At first glance Uncle Bill may be the least intimidating bouncer in the world. A pale and haggard sexagenarian with shoulder-length hair, Santa Claus beard and exhausted eyes, the old hippie diagnoses his condition as doorman's disease. "It's when everyone passing through the door begins to look the same," he muses. A local bouncer for more than a quarter century -- ten years at the Broadway Oyster Bar and another sixteen or so at Venice Café -- Uncle Bill has seen plenty of people come and go. The key to his longevity: sobriety and a razor-sharp tongue. Uncle Bill -- a nickname surviving from the 1960s -- gave up drinking years ago, which provides him with a sturdy upper hand when facing the drunks he must occasionally evict. As the self-proclaimed World's Most Dangerous Poet (he performs at the Venice on Friday and Saturday nights), Uncle Bill has enough verbal ammo to make even the most vocal drunk realize he's nothing but a braying jerk facing off against the finest bouncer in town.