So its been a while since Ive posted on here. There are several reasons for this.
Firstly Ive been pretty busy working, going out and generally burning the candle at both ends....which is nice!
Secondly, as nobody really cares about the mundane aspects of my life, Ive been waiting for a sufficiently funny story to tell.
And lastly, Ive been quite enjoying peoples (quite justified) misunderstanding of my previous post. Suffice to say that it is largely the lyrics from an old Guttermouth tune called P.C., and I do not actually own Siberian American Huskies, have not died my hair blue, or indeed moved to San Francisco- apologies for the confusion.
ANYWAY, listen to this!!
Ive had a month of being dragged, willingly or otherwise to various nights out that I wouldnt otherwise have been that keen on. In the interests of trying things Im not sure Ill like, I have been wooed in to attending various hip hop/drum and bass events. Roni Size, The Scratch Perverts, Pendulum, Fabio & Grooverider, Jehru the Damaja, Jehst, and Grandmaster Flash and a range of others have flown by in a somewhat of a drink and drug addled haze, and whilst I have had an awesome time in the main, the details are somewhat sketchy as a result.
That said, one particular incident does spring to mind....
(The disclaimer) Certain aspects of this story are going to remain deliberately vague, as you never know whos reading and how pleased they may or may not be to referred to, but anyone with a passing knowledge of Nottingham is likely to be able to do the maths.... and no offence is intended....really!!!
So first a little background.... There is a certain, nationally renowned, alternative nightclub/venue in Nottingham at which I was once employed, several years ago. This club boasts, in my opinion, the largest and frankly most frightening bouncers in the city, due to some extent to the fact that a portion of the door staff are drawn from a particular, well known motorcycle club who are active in the area.
I shit you not- these are some big, mean and potentially extremely unpleasant men and no mistake, and often those who cause trouble in this particular club discover this all too late.
Having worked there and gone there socially for a number of years, I had heard and witnessed absolute horror stories about the way that certain individuals could potentially become if provoked.
Rumours of people being thrown down fire escapes with their teeth bashed out, being set on fire and having their Achilles tendons cut with bolt cutters, having been ejected from the place following disputes, have circulated there for a long time, and were always sufficient, from my point of view, to keep me nodding and agreeing an awful lot in the times when I have had to deal with these guys.... This is reasonable, I think youll agree!
So ages ago I heard this one story, about this particular bouncer at the club. Now this guy is probably 6 feet tall and about 4 wide, is a moderately senior member of the aforementioned bike club and is not a guy whose collective drink you would wish to spill.
Were talking MEAN MOTHERFUCKER and no doubt!!!
Apparently this guy once came home of an evening, to catch a junkie in the act of burgling his home. The way the story goes is that rather than call the police as one might generally do, he nailed this poor fuckers hand to a table through the middle knuckle, left the claw hammer on the table next to him, told him if he was there when he got back he was fucking dead....and went out to the pub.
(A little extra grim detail about the practicality of this- a nail through the middle knuckle of your hand would mean that in order to remove the nail with a claw hammer, you would have to break the knuckle on one side or the other with the claw in order to get the nail out- this does not sound like fun!!)
Surprisingly, the junkie was gone when he got back.....(he clearly took this guys threat seriously, as well you might!)
Now this seemed particularly horrible, even by the standards of certain other stories Id heard in a simillar vein, but Id heard it a few times from a few sources and I was still extremely sceptical, and had practically forgotten about it.............until I saw the protagonist of the story (minus claw hammer) for the first time in years, working security by the bar at the drum and bass night that the aforementioned club was hosting.
As I mentioned earlier, Im generally extremely polite and reserved around these kind of guys as a rule of thumb, but a cocktail of E, whiskey and pretty glow sticks meant that of course I had to go and talk this guys ear off. (Bare in mind I am probably sweating and grinding my teeth at this point.)
I barrel up to this guy, say Hi ****, remember me- I used to work the bar here a few years ago The guy just kind of nods, so I press on and proceed to ask him to confirm the truth of the story just told..... Looking back at it, this was rash.... I finish up my telling of the story back to him with so you nailed his hand to a table and went to the pub....is that true??? Theres a pause where this guy just looks at me and I realise I may have overstepped the mark by bringing this up, and he, dead pan and cold as fuck, says no. Just for a second, Im a little bit disappointed, and then he continues. no....it wasnt a table, it was a fucking door. My mouth flaps open and Im at a loss for words.... He just looks at me, leans over to the bar man, buys me a jack and coke, and walks off....
Im not sure how I managed to get that little interaction right. but Im extremely pleased that I got the Jack and coke treatment rather than the hammer and nail, as a result.... although I do doubt it was because he was all that scared of me...
