An Open Letter to the White Trash at Alleygators in Plymouth

(If this offends you, get over it. I may not necessarily mean you, but if you think I do, then you deserve that feeling. No suing.)
Dear White Trash,
Oh I am ever so sorry that my friends and I were so overly loud for you. You see, we were just enjoying our drinks and stories like normal people would. That's right, that's called camaraderie. They may have been utterly killed on the volleyball court, but off the court, they were enjoying the stories about "Patch," and even puke and such. Perhaps we shouldn't have been sitting in the bar talking about the times we were thrown up on, but that's what happens when you start sharing stories.
So why do I bring this up to you, you idiotic trailer dwellers? Well, rather than tell my little band of merry men and women that we were too loud, you threw napkins and bottles at us. Then, like high school kids, you pretended that it wasn't you while snickering to each other.
I noticed it first, so I was the one who asked, "Am I supposed to check 'yes' if I like you," then made a mark and threw it back. There's no reason for you to get all defensive and call the manager when YOU made the first move.
If the whole thing is about the fact that it was "Karaoke Night", and we were too loud, then you STILL have no reason to be upset, because NO ONE WAS SINGING. That's right, no one was butchering a Jon Bon Jovi or Toby Keith song. You had no reason to be upset.
When you were asked about your behavior, you acted like you hadn't done anything, yet the waitress even noted that you were acting like children.
If you have a problem, just come over and tell us. We're reasonable people. You can tell we're reasonable, because we didn't, "start a brawl," like one of you suggested.
So here's my proposal: You go back to doing your Meth in the bathroom with your female mullets and "Tickets to the Gun Show," t-shirts, and my crew and I will just continue having a good time and not bothering anyone else. Did you notice that the other tables didn't care? It was just you punks who were missing teeth and had (oh I wish I were kidding) tattoos of the confederate flag.
So the next time you throw a bottle or napkins at me or my friends, you will see retaliation. If not physical, then the kind you hate the most: verbal. We'll use big words you don't understand and call you names. You seem to like calling people, "Gay," so how about we call you, "stupid," or even just, "homosexual," now and then?
Then again, if you're signing Karaoke every tuesday night at Alleygators, perhaps your life is a little boring.
Hope you don't ever breed. Have a nice day.
Leab