Acronymn for Big Beautiful Woman.
Years ago I knew Jim from one of my regular hangs in NYC. Jim used to come into the place, get really loaded, introduce himself a little TOO cordially, and proceed to talk about himself nonstop in a very loud, in-you-face tone until he sensed your attention was wandering. At this point he’d deploy his coup de grace: “I don’t think you like me very much. You don’t like me much, do you?”
I forget how, but I always managed not to incite Jim to whatever stage he was preparing to go into after “You don’t like me much.”
Last time Jim talked to me he was with a mousy, submissive-looking woman whom he told me he was about to marry. I hope to hell THAT never came off; she had punching bag written all over her face.
The drunk-jerk-at-the-bar story that I like to tell most is also my worst-attempt-in-the-history-of-mankind-at-picking-up-any-woman-let-alone-me story. Well, not story, more like a quote. But anyway, here it is:
“Give me pussy. I know you have one.”
…Yeah, that didn’t go over too well.
Drunks! (shakes head ruefully) Gotta love 'em!
I was at a bar with a group of friends and this drunk guy comes up to me. “You’re fat.” I sure am; thanks for noticing. He wanders away. A little while later he comes back and starts playing with my hair. I try to move away but he just keeps following and my friends all think it’s funny. Then he rubs up against me and says, “Baby, I just wanna slap your leg and ride the waves in.” :eek: Oh yeah. That’s gonna work. :rolleyes:
Oh, well, better late than never.
A drunk jerk at a bar keeps trying to hit on a pretty, but independent-minded, young woman seated nearby. After she’s told him “Bug off” or a few pithier things, he says, “C’mon honey, let’s play a game, huh?”
She shoots back with, “All right, Mister, we can play horse. I’ll be the front end, and you stay as sweet as you are!” 
I have a drunk jerk story, but the incident didn’t take place at a bar.
I used to work third shift at a convenience store many moons ago. I had a basic rule when it came to drunks. As long as they could control themselves, they could shop and go. One night I was working, and had just cleaned up the hot dog/ sandwich area. A small group of drunken obnoxious male tourists came in running their mouths about nothing to do in “this hick town” and how things were so much better where they came from ie. hotter chicks, cheaper booze, etc.
They just amused each other with all sorts of trash talk while making a big mess in the area that I just cleaned. They came to the register giggling a bit about how I was going to have to clean up after them, as it was part of “my job”. They asked if there were any stripper bars in town where they could get some “action”. I sent them to the local lesbian bar, even writing down the directions sweetly, and told them to ask the bartender when the next show started, and where they could get some pussy.
My mother worked at a tavern as a barmaid. She was having car problems and I took her to work one day. I arrived at the tavern just before closing to give her a ride home and to help clean up. One of the last patrons was a guy that was a well known jock when I was in high school. He was three sheets to the wind and had been cut off earlier. He kept asking my mom for more beer and she was telling him no and that he should leave. After his fifth request in 2 minutes, he became unset and headed behind the bar to go after my mom. He was promising to kick her ass and no one was going to stop him. I stepped between him and my mother and told him to leave. Just as he raised his fist the bartender clocked him with a heavy glass pitcher. He turned around and I was able to grab him and twist his right arm behind his back. I wrestled him to the floor and kept the pressure on his arm. The more he fought, the more I wrenched his arm. My mom called the sheriff’s office and an officer showed up 10 minutes later. By then I had both of his arms tied behind his back with my belt and he had given up the fight. He got a free ride downtown and my mother had a whole new respect for me, she didn’t think I had the guts to take on some guy that was 5 inches taller and outweighed my by 50 pounds. I told her just like I told the drunk, nobody messes around with my mother.
I could probably relate several stories, but I was the drunk and I don’t remember them. I passed out a lot when I was a youngster. I was just the obnoxious kind of drunk, mostly just annoying for other people and embarassing for myself.
I think. :dubious:
DaddyTimesTwo, you didn’t perchance live upstairs from me back in the eighties, and spend a lot of time on your balcony yelling “Rock and Roll!!!” at the top of your lungs? If so, I may be able to fill you in on some of your childish peccadillos. Or maybe I have you confused with another guy from your neck of the woods…
I worked for many years as a bartender, so I’ve seen all-too-many drunk jerks in the bar. S.Vicious, Foxy, and Scarlett’s stories remind me of one of my favorite “drunk jerks outside the bar” stories, though: One evening, a couple of friends had come in an hour or two before the end of my shift, and the three of us plus the bar’s solo musical act decided to grab some breakfast after the musician and I got off work. Bar close rolls around, and my friends and I are standing outside deciding which & how many vehicles we’ll drive to our choice of greasy spoons. During our discussion, a guy I know only as “the obnoxious, drink-cadging idiot who’s not allowed in my bar, and whom I’ve kicked out three times just tonight” decides to weigh in with his opinion. By that point, I was fed up, and I wasn’t on the clock. I let loose. I told Obnoxious Drink-Cadging Idiot what I thought of him. I raised my voice. I jabbed my pointer finger in his chest. Frankly, I lost my temper. All 5’8", 98 pounds (no exaggeration)of me backed this 6’4" idiot across the cobblestones, using only the power of my pointer finger and my ire. I was empowered, dangit! Having dispatched OD-CI, I was mentally patting myself on the back while turning back to my conversation, when I realized that one of the breakfast friends (6’8", 300+ pounds,) and solo musician friend (6’5", heavier than the breakfast friend) were both standing behind me. Heh. I guess it’s easier to have courage in one’s convictions when one has a half-ton of bodyguards looming right behind!
