Dear Casba,
Let's start at the beginning; I made my trip to Indianapolis to unwind with like minded friends in an intimate and convivial environment. I arrived at the Casba early the night of November 14, 2015. It seemed calm, but as I know from my first wife, looks can be deceiving. I waited in the line to get my hand stamped.What happened next can only be described as a warzone (a warzone with a lot of Twerking LOL). In the refined culture we live in this should by no means take place. The Man in front of me was a monster. I can easily see his bulging biceps barreling out of his Gap stretch t-shirt. He had gave off a tough guy vibe and had a sleazy demeanor. I later found out his name was Pete. Sweet Pete seemed to be fresh into his regularly scheduled Saturday night blowout (I could smell the Jagey on his breath and the smoke on his clothes). Pete, who began telling his sexual conquest from the night before loud enough to make my friends and I feel downright icky. Pete, who couldn't stop giggling as he looked behind at me, stuffing my fat face with a hotdog I just purchased from a vendor. Pete and I went together like water and oil.
As I walked into Casaba it is as if the ring girl rang the bell and referee Mills Lane screamed "let's get it on! When I walked downstairs I was pushed in the back, my hotdog/mustard dog went all over my newly purchased Tommy Bahama button down. I battled my way to the dance floor. Bows were being thrown and people were getting rocked and socked. I felt like I was being boxed out by Dennis "The Worm" Rodman. Elbows were flying and people were being as bad as they wanted to be. Pete had pushed his way to the front of the bar and was already ordering fireball. Unwelcome feelings of resentment and jealousy bubbled up inside me. I felt like a real schmuck and was embarrassed in front of my friends (not to mention the hot-tays). This chaotic dance floor had me feeling like I was just pummeled by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. I was in no mood to be battered and bruised, but I sometimes you just have to get your freak on.
As I perused the dance floor I felt like Forest Gump. Many sassy girls placed their oversized bags (which had no beeswax being on the dance floor in the first place #unsafe) front of them, making it impossible for me to boogie down with them. I could hear the snickers as I played the air electric guitar. I had mustard all over my shirt and I believe I heard an Asian girl state my haircut was "out of date". Between you, me and the lamppost I could use a trim (J/K! LOL!). Then I saw her, we locked eyes and it was on! She was in the back of the club and had noticed me "making it rain" at the bar. With my confidence up, thanks to an Apple Pucker or seven, I approached her. Only to see she was dancing with Pete.
Up to this point I bet you are wondering what Casba has to do with this mess. I danced next to Pete and was quickly sickened by the amount of Axe body spray he was wearing. Pete offered to buy us all drinks and would go on to brag to me about how he has been convicted multiple times and on numerous accounts of public urination (he also kept making fun of my mustard stain). I was very upset at this point and I wanted to just go off on your friendly staff about the companies line policies. (Question to self: Who was I really angry at? The company or me.) I was going to put all of this Tom foolery behind me, after all Kendrick Lamar was playing. I wanted to hand the Disc Jokey my vintage 2002 5Gb iPod to eliminate uneasiness from my body. I had a certain Van Halen album titled 1984 to play at this occasion. The song was "House of Pain," which is what I was living in for three and half hours..
Two things happened in these three hours that will forever haunt me. First of all, due to your "line" and stairs I had mustard all over my brand spanking new Tommy Bahamas Shirt. I am not asking for Casba Incorporated to buy me new threads, but I feel you should take a long look at your line policies.Next, The Whip/Nae came on; you have to understand THIS IS MY JAM! I was getting down and dirty and the ladies were diggin' it. It seemed Sweet Pete didn't know the dance (Pete, ever heard of Youtube). In the middle of the second verse the unthinkable happened. Mr. Pete bagged me in front of God and everybody. I am almost certain your security saw him do it, thye at least saw me heel over and scream. I limped over and told a member of your staff I had been bagged and pointed out Pete. Your staff giggled and thought I was joking. No amount of coupons or cold beers will ever make up for the embarrassment I felt. I feel the security on the dance floor should be increased and your staff should be properly trained if another attack should occur.
In closing the assault on the dance floor made my night very uncomfortable. I believe your line system (or lack there of) is more like a bar room brawl. I believe your system needs to be inspected before somebody gets hurt. read more