The Hate Locker

Digital cameras and smart phones have become increasingly more accessible over the years. The consequence of this is that many people now find it necessary to take an obscenely large amount of terrible photos and upload them for everyone to see on social media like Instagram and Stalkbook. 

I grew up using film. Film was precious and was not to be wasted. I took pictures of things worth remembering. Nowadays people are taking photos of what they are eating to share with the world on Instagram. I’m sure everyone will look back with fond memories at all the photos they’ve taken of uninspiring food. I look forward to the day where friends will sit in front of the fireplace, pop the champagne and open their leather-bound photo albums and reminisce about a chicken schnitzel or caesar salad that was eaten many moons ago..

I’ve compiled a list of the most popular things people like taking photos of. As you read the list, you will notice the subject matter is pretty creatively groundbreaking. 

1. Sunsets
2. Obscenly shitty Tattoos
3. Cats
4. Selfies
5. Average food, presented nicely, usually with a shitty beer (Corona) in the periphery. 

and finally

6. Shitty nightclub photos. 

When people take photos in the club, the subject matter is usually similar regardless of who is the amateur photographer of the minute. 

Next time you go on your social media platform, I urge you to try this game I invented. I’ve affectionately named it ‘Have a shot of whisky every time you see one of the following types of photographs.’ 

Hot tip: You can’t win. 
Super hot tip: Make sure you have a friend nearby to pump your stomach. 

The nightclub bathroom photo.

This is a staple in my news feed. Only girls really take this one. It involves standing in front of a mirror and taking a photo of your reflection with a few of yo girlfriends to let everyone know that the real party isn’t on the dance floor or at the bar, it’s in the toilet. I think It’s great photography because you can see the camera. Its a photo of you taking a photo of your reflection taking a photo of yourself. I’ve always thought it would be easier to just ask someone to take your photo, but hey, I guess that would involve being social in a nightclub. The best thing about these photo’s is that they have great sentimental value. It’s one to show the kids and tell them about the time you went to a club, took a fat piss with your girlfriends then took a picture straight after. 

The ‘Duck Face’.

Whenever there is a photo of girls, they are most likely scrunching up their lips into a pout otherwise known as the duck-face. I don’t know how this came about but whoever started this fad should hunted down.

I can’t help but look at these photos and see a girl who is about to spit out a mouth full of food or semen.

Is smiling really that uncool now? What the fuck happened to smiling? Does anybody say ‘cheese’ anymore in front of a camera?  

The ‘Bros’ shot. 

Put a bunch of guys in front of a camera in a nightclub and whether they consciously do it or not, will have a ‘bro’ shot taken of them. There are numerous characteristics which define the ‘bro’ shot.

1. At least one person in the photo needs to have their arms over the shoulders of another. This lets the viewer of the photos know that the people in the photo are super best friends. Guys feel the need to establish this. They are of the mindset that if they don’t have their arms around each other, someone will see the photo and just assume they are a bunch of strangers standing next to each other.  

2. None of the guys smile. Like girls, guys find smiling pretty passé. However, instead of doing the ‘duckface’ they do the bro-face. The bro-face is a slackjawed look. Imagine if a photographer asked you to say ‘cheese’ but instead you said ‘Boyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyzzzzzzz.’. Go try it in front of a mirror. Maybe even take a photo of yourself doing it in the mirror. 

3. Someone in the photo will be making some kind of symbol with their hands. It’s pretty apparent that guys don’t know what to do with their hands when in a photo. Leaving them by their sides isn’t an option. Pointing at one of the other guys in the photo is pretty common. It’s the classic ‘I’m with this guy’ body language. Like the arms are the shoulder, it helps establish you’re out with the bros, just in case the message wasn’t conveyed well enough in the photo. Other common hand gestures include the ‘Radical cowabunga surfer’ gesture and the rock music festival gesture. It’s cool because everyone will think you are listening to limp bizkit in da club. 

The awkward posture shot.

You’ll notice that a lot of girls have their photos taken with some god awful posture. They bend their knees, lean forward and arch their back upward as if they were walking in a room with a very low ceiling. I think the reasoning behind this is to accentuate their curves, and get a nice camera angle looking down their blouse to a trick the viewer to think they have bigger breasts than in reality. The only other reason I can seem to justify this god awful posture is that the camera man must be a dwarf.

The alcoholic beverage picture.

