scouring cloth material you have on your back. By doing this you have just elevated yourself from “hideous nobody” to “lecherous sleaze”- topped only by “drooling maniac” and of course “clumsy git”.

4. Clumsiness? Yes- I mean you clumsy! You that just turned around at the mention of your name and laid to waste a whole tray of precariously layered shooters that were requested by punters in accordance with their own latent desires! (eg. Quick Fucks, Cocksuckers and for the hardware inclined, Screwdrivers) Yes you! Everyone hates you, you berk.

5. Penny Pinchery, Cheap Skatery and its overbearing parent, Style Buggary? Yes, you may raise a Connery eyebrow at that last category but you know you’re sliding yourself up to the nutbag in the arse of good taste with your drink buying cheapery, student. What’s this I see? G- Fresh-raw-original-denim-lasts-only-one-pissing-wash jeans? Tight-white-synthetic-rips-a-great-fucking-hole-in-itself-at-the-first-sight-of-cigarette-ash shirt? Shoes named after the monarchy? Fergie was the only true “Deluxe” royal and even she’s downsized to “Maxi”. Prioritize, angel-eyes. And you will, presuming you don’t actually like drinking cheap alcohol. Unless when you order it and everyone looks at you thinking “you cheap bastard” you smile smugly and wear it like a ragged plaid shirt. Unless you’re the type of guy who would sooner drag himself to the nearest hospital with two shattered kneecaps rather than admit he’s hurt. Someone who would show their undersized brillo wearing trouser ferret before they showed their feelings. I don’t criticise, Queensland is full of this type of person. But come on! The last time VB did a purity test at the Sydney laboratories they were told their horse would never race again!


Yes I believe I’ve covered the main concerns here, but seeing as at the end of the day your level if etiquette is really being determined by a shaven primate in black leather, you might as well not bother. In fact Ignore everything I just said. YA GOT BY SO FAR.

* joke, honestly.

Published in Large Magazine, summer 2003