I got thrown out of a bar in New York City. Now, when I say I got thrown out of a bar, I don’t mean someone asked me to leave, and we walked to the door together, and I said, “Bye everyone, I gotta go back to the spawn point!” Six mean, ugly mother Hubbards picked me up and hurled me out of that bar like I was a Jarate.

For wearing a hat. I walk into a bar and the RED bouncer comes over to me, real ****y, and goes, “Engineer take off hat!” I’m like, “What’s the deal?” He goes, “I tell what deal is. Hat is for tiny baby! Tiny baby not allowed in club!” Well now, that just ain’t right.

I tell him “Look Mr., plant yourself on that thar barstool. See where I come from babies can’t talk right, they’re dressed by their mothers, and they smell like **** diapers — granted you would be designated as a grossly oversized specimen — you personify those three primary characterizations”, and he gets this real confused look on his face.

He’s got this heavy caliber multi-barrel piece of work he’s carrying, and start thinking if I added additional auxiliary power source and modified the ejection port I could optimize the cooling mechanism, increase the fire rate, and generally get that puppy purring like a doggone kitten. So I grab it up from him and says “Run along partner, I think I’ll have me have a look-see at this here apparatus you’re a totin’”

And I was wrong.

They hurled me out of that bar. And then they squared off with me in the parking lot. Now I don’t know how many of them it would have taken to whip my bum, but I knew how many they were going to use. I also knew I had enough metal for a quickly-deployable prefabricated unfolding little tripod number of my own design. Needless to say… I walked away unscathed, and them boys didn’t throw anyone else out of the bar that night…