As I mentioned earlier, people find it necessary to let the world know via social media what they are eating. Drinking is no exception. It’s not uncommon for people to be caught snapping photos of some terrible cocktail or corona bottle just to be a pretentious ass-wipe. When I make someone a cocktail these days, the first thing someone does when I give it to them is take a photo. Forget about tasting it. Who gives a shit how it tastes. First priority is to let all your friends at home know that you are drinking a drink that they can’t immediately taste and will have no idea whats in it. It doesn’t even matter. So long as it is in a fancy glass or bottle, it will attract the approbation of the whole friend circle. I might as well just fill a martini glass with raspberry cordial, water and throw a cherry in it. The internet will be equally as impressed with what they are seeing and can’t taste. 

Give my little game a try. See how long you last before your liver fails. 

Gone are the days where a nice photo was a professionally taken smiling family portrait. Long live instagram. 

Like most things, I’m not fond of beer. You could put a loaf of moldy bread and grass in a blender, top it up with soda and serve it to me as beer. I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

I am able to tolerate a few moldy bread beverages. Amstel and Budweiser are among the tolerable loaves, partially because they taste more akin to water than they do to drinking a pint glass full of Vegemite.

There is one beer in particular that I think deserves to be in the spotlight for being exceptionally shit. Well done Pythagoras, you guessed correct. The beer in question is Corona. 

The most obvious reason to hate Corona is due to the piece of lime or lemon that must be wedged down the bottle neck for reasons unknown. 

The first thing I hate about the whole fruit in corona phenomena is the fact that it makes the beer taste like lemon/lime detergent. The fuss people make over their preference between lime or lemon in their Corona is pointless as the end product is still ultimately detergent beer. 

If I asked my patrons the reasoning behind putting citrus in beer, they wouldn’t have the faintest of ideas. They just do it because they’ve been brainwashed by a bunch of suits working for the man. 

There’s a number of theories as to why it is good to put lime in corona. 

Some suggest that putting lime in the Corona deters bugs and insects from entering the beer. That sounds plausible enough but however pointless in a nightclub. Shock horror: Most night clubs generally aren’t swarming with the likes of flies, wasps, hornets, killer bees etc. Even if they were, as a patron I would not think:

‘Dang, there are flies everywhere. Better throw a lime wedge in my drink. That’ll teach em.’ 

Instead I would think

‘Oh there are flies everywhere. How does that even work? This joint is a shit hole. Fuck this, I’m going home to watch Breaking Bad’

Another suggestion for putting lime/lemon in a Corona is because that the bottle caps leave rust on the mouth of the bottle. How many times in a first world country have you seen rust on a corona bottle? None? Thought so. Even if there were rust on it, lime is not the fucking answer. Throwing it in the bin or getting a refund is the answer. My car has rust on it, you don’t see me prancing around throwing lime wedges at it. 

One of the more moronic justifications for citrus in a Corona is to enhance the flavor of the beer. This raises a million questions in my head.  If a beer’s flavor needs enhancing, wouldn’t that suggest that the brewer is doing something wrong?  Why wouldn’t the brewer just make a Radler beer? Why is it Corona’s flavor that is particularly enhanced by lime? If you like fruit in your beer: Ask for a Heineken with a wedge of lemon. Ask for a Peroni with lime. Ask for a Becks with a banana shoved down the bottle neck. 

If Corona was served in pint glasses, I can’t imagine a patron asking for a fist full of lime to be sloshed around in their drink.

Pure marketing poppycock fueled by morons.  

Aside from the citrus marketing shtick, I completely disagree with Corona’s catch phrase: ‘From where you’d rather be.’ 

Corona is from Mexico. Apparently in Mexico there is so many bugs, flies and rusty bottles that you have to put a lime in your beer to keep them away. Heaven forbid if you aren’t drinking a Corona and you had flies around your beer, because apparently Corona is the only beer you are supposed to put lime in. 

There is a fistful of other places I’d rather be that Mexico.

Any country where I wouldn’t have to worry about shitting my pants is favorable. 

There is a famous quote that goes:

‘What’s cooler than being cool?
Ice cold!
I can’t hear ya!
What’s cooler than being cool?
Ice cold!!!
Alright alright alright alright alright alright alright.’

I’m pretty sure it was Shakespeare, Rudyard Kipling, Kanye West or some shit that said that. 

Regardless it’s straight from the wordsmiths mouth: Ice cold is cooler than being cool. Fact.  

So why is it that patrons prefer their spirit/liqueur + mixer with no ice?

Is it because of some kind of hipster trend to go against what is cool to be alternative/edgy and the fight the war against conformists? Maybe. They probably liked ice before it was cool and now it is too mainstream for their personal ethos which is why they get vehement when ice comes into contact with their glassware. 

That’s one reason.

A more plausible reason is that all the Einsteins of the night clubbing world think that asking for less ice in a drink means that they will get more alcohol in their drink. Oh how wrong they are. When ordering spirit + mixer, no ice means more mixer to fill the glass, meaning that your drink as a whole is a lot weaker. It also means that the bartender will think you are a dick.

You see, bartenders are extremely proficient at profiling people on the basis of their drink orders. Here is a couple of examples of what particular drink orders say about people:

1. A cheap glass of bubbles with raspberry cordial = Whore. Possible lay. Potential candidate for rohypnol or chloroform. 
2. A Manhattan = Baddest motherfucker in town. 
3. A Cosmopolitan = Menopausal woman who has watched too much sex in the city re-runs. Possible lay. 
4. A vodka fresh lime and soda = Someone watching their carb intake. 
5. A vodka with raspberry cordial = Nipple singlet faggot. 
6. A bourbon and cola with no ice = Someone who needs to be fired out of a cannon into an oncoming train. 

I like to be able to taste the alcohol in my drink. Nothing screams out ‘Please fire me out of a cannon’ more than having a room temperature alcohol, drowned with room temperature mixer. 

I pretty much keep ACME in business with the amount of cannons I buy. 

I wouldn’t say I have the most refined palate in the world. I’m a 29 year old chain smoking hospitality worker who’s idea of fine dining is eating in at KFC opposed to taking the drive through. I find my palate receives and gauges food and drink in increments of ‘goodness’. The gauge has 5 simple increments. 

1. Very Not Good
2. Not Good
3. Neither Good Nor Not Good
4. Good
5. Very Good 

 Pretty simple no?

I like my unpretentious palate and preferences. I enjoy being a simpleton, however, my simpleton lifestyle is frequently encroached on by wine snobs. When you work in a club, you notice that not a lot of people drink wine. The few who do, are generally wine snobs who like nothing more than to go to a night club and complain about the lack of quality red wine available. Who goes to a club to try and sit down, have a chat and enjoy a nice bottle of red? 

Wine Snobs. That’s who. 

Everyone knows one. There is at least one per every circle of friends. They are the cancer of the friend circle. They’re impossible to please. You invite them to dinner party and they make off hand insults at the meager wine selection you have offered them which will undoubtedly offend their refined palate. There is only one way to please this dickbag when you invite them to a dinner party. To do this you have to plan the party 30 years in advance, go buy a bottle of wine, cellar it for 30 years and then empty your vacuum cleaners dust bag on it to make it look extra vintage. Even after all this ordeal it’s not even worth it because afterwards you will have to put up with the verbal diarrhea that they will project in your direction regarding the quality of the wine.  

In my workplace, whenever the token wine snob is served wine, they give it the obligatory swirl, sniff and taste and then loudly announce to the world what the imaginary things they are tasting due to their amazing palate and wine knowledge e.g Strawberries! Coriander! Celery! Snozzberries!   .. yeah right. 

You will notice that when they make the aforementioned announcement to the world it will be in an almost foreign language; wine speak. Wine speak is a language where you essentially smash a bunch unnecessarily pompous adjectives into an excessively long sentence. You can even throw contextually nonsensical words in every sentence. No-one questions it so long as it is spoken with the right delivery. 

For example: ‘The bouquet was ebullient, bushy and troglodytae in nature however was complemented by the taste of sagaciously chosen full bodied heterogeneous berries and kumquats. The finish was plump and crusty with notes of mahogany and ambergris.’

*10 Bonus points if you read the above in the voice of Stephen Fry. 

What the fuck does that even mean? I can’t even tell if you’re enjoying it or not. Is it good? Did it at least taste like wine? I have to carry a thesaurus and dictionary behind the bar to understand what was just said. Even with these, it still made no sense. 

Maybe my palate is just destroyed from excessive smoking, but when I read the flavor descriptions of wine bottles I’m promised flavors such as blueberries, dark plums and chocolate. Does anyone actually drink wine and legitimately taste blueberry and chocolate flavors? I’ve never drank wine and said to myself ‘Wow, this wine tastes like blueberries and chocolate.’ Maybe it’s because wine doesn’t taste like blueberries and chocolate. Every time I drink wine I say to myself ‘Wow, this wine tastes like every single other wine I’ve had in my life which tasted like crushed grapes and vinegar and it is not good.’ 

