Perhaps you've been to a bar after midnight, perhaps you haven't. Some parental figure probably told you somewhere along the way that nothing good happens after midnight. Here are 5 examples of what they were talking about.
The Brawler has been slamming Jack & Cokes or Redbull vodkas or tequila mixed with protein powder all night long. Each drink has increased The Brawler's perceived strength, agility, and ass-kicking abilities by 3,000 percent. The Brawler doesn't care if you're Brock Lesnar or a parking meter. Make eye contact, prepare for Mortal Kombat, brush by him on your way to the bathroom, might as well be an audition for The Ultimate Fighter. Same applies to eye contact or accidental physical contact with Brawler's girlfriend, wife, or whatever female the Brawler currently considers to be his. He's looking to throw down and keeping his double vision focused on any and all targets of opportunity. Your only chance to diffuse the situation is to either:
A. Calm the Brawler by speaking a few words in his native tongue. Something like "My bad bro" or "Damn bro this place is fool of douchebags" or "Yuenling".
B. Superman punch his dumb ass out the front door. With his lack of coordination and insanely slow reaction time, he should crumble like a couple of rocks in front of Rick James.
Whereas the Brawler poses a threat to all males, the Creeper is a menace to anyone not a dude. Creepers operate using one of two approaches.
A. Predation: This Creeper sub-type usually hangs out around the far edges of the bar, so that his predation goes largely unnoticed by non-dudes/potential witnesses/law enforcement-types. They often scavenge in pairs, typically targeting the most intoxicated non-dude within the walls of a particular establishment. Come closing time, The Predation Creeper will swoop in and snag its prey with ninja-like stealth while his tag-team partner runs interference with the victim's more responsible companions who, all of the sudden, cant seem to find their drunken friend.
B. The Roethlisberger: The Creeping Roethlisberger throws a haymaker at the nutsack of all things discreet. Anything not a dude will be propositioned for sex by this obnoxious hornball. Cue sticks, Golden Tee machines, beer funnels and posters of chicks are all fair game.
The Expert is identical to the Brawler in every aspect but instead of becoming more like Mike Tyson as the night progresses, he becomes more like a cross between Will Hunting and Ben Affleck's character in Boiler Room. Do you make money? Not as much as the Expert. Know a thing or two about sports? The Expert was won a Word Championship in every sport ever created (or he would have, had he not been hit with that killer ACL tear back in the seventh grade). Have a PhD? The Expert has a doctorate in PhD's. Had surgery recently? The Expert gave himself a complete skeletal transplant without anesthesia this morning. 10 minutes with the Expert and you should be ready to make him consume his bottle of Yuenling, making sure he takes the time to properly chew the glass before swallowing.
At this point we move to some bar-types who aren't that bad compared with the trio that precedes them. The Exhibitionist is the Johnny Knoxville/Frank the Tank of the bar. Need a girl's butt grabbed? Just point the way for the Exhibitionist. Have to find someone to take those 9 shots of tequila someone just lit on fire? Just a warm-up for the Exhibitionist. Looking for someone to start some fist-a-cuffs with a Brawler? The Exhibitionist will make a valiant attempt to kick anyone's ass, including his own, requiring nothing for himself other than the occasional bottle of beer or high-five. If you've got an Exhibitionist in your group, your main areas of concern are to 1. keep him from getting the shit beat out of him. 2. make sure he doesn't have to spend the night in a holding cell.
Who goes down with the ship? Who stays onboard, knowing it means certain death, just so he can save his crew? Who takes no issue with passing out at a table by himself, facedown in a urinal, or propped up against a police officer? The answer to all of these is, of course, the Captain. Though the Captain in our context doesn't have a role quite as dignified as that of a naval commander, he maintains the same level of silent determination in the face of annihilation. The Captain runs his dignity through an incinerator in his efforts to be the last man standing (or faceplanting) in the entire bar. His level of intoxication is so high that casual conversation is an impossibility, though you might get an eye squint or maybe a grunting noice indicating that your Captain is up to his designated task. Once the lights come on, while others may gather what's left of their mental capacities to begin a drunken journey home, the Captain remains behind. If push comes to shove, he'll spend the night on a bed of gravel with a pillow of broken glass till morning. At the sign of first light, the Captain will stand up, brush off his piss-stained pants, retrieve what items of clothing he can find, and begin a journey of solitiude back to his abode. The Captain needs no assistance from anyone, including fellow crewmates. Let him be, and admire his fortitude, for a night in the life of a Captain is one of desolate aloneness, with only tagged Facebook pictures to document his historic endeavors to our future generations.