Who Can PlayWhile there are no velvet ropes or bottle service required for participation in the Ruckus, I can be a tad particular about who I let in the door. For the most part, I’m easy breezy, baby. The more the merrier, I think the saying goes…so why not, right? Well, here’s why not: there are some truly bad creatures roaming this planet. People who flirt with every waitress who has the misfortune to serve them, for example. People who hire Mexicans to clean their toilets and people who hire Mexicans to mow their lawns and people who hire Mexicans to raise their cocksucker kids. People who lie about their herpes and who leave their wife and their Mexican-raised kids and then fuck nineteen-year-olds working their way through state schools by dancing at the Gold Club, or fuck waitresses at places like Chili's and T.G.I. Friday's in towns on the suburban hell outskirts of Dallas and in towns like Fuckity Hills, Michigan. People do these things and make me lose my faith in humanity. People like this are not allowed behind our curtain. Ever. As in never ever. As in Not. Even. At. Gunpoint. That said, here’s the deal: all I ask is that you don’t act like a dick and that you don’t invite any dicks to play. It’s as simple as that. I can only check ID’s for so long before I go cross-eyed, so I’m mandating that your participation requires you keep the “p” out of my “ool” for me this year. Feel free to invite anyone you like, keeping in mind that they should possess a sound moral compass. If there’s any question regarding said moral compass, feel free to e-mail me and I’ll be the judge, jury and executioner if need be. |