On the odd occasion at work, I’m caught in the unfortunate position of being asked to recommend a bottle of wine to a self proclaimed wine buff. I’m not particularly fluent in wine speak so ‘Grapes’ is usually the answer.

Needless to say they’re unimpressed with my service. They should go write about it in their blog. 

Here are some excuses for me not writing much lately:

• I have been living the life of a stereotypical nightclub worker. I have spent my days hungover after long nights of snorting cocaine off models. 
• My boyfriend got jealous of all the time I was spending writing this blog. 
• I was busy submitting my works for a Pulitzer Prize.
• All the fame and fortune from writing this blog went to my head. I went on a worldwide stadium tour and then spent all my money on my Faberge Egg addiction.
• Me and Dr. Brown drove our DeLorean at 88 miles per hour. Crashed into a truck full of manure.  
• I’m pregnant. 
• ¯\(°_o)/¯ i dunno. 

When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. He said: ‘Son when you grow up I don’t ever see you turn into one of these nancy faggots honking on a clarinet.’

Valuable words. Treasured memories. My dad taught me what it took to be a man. Every morning my dad would wake me by bringing a hot pot of coffee to my room. He then would pour it on my face, put a loaded revolver in my mouth and dared me to cry. This was fundamental in me growing into the man that I am today. A real man. 

Time passes and society changes, as does the ever blurry depiction of what constitutes a ‘real man’. What falls into the realms of masculinity these days? I don’t even know anymore.

When I walk around my workplace, I notice some things guys do and really think they are in the realms of being a faggot nancy boy. 

1. Wearing Caps

I like to think of the stereotypical man as logical and rational. I consider men wearing hats indoors the height of rudeness and completely nonsensical. Why? Scared of the cancer you might get at 2 AM?

I don’t mind that all these caps I see are in support of sports teams. Sports is pretty manly. Fuck yeah sports! Sports are fucking gnarly! What isn’t manly is wearing a cap of a sports team that you don’t even follow. All these caps I see are in support of the Boston Redsox or the St. Louis Cardinals, both of which teams I know no-one supports, because no-one really likes baseball. Be honest.

For those who aren’t street and cool, most American sports caps these days come with stickers attached to the brim. These stickers pretty much just say the size of the hat. The cool thing to do is to keep the sticker on the hat, so everyone can see your head size advertised on your cap, as if people are interested the size of your skull. Keeping the sticker on is fucking nonsense! No-one gives a fuck about your head size. No-one compares head sizes. What is this?! Where I’m from (South Carolina) we compare dick sizes. Like real men should. You don’t walk around your school locker room saying ‘Hey, check out my cap. Size 9 & 3/4.’ Real men say: ‘Hey needle-dick. Look at my cock you faggot’ 

2. Ordering drinks with raspberry cordial in them.

Riddle me this: A man walks into a bar and orders a vodka, cola and raspberry cordial. He died immediately afterwards. Why?

Answer: Because the bartender was Burt Reynolds and the bar was full of lumberjacks and undertakers. They beat the shit out of him for ordering such a wussy drink. After defiling his corpse, they proceeded to drink their tumblers of scotch garnished with rusty nails and bolts. None of this umbrella garnish shit. 

James Bond never ordered a vodka raspberry. He drank vespers: 3 shots of gin, 1 shot of vodka and a half shot of lillet. 

3. Wearing Low Cut Singlets

I’m no fashion expert (Royal Acadamy of Fine Arts, Antwerp. Class of 06), but these are the most vile things to ever touch a mans body. 

I had to fell some tree’s and engage in a random fist fight to restore my manhood after searching for these pictures. 

Since when has been showing off your nipples and sideboob in public been cool? Do chicks get off on that kind of thing? I’ve never once heard a girl say: ‘Get a load of that man cheddar’s side boob. That’s making me frothy at the loins.’ This leads me to the question: I wonder what dude that dude is trying to impress? I’m sure at some point the bad singlet epidemic will move towards something like this:

Help me Burt Reynolds. 

4. Fake Tan

I don’t even know what the fuck this is. I maintain my tan the good old fashioned way, by working hard in the field sewing and reaping crops. The amount of vanity and evident mental retardation (both unmanly characteristics) in this picture makes me want to castrate myself. I don’t want to be a man anymore. 

