Stab stab stab stabbity stab. Repeat.

To the four hoodie-sweatshirt-and-baseball-cap-clad frat boys at the My Morning Jacket show at the Fillmore this weekend: No. Just, no.

Do not show up so drunk that you can barely stand upright BEFORE the opening band has even started. Amateurs.

There is more alcohol in the world — right over there at the bar, as a matter of fact. You don’t have to hold it all, in double shot glasses (2 per person), as you weave around, lurching into people and spilling it on them.

Do you even know what band this is? From the way you dressed and the amount of attention you paid to the stage, I’m thinkin, no. So why’d you come here, chief?

That girl you’re slobberingly hitting on? DOESN’T LIKE YOU. You’d know that if you weren’t such a bag of cocks.

I held onto my beer bottle after I drained it, for the specific purpose of cashing your bitch-ass check if you lurched into ME. You’re lucky you missed.

Goddamn, do I hate people.