Guestblog: Joel McNally's Night Out on the Town

The n00b:

My name is Joel and, if I were to get around to having a blog, this is what I would blog about. More or less. Hopefully mostly less loaded. Mostly.

Met a fellow at the bar today, and not in the usual sense that this person has similar genitals to myself; he was a fellow piercing afficianado. He was a fellow drinker. He was a fellow freak, I suppose you might say.

I met him as part of a package deal - two friends and I were at the pub talking about Transformers and He-Man and, at the precise moment in question, a puckered-ass growth on a friend's head that required that he not shave his rapidly balding melon. Poor bastard.

Anyway, two chicks, one Fat one Hot, walked up and pointed out that since the bar was empty except for us and them and that we might as well join them. We agreed.

Stuff happened. Names were exchanged. People got to know that these people were sloshed, that they worked at Starbucks, and that they were basically uninterested in people that weren't themselves except that Fat was maybe hoping to score. All barely interesting. All tangental to the story.

Not tangental was that Hot was dating a fellow in the group that we joined. A fellow whose moniker shall remain the same as my pops' and who shall be the focus of this slanderous ramble. The nOOb.

This guy had it all: He bragged about how much of a drinking problem he had; he mentioned a large variety of piercings. He claimed they hurt not at all and that, when pressed to choose between lying and insanity by a person (me, with an extremely painful piercing and no problem admitting exactly how much it genuinely hurt), decided that he just loved the feeling of things piercing his body.

Me had a serious internal struggle about whether or not to offer to pierce the n00b's manhood and dignity prison-style.

As events progressed, the nOOb and Hot spent a lot of time licking each others' tounge-studs and, as the topic of piercing popped up, made sure to wiggle their tounges in a freaky manner at the other people at the table.

What. A f**king. n00b.

I mean, for God's sake! I remember when the quantity of booze that I drank was not a source of embarassment. I remember when something like a piercing was hot shit to talk about. I remember when beautiful animals and ugly people wore fur. I remember when I thought I could freak out the normals.

What do you call that? Being young. Being green. Being pathetically, almost willfully, ignorant of the way that things work.

In l33ts-speak such a person is a n00b. A pathetic mouth-piece with no apparent knowledge about how things work. Someone making retarded claims designed in the restless depths of a friendless night to convey a wrong-headed inpression of coolness. Someone using every breath to make me question the notion that people are equal in any sense of the word.

All cleverness aside, I wanted to fold him in half because of how much he reminded me of myself as a callow youth.

Anyway, there is no moral to this little tale. There are no guiding answers except this: Don't brag like a retard to total strangers if you don't want to be exposed as one and extensively mocked in a public forum.

Joel McNally, BA., is a student at the University of Calgary, and was a little drunk when writing this.