5. Fights

Even the fights today are wussy. Most of the time it’s two guys squaring off because a vodka and raspberry got spilled on one of their favorite nipple singlets or caps. No punches are thrown, just hollow insults like: ‘I’m going to fuck you up you pussy.’

Like anyone could take a guy wearing a nipple singlet and cap seriously in a fight…

I went to my high school reunion recently. I don’t really know why I went. I guess I just wanted to go to gloat about my internationally famous blog. I’ve never been to one before but I anticipated that I would be feigning interest in hearing how everyone’s lives have progressed forward. Needless to say, a lot of interest was feigned. 

Here is a sample of the conversations I had to stay conscious through:

The Locker: ‘Hi Charlie. How have you been? I hear you are a CEO of a multinational corporation?’
Charlie: ‘Oh are you talking to me? Sorry, I only respond to my DJ name: DJ PoWerfuCK.’
The Locker: ‘A thousand apologies DJ PoWerfuCK. So what have you been up to?’
DJ PoWerfuCK: ‘Pushing through musical boundaries by spinning a cool blend of electro, dubstep and trance. Incorporating mash-ups on the fly, DJ PoWerfuCK brings a new level of electricity to the room.’
The Locker:‘Fascinating..’
 

The Locker: ‘Hi Stephanie. I haven’t seen you in a long time. What are you doing with your self these days?’
Stephanie: ‘Wow Mr. Locker, you’ve changed so much. You look so dashing these days.’
The Locker: ‘Oh you!’
Stephanie:‘But yeah, in answer to your question I’ve been spending a lot of time researching cures for cancer.’
The Locker: ‘Really? How noble. It’s good to see a passion for such a noble cause’ 
Stephanie:‘Yeah I guess its okay…. But my real passion is creating a live fusion of psytrance and hiphop with a touch of drum and bass to keep my fans on their toes by pushing musical boundaries.’
The Locker: ‘Fascinating..’

The Locker: ‘Hey Ash, I heard you just got divorced. How are you holding up?’
Ash: ‘Yeah I’m okay. Times are tough though. I just gotta keep pushing through..’
The Locker: ‘Yeah keep on pu-‘
Ash: ‘PUSHING THROUGH THE MUSICAL BOUNDARIES THAT RESTRAIN THE COMMON DJ’s TO SPECIFIC GENRES. THIS MAN KNOWS NO BOUNDARIES. DJ FLAMING ASH WILL MELT THE BASS TO YOUR FACE YOU STUPID FUCK’ 

Fascinating. Everyone is a DJ now. I left with a pile of promotional CD’s which will inevitably become coasters.

I find the DJ phenomena quite interesting. You find that a lot of them throwing the phrase ‘dj’s aren’t jukeboxes’ around. I disagree completely. To illustrate my point, I have created the following puzzle for you to solve.

_____ receive unjustifiable amounts of money to play other peoples music. The music must be appropriate to the venue in where the ____ is located. ______ are used to provide entertainment for patrons. 

Fill in the blanks.  (Hint: The answer is jukebox)

I’m sure deep down all DJ’s know this to an extent, which is why they need to come up with reasons to justify their inevitable boundary-pushing existence, because for the most part, all they do is play other peoples records. 

Common justifications for a DJ’s existence:

‘I can beat-match and mix’
So can my 7 year old daughter and anyone who can count in multiples of 4. Hardly anyone scrutinizes what the DJ is doing in the booth. For all they give a fuck, you could be playing a premixed CD. No-one gives a shit provided they are under the illusion that you are doing something.

Mixing isn’t overly hard, Yet DJ’s need to make it look like they are doing something obscenely hard e.g making out like turning an knob 270 degree’s is that hardest thing you have ever done in your life and requires horrendously aggressive arm moments like this: VIDEO OF SUPER DJ WORKING SUPER HARD. Must be some heavy knobs to twiddle. 

Really makes me wonder what they teach in Disc Jockey school?

‘I play vinyl. Real DJ’s use vinyl’
Whats so good about it? Vinyl sounds better? It’s apparently harder to use? I call bullshit. No-one walks into a venue, says: ‘What the fuck is this noise. It’s not vinyl. This is damaging my vinyl only ears. I threw away the CD player in my car because it doesn’t play vinyl, what the fuck are people thinking putting that shit in my car.’ 

Equally no-one cares if vinyl is marginally harder to mix (Which is still fucking easy). No-one walks out of a club solely because a DJ is using CD’s.

