Last night a guy at the door of this SHITTY bar in Chicago called Mix was giving me a hard time about my ID, like it's not me or like I'm not 21. I was dressed as Frankenstein with a green cap with scars and black hair, and my face was painted green. I suppose I looked a little different than I did in the picture, considering I WAS DRESSED AS FUCKING FRANKENSTEIN, but this guy was a real cock about it. I'm 29, so maybe green paint hides my age. Shit, why is it not socially acceptable to walk around in green paint? I'd mix it up, like The Hulk on Tuesdays, the Jolly Green Giant on Thursday's, Gazoo on Fridays . . . Anyway, this guy was like a frustrated cop, shining his big, stupid flash light in my face. I'm all, "Ask me anything you want about my ID. I'm me. I've been me all my life." Of all questions, he asks me, "Where did you get your driver's license." Now, I've gotten many a license at many a location, so I'm like, "I don't know. Is it in Naperville or does it say Chicago?" He's all, "It ain't Naperville." So I'm all, "Well, does it say the specific location in Chicago? I guess I'll say on Elston?" Thankfully, or maybe not thankfully, since the bar sucks, he got busy with something else and just let me in. So, I paid my 10 dollar cover to get into a shitty bar, and yes, this bar is shitty, and I got harassed by flipping T.J. Hooker with an attitude.
I'm going in there another night covered in green paint and with every aspect of my ID MEMORIZED, right down to the quality of lamination. Just when I pass his battery of questions, I'm going to say, "Fuck you and your bar!" Then I'll say a few phrases from the green man I will be dressed as on the evening in question. Let's see if you can guess which one:
"Yo ho ho! My green dick wouldn't fuck the skanky yo ho ho's in this joint for all the frozen peas in Jewel!"