This is Dedicated to the Ones I Love...

To Anne the Mooch:
The I first time I saw you walk into the VFW I knew you would be a pain in the ass. I let you stay because I thought you were with the usual afternoon crew...after all, they sometimes bring around a new face. The next time you came in, ordered a $1.50 draft beer, paid with a $20 and left no tip, you officially became a pain in the ass. Of course I noticed that you hung around for people to buy you shots and food, but about the time you got drunk with a full belly and wanted to fight the people who a) didn't know you, and b) were just very nice to you, I had to kick you out. You probably would have been able to come back the next day if it weren't for the "Fuckin' bitch" you tossed my way. Now you're barred for life. We all know that you're not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but when you're barred from someplace, it means you can never come back. Your subsequent return to the bar on Saturday forced me to remind you of your status. I may lack compassion, but the fact that you were "almost raped" by a guy who you agreed to take money from in exchange for sex (they call that not turning a trick or something) won't get you back into the bar.

To Scotty the Little Crackhead, his Hooker Sister, and her Toothless Wonder friends:
Get the fuck out means get the fuck out. I'm not entirely sure how any of you survived childhood, and it puzzles me even more how you're getting by in adulthood. Like I told Anne the Mooch, you are officially barred from the VFW. Add it to the ever-growing list of seedy alcohol establishments that won't let even you in. And by the way, don't feel bad about spilling the beer and breaking the glass, feel bad about being alive.

To Mr. I-Have-a-Website-so-I'm-a-Big-Shot:
I tried very hard to be nice to you, but you are a grown-ass man, and this is a VFW, and you are not a vet, so I will never kiss your ass or wipe your fucking nose. Even without those factors I still wouldn't do any of the above. I will not always have a fucking smile on my face because you think I should. I will not let you talk to me in a condescending manner because for whatever reason you feel superior to "mere bartenders". I will not get you your drink before those waiting before you because when you walk into my bar, you walk into my world, and contrary to your delusional world, you really are not special. You're just another asshole. As a matter of fact, you owe me an apology for your extremely rude behavior here the other night, and you will not drink here anymore without it.

To Bernie:
I heard about your little "oops-I-ran-a-red-light-in-front-of-a-cop" incident the other day. This is just a forewarning that as soon as the "Excuse Me"'s start, the Jack Daniels stops. No more getting fucked up here. How 'bout getting a job. Speaking of which...

To Eric:
You are a loser and you also need to get a job. Don't think I don't know that you have been telling people that we have slept together. First, let me vomit. Now, let me tell you that if you were the last man on earth, I would probably kill you with my bare hands. You're obnoxious and an idiot. Well, at least I don't have to worry about you being the last man on earth, you aren't smart enough to survive that long.

To Jinny or Jeneane, or whatever the fuck your name is:
I do not regret to inform you that you will not be hired to bar tend at the VFW. Why you ask? You had obviously been drinking when you filled out the application, but that in itself wasn't the deciding factor. Nor was the fact that you couldn't come up with anyone who would give you a decent reference. It was the attempt to leave the bar with a glass of beer. What made it even worse, was that it wasn't even your beer.

To Charlie, and the Heineken Nigger,
Yes, you will always have to wait for your drinks. Each time you want a drink you will have to tell me what it is. You both have the power to change this by leaving a tip every once in a while. I am not here because I like you and I want to hang out with you. (That last line goes for the whole lot of ya!) Oh, and Heineken Nigger, waving your empty green bottle in the air like a princess on a gay pride float won't make beer magically appear. I've heard you talk to other people. Speak up bitch.

To Homeless Joe:
I don't want some cheap ass jewelry you found on the street, I don't want the neighbor's bug filled flowers, I don't want a crack pipe you stole from the crack pipe kiosk you found in your travels. I want you to leave a tip, take a fucking bath, comb your hair and beard, and quit clogging up the fucking toilet. Go take a shit somewhere else for a change. And I don't want a swig out of your personal stash. Thanks, but I'm pretty sure you have at least 1 communicable disease. I'm all set.

To Val:
I swear to the God that you don't believe in, if you ask another series of dumb ass questions just to hear yourself talk I will personally take that very bad hairpiece off your head and shove it so far down your throat that your doctor will think you've miraculously grown a nasty patch of hair in your large intestine.

To Gerard:
I don't care how much money you allegedly have. I never see any of it, nor do I give a shit about it. I am not going to change the way I pour drinks and open beer for you because you're nobody. You don't sign my paycheck and therefore you don't matter to me. If you want to buy a round of drinks you will have to pay first. That's how I do it in my bar, and that's just how it will be done. If you don't agree with this, don't buy any more rounds, or better yet, go to a different fucking bar and bother someone else. Also, your drink gets 1 shot. Not a shot and a half or 2 shots, 1 fucking shot. Anything more than that will have to be paid for. End of story.

To The Fat Guy with the Long Hair:
Before you get offended and huffy and want to pout like a homo, I'm going to tell you what I've already told you. It doesn't actually matter what people say, there IS such thing as a stupid question, and stupid questions deserve stupid answers. I'm a bartender, I pour drinks. So when you see me pouring liquid into a glass and you ask me if I'm pouring a drink, you will get some kind of snide answer. Dumb ass.

To Asshole Joe:
I know you wonder why I don't like you, it might have something to do with the racist remarks you're always making. My name is not Connie Chung, Hazel Mae, Lucy Liu, Charlie, dim sum, or fortune cookie. You have 1 more chance to get it right before I really literally jump over the bar and cut off half your testicles. And just for the record, I don't play table tennis. Jackass.

To The Other Asshole Joe:
I don't want to talk to you, ever. I will be polite and cordial, but I will always hum when you talk to me because you, too, are a dick. You make me kick you out of the fucking bar all the time because you are a typical nigger who thinks that everyone is out to get you. Your sense of entitlement is astounding. People like you need to realize that the world has never, and will never revolve around you. You are not important in anyone else's life except your own. You are a sad and sorry little man.

To The Keno Lady:
If you didn't waste so much money losing at Keno, I bet you'd be able to buy yourself a new pair of glasses. Throw those poor things out already and put them out of their misery. For Christ's sake, they barely perch on the tip of your nose and they're all crooked and cracked and shit. Besides, a new pair might help you see the numbers better, you'd be able to fill out your card correctly, and maybe you'd actually win once in a while.