If you are going to be stuck up and pompous about being ‘original’ and stuck in the past, throw away your DVD player and digital set top box and enjoy the analog warmth (i.e static) of VHS cassettes and analog TV. 

‘I do live mash ups’
 Any deadshit can play a ‘Pon De Floor’ acapella over a song and call it a mash-up.

‘I MC as well!’
Getting on the microphone with a fake british/american accent and saying ‘Whats up (Insert City Name)! How you all doing……MOTHERFUCKERS!’ is not MCing. I don’t know why a crowd responds so well when being called a bunch of motherfuckers in particular. 

‘It’s all about track selection’ 
Then make a premixed CD that the crowd will enjoy.  

‘I can juggle and scratch’ 
You win this round..

I would like to apologies to my three subscribers for my absence. For those who don’t know me, I took a brief sabbatical to do some soul searching in the Black and White Lodge. Needless to say I’m back and the hate will flow vehemently. 

Yes, these are pictures of me. 

Facebook is great in so many ways. It lets my anonymously stalk ex-partners and cry over their photos. It let’s me see how much better I am doing than my kindergarten friends, the ones who laughed at me for occasionally being incontinent during story time. However, there are some bad things about Facebook.

A long time ago getting on ‘The List’ of a club was all about knowing someone or being someone. Now, with a simple flick of a Facebook message, you can ask to be on ‘The List.’ 

Literally anyone can drop those four words of self masturbation: ‘I’m on the list.’ When I say anyone can be on the list, anyone can be on the list. The people who curate the door list don’t scan or screen the names of who they are sent. They couldn’t care less. I know this because I have sent various establishments a request for my name plus a few of my friends to be added to the door list. 

People who I have had added to the door list of clubs:

1. Joesph Stalin: Soviet Badass responsible for the death of millions.
2. Mao Zedong: Chinese Badass responsible for the death of millions.
3. Richard Goldberg: Former fugitive, on the FBI’s top ten most wanted fugitive list for child molestation and pornography. 
4. Rick James: General Badass.  
5. Myself: A balding, overweight 31 year old male with a permanent scowl on his face. I am the person who eats beetroot and corn before I go out. I am the person who’s vomit you look at and think: ‘Why is it red and why is the corn still whole?’ Also a Badass. 

So it is pretty evident that the V.I.P factor of the door list is pretty much dead. 

The entitlements associated with the door list are equally questionable. The Facebook door list entitles you to a few benefits. Quicker and possibly cheaper entry plus paired with the kudo’s associated with being able to say ‘I’m on the list’ loudly in front of all the peasants who didn’t bother asking to be on such an accessible list. Stupid peasants.

The thing that I find most odd is when it’s more beneficial not to be on a list. For example, most clubs have a separate line for door list entry. If they get priority of entry on a 10:1 ratio to normal patrons, and the ‘door list line’ has 100 people in it and the regular line has 5 people in it (obviously myspace users), I’d probably jump in the normal line pay an extra few dollars (if any) and get in first. Sometimes the door list just gets ‘quicker’ entry, not cheaper. Who’s the peasant now? By the time the people on the list get in, I will have been inside and left them a steaming pile of my beetroot and corn vomit. 

So in summary. You aren’t a V.I.P unless you walk straight in, without paying and get looked after. A lot of places advertise V.I.P booths which are purchasable alongside with table service. The oxymoron of this is that actual V.I.P’s drink for free and get catered for on the house. The oxymoron of this is that actual V.I.P’s drink/demand to drink for free when they are rich. 

Lastly, the most moronic thing about the Facebook is the ‘checking in’ phenomena. I see people sitting down around my place of work ‘checking in’ and letting the world know how much ‘fun’ they are having. Go figure. Aside from letting the world know you are a complete mongoloid, you’re practically telling the world to go to your house and rob your stupid ass. If you are the kind of person who ‘checks in’, you’re probably the kind of person who ‘checks in’ to your own house or bed, letting everyone know where you live. Furthermore you’ve probably named it ‘_____’s Pad/Supercool House/House of Sex’ or some other rubbish for your 900 ‘friends’ to see. So when you’re out and about ‘checking in’ to a place with a Facebook update such as:

Chastity ‘Mad Raver’ Dickface: I am soooooo wsted r8 now. cn brly walk lolz - Checked in at Rohypnol Night Club. 

Be prepared to see:

TheHateLocker: I am in your house. I did not leave my shoes off at the door. I am eating your ice-cream straight out of the tub. I am stealing your shit. I just used a UV Light in your bedroom, I nearly went blind. - Checked in at Chastity ‘Mad Raver’ Dickfaces House of Sex.

