When A Gay Bar Is Just Too Gay

My friends and I are on a never ending quest to find a cover free bar in Los Angeles where we can watch the UFC. Ideally, someplace with ample seating, quality screens and as few douche bags as possible. If you’ve ever watched it in an LA bar or been to a live event, then you know the UFC is like a dog whistle for douche bags. So when a friend of mine found a new place that we hadn’t tried yet, I jumped at the chance to check it out. When he revealed it was a gay bar, I thought, so what? As long as they’re showing the fights, what do I care if the dudes next to me are holding hands? I’m an open minded, liberal guy. At least it won’t be crawling with douche bags. I walked in and quickly realized that I was in no way prepared for just how gay a gay bar could actually be. For starters, none of the waiters had shirts on. All they had on was tighty-whities and work boots. Tighty-whities, yo. I guess that means they don’t have sanitation codes in West Hollywood because if the guy bringing you fries doesn’t have a shirt on, you know the guy frying them isn’t wearing a hair net. Yes, they had the fight, but good luck hearing it over the techno. Seriously, gay people, what is with the techno music?

The dance floor was packed with dudes, grinding to what might as well have been a conversation between a humpback whale and a fart machine. It sounded like a blacksmith was keeping the beat while he hammered out a horseshoe. By the way, I should mention that it’s not even seven o’clock yet. The sun is still up and these dudes are in full party mode and if I’m wrong about that, I shudder to think what full party mode is. I cannot over emphasize how intensely gay this place was. My peripheral vision was nothing but dudes dry humping. There was free HIV testing in the back. One guy was dressed like a Nazi and I don’t know why, but it made a weird kind of sense. This was not what I signed up for. So the main card hasn’t even started yet and my friend and I are sitting at the table looking at each other like who’s going to be the guy who says it? Who is gonna break first and admit they can’t take it, admit that this place is just way too gay. Now suddenly we’re playing a game of homo chicken. “Are you guys gonna turn the music down so we can hear the fight?” My buddy asked.

“Oh, no”, came the response from our waiter. We looked at each other. We looked around the bar. We were the only people in there trying to watch it. I could tell my friend was thinking the same thing I was. Why spend the money to order the fight in the first place? I mean, it’s almost like these guys just want to party and look at a bunch of ripped dudes roll around on the ground. Oh my God. I looked at my buddy. He obviously came to the same conclusion as me because he had a look on his face like somebody just stuck their finger in his ass. Later I found out that’s actually what happened, but at that instant, in that moment, I just reacted. I heard myself screaming “we gotta get the fuck outta here!” It probably didn’t help that my face was just inches from another man’s semi-erect penis, but that was my knee jerk reaction and I shouldn’t have to make excuses for it. So we left and made it to a normal bar in time for the co-main event. Of course by then all the seats were taken by guys in Tapout shirts two sizes too small and we had to stand in the back. Douche bags win again.

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