You get mad at the hot girls for being marginally hot and you get mad at the ugly girls for not having the balls to approach you. And then the shitty cover band plays Don't Stop Believing and you get depressed that you're not on a midnight train going anywhere.
You've popped your lonely bar guy cherry.
At the end of the night, your piss snakes its way down concrete.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
A foul-mouthed, foul-brained aspiring screenwriter lives, copes, and complains.
2 comments:
I can relate.
It seems like every bar I go to plays "Don't Stop Believing" a million fucking times. I so hate that song...
Post a Comment