What are you going to do when you find me walking out of your house with your worldly possessions (Economy vodka and Mi Goreng)? It’s not like you’re in a state to stop me………

Chastity ‘Mad Raver’ Dickface: Helllllp! I’m being robbed!!! p.s so off my chops right now lollolol - Checked in at - Chastity ‘Mad Raver’ Dickfaces House of Sex.

I love New Years Eve. There are so many things to love about it. You can make whimsical resolutions just because it is the end of the year. I mean, it’s not like you can do that at any other point throughout the year. Anyone who isn’t an utter fuckwit knows that for a resolution to be fulfilled, it must be a new years resolution. Look at all the people who have become movie stars/quit smoking/lost twelve billion kilograms because they made it their new years resolution. They weren’t complete deadshits. They knew what they were doing. 

I also love New Years Eve because the unjustifiably large celebrations associated with buying a new calendar. 

What did you do this year? Did you have an amazing New Years Eve?  Did you:

1. Go to a horrendously overcrowded/under policed event swarming with drunken jail-bait.
2. Get annoyed with all the sweaty drunken shit-bags around you. 
3. Get annoyed at your friends for being sweaty drunken shitbags around you.
4. Miss the ‘countdown’ because you were busy waiting in line to take a piss but when you got to the front of the line to the toilet it became apparent that every single person who went before you had fatal dysentery. You then decided that you will try your luck elsewhere. 
5. Sing the first few words of Auld Lang Syne. 
6. Remember that you don’t actually know any of the words to Auld Lang Syne except: ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ Who the fuck does anyway?
7. Watch some underwhelming fireworks which got progressively more boring as the minutes ticked by. 
8. Stand around for 2 hours in a taxi rank full of people openly pissing/vomiting into their immediate surroundings to avoid losing their place in the line. 
9. Vow to never do this again, yet do the exact same thing next year. 
10. Tell all your friends of the amazing time you had. 

If this sounds anything like your New Years Eve celebrations then you have had a perfectly acceptable New Years Eve.

I get the feeling my last post conjured a small portion of discontent among those belonging to a particular gender. For anonymity sake, I will not identify this gender. 

From the feedback I received on my last entry, I perceived that there were feelings of sexual discrimination. I do not want to be perceived as one that discriminates on the basis of gender. I want my entries to be fair and contain a certain degree of morality. Therefore, contrary to what I originally planned, I will not be writing an entry on the topic of Males. 

Warm wishes,

The Locker. 

I am The Hate Locker. I am a blog, therefore I have no gender. Ergo, I can provide an objective and well grounded standpoint on topical matters surrounding gender…

When women enter nightclubs, they change. It’s as if they become possessed by a supernatural presence similar to what happened in Kubrick’s ‘The Shining.’ However, instead of writing ‘redrum’ with lipstick on the walls, they prefer to write on mirrors in bathrooms. The content of what they write is generally less stimulating as well. It’s common for a plethora of love hearts to be drawn on the mirrors (Wow so arty and post-modern!). Kissing the mirrors and leaving lip-marks everywhere on them is also standard practice. Idiotic right? Why would anyone want to kiss a mirror in a public bathroom (especially if it is already covered in other peoples markings.) Do you know who the last person was to kiss that mirror prior to yourself? The girl who spends half her night in the bathroom giving suck-jobs for drugs, that’s who! Congratulations! You now have terminal herpes. You are going to die. 

Upon entering a club the modus operandi of women also changes. For some undefined reason, mountain goats women must dance on the highest point nearby whether it be a stage, table, chair, tombstone etc. Why would a tombstone be in a club? Who the fuck cares! If it provides any elevation, it is not safe from being danced upon. Nothing is. I once caught a woman with a handbag full of rope, carabiners and chalk intending to scale the walls of my workplace in an attempt to dance on ceiling support beams.

The behavior of women in clubs undeniably renders any arguments of gender inequality void. 

‘Ladies Nights’ featuring free drinks and free entry for girls is a pretty loose translation of ‘Hey whoreface, you probably don’t have a penny to your name so get horrendously drunk and loosen your morals and chastity belt so that males will patronize this venue in pursuit of your loins.’ It’s promoting sexism and gender inequality when women capitalize on such arrangements. If you want to fight for equality, you should be demanding to pay full price entry and for full price drinks! Fight the good fight.