I guess I’m lucky, though: My worst drunk-jerk-at-the-bar story is pretty tame. Back when I was in college, a friend and I went to see Living Colour during their small venue tour just as “Cult of Personality” was hitting the Billboard charts. My friend and I managed to stake out a spot very close to the stage, and she was holding our spots while I went to the bar to order drinks. While I was holding two drinks and (very politely) trying to make my way back to my friend, one “older” (compared to the college crowd) guy refused to make way. I told the guy, truthfully, that I needed to get back to my friend, since (a) we arrived together, and (b) she had my purse, my car keys, etc. He emptied his beer on top of my head. I was shocked, but fortunately, the bartender had spotted the brouhaha (brewhaha?) and a bouncer tossed the dude. I was still mad later, and decided to cool down - literally and figuratively - during the band’s intermission. The bar had a walled courtyard in the back, so my friend and I headed back there. I walked through the exit, and was immediately kicked in the butt by some drunken frat boy whose mental reflexes weren’t working as well as his physical reflexes at that point. Lucky for me, a couple of friends were already in the courtyard, and they spotted the disturbance. I was dragged away from the nearest I’ve ever come to a bar brawl… by two Scottish pro soccer players. Heh again.
I live in what’s called a “basketball state”, meaning many people treat basketball just like Texans treat football. 
Anyway, years ago I went with a group of friends to watch a UK basketball game, I have no idea who they were playing. At some point during the game, well, a break in the game, this stranger tries to tell us a joke.
“DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE DEAD BODY THEY FOUND IN THE BATH TUB FILLED WITH CORN FLAKES? THEY THINK IT’S A CEREAL KILLER! HAW HAW HAW HAAAW”
This scene really would make more sense if one knew what the typical UK fan looked like. (ha ha, see I’m making another joke here.) (the stereotype is your basic hillbilly/redneck who drives an old pickup and did NOT attend one single minute of classes at UK.)
This involved two men who, I assume, were drunk, but I didn’t hear a word they said. And they were outside a bar.
In 1962, when I was 13, I was waiting in my aunt’s car, on one side of a street in north Redondo Beach, CA. I watched a scene in the parking lot of a bar across the street, where a small crowd had gathered to watch two guys fight.
I wish I’d had a camera: On the wall behind them was a sign reading, “Where Friends Meet.”
I was at a bar with some coworkers once and two very drunk, obnoxious guys decided to play a joke:
Drunk number one begins loudly and unconvincingly announcing that he thinks he’s going to be sick, while his friend kept repeating “You’ll be alright, buddy. You can hold it.” Once a fair number of people are looking, the guy reaches into his jacket and produces a plastic bag of alphabet soup, which he sets on the bar, hunches over, and opens, screaming “Yeeeeeeeergh!” He puts the bag back in his jacket, and his buddy takes a spoon out of his pocket and starts eating the soup off the bar, saying “Mmmmm! Still warm!”
It still would have been obnoxious if they had even a moderate ability to act or perform the sleight of hand that their (apparently planned before they even got drunk) stupid joke required – but anyone close enough to even notice their shenanigans could plainly see that it was just a bag of soup dumped on the bar, and dripping all over the place.
They were immediately ejected and subjected to a fair amount of scorn and derision from other patrons, but I’ll bet in their telling it was a brilliant practical joke that shocked and horrified everyone. :rolleyes:
Hmmm maybe the time I tried to hire my least favorite bartender’s girlfriend for a porno shoot?
The bass player for my band, tight bro of mine that he is, can occasionally be drunken handful at our shows (think Bob Stinson of the Replacements). Fortunately we are the type of band that can work this into our show. At a recent gig, for a large part of the evening he was nowhere to be found. I had spotted him drinking at another bar early that afternoon (never a good sign), but by evening he seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. We resigned ourselves to playing bassless, and were getting ready to go on stage when at the last minute he arrived staggeringly drunk, nearly incoherant… and wearing a WWI army helmet he had acquired somewhere. The band took the stage but then we noticed he had not actually taken the stage… instead, he’s sitting behind the speakers trying to take his pants off. Apparently he decided that he wanted to play naked (something he threatens from time to time). What was causing him problems was that he had not taken off his shoes, and therefore could not get his pants off over them. My patience at an end (and with a crowd staring curiously at us), I told him that he would have to forego the nudity and be satisfied with playing with his pants around his ankles instead. Anyway, once we finally started playing drunkman generally managed to hack along on the bass in a serviceable manner. Unfortunately, he no longer wanted to play the songs from our set list, and in some cases wanted to play songs we had not actually learned yet. Which is fine, actually. But he also wanted to lurch around the stage and occasionally shout gibberish into my mike. Considering he would have a hard time walking normally in his condition, being further hobbled by the pants are around his ankles, he fell over several times, and on a couple of occasions nearly pitched headlong into the audience. For the last several songs I had to keep a strong grip on his collar so he doesn’t do himself harm. After our set, as we walked (or, in his case,waddled) backstage, he put his arm around me and said “I think that went pretty well”. Mostly, he was right.
I think Weegee probably did this. Or might as well have.