Last night i frequented one of the town pubs for the first time. Thought since I have lived here for 1 year now, time to take the place in. Decent little dive, pretty much what I expected. TV, dart board, pool table. Same old stuff, ya know? Sat down and gabbed with on e of the flies at the bar. After a half-hour of pleasantries, he begins to tell stories of sexual conquest, wild parties, drag racing, and other machismo-esque stories. Always with the line, "This one time my buddies...."
None of these things happened to him, only the people he knew. Although this guy was obvious very popular, at least, popular enough to call and tell stories to, he always missed out on the insanity that is the life of his buddies. I tried not to laugh at him, but I had to have that last drink. As he started the story, I interrupted him and blatantly asked why his friends never call him before they go on their wild adventures. He responded that he gets too wild when out with the boys. From what I gathered, this guy was far from wild. Quite boring, actually.
So, what is worse: That guy in the bar spouting off all his "conquests", or the guy at the bar who is living vicariously through said "conquest" guy?
I probably won't be going back to that place anytime soon.