The expectation of a male to pay for drinks is rubbish. If you are happy to make the old fashioned assumption it is the males role to purchase you drinks for the night, go the whole nine yards and assume that is your duty to go home with him, bear his child, do his laundry and subject yourself to domestic violence, fisting and bukkake. 

What about violence? I often see a girl slap a guy here and there and watch him stand there constrained by social values. I feel sorry for this guy. It would be sexist not to give her five of the best. We’re talking equality here people.

How about all the complains about ‘sleazy men’ and how they feel objectified? Maybe you should bring back the exposed skin to clothes ratio down from 10:1 to have a valid argument. Maybe you shouldn’t dress like a whore and then you won’t be treated like one?

Boom.

Before writing any further, I will admit that I have taken narcotics in the past however those days are long gone. I have stopped. Times have changed. I can no longer go to my local opium den on a whimsy with my comrades. I can no longer go to my local dispensary to purchase a spot of heroin. 

At this point, you are probably thinking to yourself:

‘Wow. Mr. H Locker dabbled in narcotics? He must be first-rate cool!’

I can thoroughly assure you that I am not cool in any sense of the word. I am thoroughly square. As mentioned above, the period in which I participated in the use of illicit substances was a time where you could go to a chemist and buy heroin. If heroin wasn’t your thing, you could get your cocaine fix via Coca-Cola. There was nothing debonair about walking into a chemist. 

If you are guessing how old I am, you are probably correct. 

The benefit of taking drugs in my time is that the quality obtained was a lot more reliable than today. You also didn’t have to fraternize with uncouth dealers who make you feel stupid just by standing near them. The last plus is the fact that I’ve never had to perform any fellatio, which seems to be the most acceptable form of currency for drugs these days. 

From observing a few thousand pairs of dilated pupils per night, it’s pretty apparent that Ecstasy tablets are the narcotic of choice of night clubbers. In my prime, no such drug was taken. Nowadays it’s everywhere paired with immense peer pressure to take it. People are practically disowned if they do not indulge in the coolness of tablets of Ecstasy. I wouldn’t even know what to expect if I tried an Ecstacy. 

In a nightclub setting, one of the benefits of drugs is that it makes it relatively easy to remove patrons who possess drugs and under the influence of drugs. It also makes my night more enjoyable. I often play mental games with myself such as ‘spot a person who may be under the influence of drugs.’ It’s a similar game to Where’s Waldo except much harder. Perhaps you would like to play along? Give it a go…

What ever happened to good music I used to listen to on my phonograph? I am quite passionate about music however I seem to be failing to connect with the music of today’s generation. I just feel like I’m out of touch with today’s youth. I just can’t seem to enjoy the music they listen to, as hard as I try. Due to this I’m sure they probably think I’m bogus or fail or whatever the appropriate slang may be. 

I’m a firm believer that music has the ability to move people. I’m also a firm believer that nightclub music has the ability to move people in the wrong way. Being stone cold sober and watching people listen and dance to dubstep is an interesting phenomenon. After careful examination and scrutiny of these people, I actually now consider myself an expert in how to dance the dubstep. I’ve even made a 3 step process as to how to dubstep dance.

Step 1. When a dubstep song starts to play, it is imperative that you must remain as still as possible. The idea is that you and your peers must imitate a sweaty pack of groaning zombies, swaying ever so slightly. 

Step 2. At the point of climax, when the beat and bass drops (Yes, I am down with your hip music lingo cherubs) commence ‘The Hump.’ ‘The Hump’ involves you swaying back and forth, humping the surroundings around you, whether it be thin air or your sweaty comrades.

If you look like this, you are doing well. 

It is common knowledge that the more sexual and violent your movements are, the higher your dancing will be regarded. An interpretive semen dance is held in high regard in dubstep circles due to the sheer raw sexuality displayed.

Step 3. The song will inevitably deteriorate into the mundane. During this time, recoup and begin returning to your zombie like state. 

Congratulations. You can now ‘Do da Dub’. 

You may have noticed that dancing to dubstep dancing is highly symbolic. My research has led me to believe that dubstep dancing is representative of sexual repression. The ‘Zombie Phase’ represents the sexually repressed unable to express themselves due to deeply embedded emotional scarring. ‘The Hump’ represents the sexually repressed violently breaking free of their sexual constraints and raping everything in sight. Due to this symbolism, I’m slightly more tolerant and sympathetic towards dubstep when I observe all the poor souls who really make a connection with the music.