so, like, y'all do jaga bawmbs n champang, dog?

A few observations working the door in the West Village during the Halloween parade:

*  I can’t look at girls wearing 1920s flapper costumes without thinking about Nucky Thompson’s Gollum-like sex scene in this week’s Boardwalk Empire. Thanks for ruining Prohibition for me, Buscemi.

*  Seeing Pokey without a Gumby is a very real sadness.

*  Manhattan high schoolers are ballsy. Sorry kid awesomely dressed as MacGruber. I appreciate your ID that’s not only printed on a sheet of China-grade cardboard but also has been expired since 2006, and the $200 of your allowance you’re offering to get you and your generically slutty teeny bopper friends with no IDs in the bar. Come back when there isn’t a police blockade grilling me from across the street. You’re probably undercover cops aren’t you, little shits…

*  Being “sober” on Halloween sucks. Being sober while wearing a costume would be worse, I guess.

*  There is an inverse relationship between wearing a costume and enjoying oneself at a small, intimately lit bar where mellow jazz is being played. If you are wont to ask doormen, “Yo B, how much it cost to check out this fly downstairs club, dog?” you probably won’t have a good time. I’ll take $100 though.

*  Haven’t seen this many Impalas on two wheels since the last time I YouTubed Dr. Dre.

*  Best costume award goes to a girl wearing a parasitic twin dressed as a vampire from Twilight. I’d like to think that this is apt satire commenting on Twilight’s – and junky YA in general – suckling of America’s collective diabetic teat, but even if she’s just #TeamJacob, it’s still hilarious.

*  200-lb black lesbians dressed like Scottish warriors from Braveheart are some of the very nicest people.

*  More of a general thing, but it’s really obnoxious when people walk up to me and ask if we’re closed. Yes, because most drinking establishments employ guys to stand outside just to tell people that they aren’t open. I’m a humansignpostipede!