I Thought I Was a Baller Until I Learned About this Place

I recently turned 25. It seems like yesterday when I was going through stacks of old wet Playboys behind dumpsters of 711 in pouring rain. I can't believe two years go by so fast. To celebrate the end of my manchildhood, or the start of feeling guilt about my manchildhood, I decided to get a table at the TOKIO bar in Hollywood. The place is classy and trashy at the same time with semi hot girls, and anything goes there. I can smoke cigs on the dance floor, fart on bitchy girls and walk away, making them look like the flatulent ones. It seemed like a perfect place to throw a booze filled powwow.

The table with a bottle of Absolute vodka along with selection of juices from concentrate cost a cool $275 without tax and tip. The last time I remember, a bottle of Absolute bottle at Costco cost 15 bucks. What the hell, it was my birthday so I went a little Jay-Z up in the motherfucka. Plus, my friends bought me many rounds of hard alcohol shots: tequila, vodka, Scotch, Jager Bombs, etc. My stomach had a party, and not everyone was invited. There were a lot of racism going on in my stomach. I vomited all that shit out violently when I came back home alone, again. I danced with some hot skanky girls that smelled like the latest JLo perfume, rubbed my junk in their trunk like the gentleman I am to the euphony of Solja Boy's latest.

The next day I woke up in my clothes and shoes, and felt a little ashamed of how much money I spent on a night that I didn't really remember. Then I listened to Jay-Z's Big Pimpin' and felt better about my habits of spending money like a 9 year old. It only happens once in awhile, so fuck it.

I thought my celebration was lavish until I went to the homeless and aspiring screenwriter hangout the Hollywood library and read the January issue of TIME. The issue is about Russia and they cover everything from Politics to Putin's biceps to Russia's new luxury lifestyle. There is an article about a club called Diaghilev Project, and this place seems fucking mucho loco. The price for one of their booths cost anywhere from $20,000 to $40,000 a night, and it doesn't even come with multiple fellatios from Russian super models. So, if I went to this club and had to wait in line like a sucker in the weather that has produced generations of alcoholics and decided to be a baller and tell them I would spend $300 on a bottle, they would give me a napkin.

According to the article, the line outside of the club is filled with Russian super models who have no interest in meeting American hedge fund managers and the like, but instead desire the company of super rich Russians that can spend $40,000 on a table service like it was buying a box tampons at CVS. I am guessing my pick up line, "Yo soy de Neuva York. Tu? Mi Amore?" will not work on girls at the Diaghilev Project night club. Fuck it, I will stick with Tijuana until I hit it big. Then, it's on biatches.

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