Caves of poop

Last night, this guy was being a dick at the bar. Loud, drunk, obnoxious, full of himself. After playing in the first band, he came up to the bar and demanded two napkins to put on his beers, so he and his girlfriend could go out and smoke. Then he placed the beers directly in front of me and the well, so that if I had to serve a customer I would have to reach around them. I asked him if he wouldn't mind moving them off to the side.

"Oh," he said, "I'd hate to get in the way of the busy bar."

The bar, as you might've guessed, wasn't that busy.

If he wasn't such a dick, I would've held my tongue. It's tough getting people out during festival season, when there are 40 million bands to see. But, no.

"Are you in the first band?" I asked.

"Yep."

"Well, I guess then it's kind of your fault, isn't it, that the bar isn't so busy?"

"I'm not the headliner," he sputtered. Wow, so you didn't bother to bring any folks out to the show because you're not playing last? Or second or third? "When I headlined here, we sold the place out. With the Monolith."

And then it all clicked. I was there for that show too, several years ago. And the guy had been a super dick then, too. How did I remember? Because he'd been just as loud and drunk and stupid then, until he'd found out I wrote for the Weekly, and then he'd been very apologetic.

Needless to say, Cameron didn't invite him to the pants-off dance-off.

Here's this week's Grumpy Guy & Sunshine strip: