Don't mess with Wisconsin, b*tch.

Okay, so, we went out to this little hick bar called the Beacon this weekend, out in Hermantown.

Upon entering the bar, I decided it was Hurley without the cigarettes and wanted to leave.

As the evening progressed, I decided to get a long island pitcher, because Travis told us that they were only 5 bucks. Noice, right?

Well, I am up at the bar, waiting for my drink, talking to the bartender and my friends as they come slipping by. There is a grody middle-aged man next to me at the bar.

"Yes?" He says to me.

I look at him, "I'm not talking to you." I thought that he thought that I was talking to him when I was talking to my friends.

I start chatting with the bartender again; the guy ventures another hello towards me.

"I'm NOT talking to you." Didn't this guy get it? I wasn't talking to him.


"That's the worst rejection i've ever gotten." He says.

I nearly pee myself with laughter, and say, "Born and bred in Wisconsin, bitch." And I walk away.

he was gross, and where he got the idea he could even begin to talk to someone less than half his age is beyond me. Either way,

don't mess with Wisconsin, bitch.