Moral of the story kids- if you heard it, its probably true- but it never hurts to ask! (well not always anyway)
All the love- kisses handshakes- all that!
S.x
Firstly Ive been pretty busy working, going out and generally burning the candle at both ends....which is nice!
Secondly, as nobody really cares about the mundane aspects of my life, Ive been waiting for a sufficiently funny story to tell.
And lastly, Ive been quite enjoying peoples (quite justified) misunderstanding of my previous post. Suffice to say that it is largely the lyrics from an old Guttermouth tune called P.C., and I do not actually own Siberian American Huskies, have not died my hair blue, or indeed moved to San Francisco- apologies for the confusion.
ANYWAY, listen to this!!
Ive had a month of being dragged, willingly or otherwise to various nights out that I wouldnt otherwise have been that keen on. In the interests of trying things Im not sure Ill like, I have been wooed in to attending various hip hop/drum and bass events. Roni Size, The Scratch Perverts, Pendulum, Fabio & Grooverider, Jehru the Damaja, Jehst, and Grandmaster Flash and a range of others have flown by in a somewhat of a drink and drug addled haze, and whilst I have had an awesome time in the main, the details are somewhat sketchy as a result.
That said, one particular incident does spring to mind....
(The disclaimer) Certain aspects of this story are going to remain deliberately vague, as you never know whos reading and how pleased they may or may not be to referred to, but anyone with a passing knowledge of Nottingham is likely to be able to do the maths.... and no offence is intended....really!!!
So first a little background.... There is a certain, nationally renowned, alternative nightclub/venue in Nottingham at which I was once employed, several years ago. This club boasts, in my opinion, the largest and frankly most frightening bouncers in the city, due to some extent to the fact that a portion of the door staff are drawn from a particular, well known motorcycle club who are active in the area.
I shit you not- these are some big, mean and potentially extremely unpleasant men and no mistake, and often those who cause trouble in this particular club discover this all too late.
Having worked there and gone there socially for a number of years, I had heard and witnessed absolute horror stories about the way that certain individuals could potentially become if provoked.
Rumours of people being thrown down fire escapes with their teeth bashed out, being set on fire and having their Achilles tendons cut with bolt cutters, having been ejected from the place following disputes, have circulated there for a long time, and were always sufficient, from my point of view, to keep me nodding and agreeing an awful lot in the times when I have had to deal with these guys.... This is reasonable, I think youll agree!
So ages ago I heard this one story, about this particular bouncer at the club. Now this guy is probably 6 feet tall and about 4 wide, is a moderately senior member of the aforementioned bike club and is not a guy whose collective drink you would wish to spill.
Were talking MEAN MOTHERFUCKER and no doubt!!!
Apparently this guy once came home of an evening, to catch a junkie in the act of burgling his home. The way the story goes is that rather than call the police as one might generally do, he nailed this poor fuckers hand to a table through the middle knuckle, left the claw hammer on the table next to him, told him if he was there when he got back he was fucking dead....and went out to the pub.
(A little extra grim detail about the practicality of this- a nail through the middle knuckle of your hand would mean that in order to remove the nail with a claw hammer, you would have to break the knuckle on one side or the other with the claw in order to get the nail out- this does not sound like fun!!)
Surprisingly, the junkie was gone when he got back.....(he clearly took this guys threat seriously, as well you might!)
Now this seemed particularly horrible, even by the standards of certain other stories Id heard in a simillar vein, but Id heard it a few times from a few sources and I was still extremely sceptical, and had practically forgotten about it.............until I saw the protagonist of the story (minus claw hammer) for the first time in years, working security by the bar at the drum and bass night that the aforementioned club was hosting.
As I mentioned earlier, Im generally extremely polite and reserved around these kind of guys as a rule of thumb, but a cocktail of E, whiskey and pretty glow sticks meant that of course I had to go and talk this guys ear off. (Bare in mind I am probably sweating and grinding my teeth at this point.)
I barrel up to this guy, say Hi ****, remember me- I used to work the bar here a few years ago The guy just kind of nods, so I press on and proceed to ask him to confirm the truth of the story just told..... Looking back at it, this was rash.... I finish up my telling of the story back to him with so you nailed his hand to a table and went to the pub....is that true??? Theres a pause where this guy just looks at me and I realise I may have overstepped the mark by bringing this up, and he, dead pan and cold as fuck, says no. Just for a second, Im a little bit disappointed, and then he continues. no....it wasnt a table, it was a fucking door. My mouth flaps open and Im at a loss for words.... He just looks at me, leans over to the bar man, buys me a jack and coke, and walks off....
Im not sure how I managed to get that little interaction right. but Im extremely pleased that I got the Jack and coke treatment rather than the hammer and nail, as a result.... although I do doubt it was because he was all that scared of me...
Moral of the story kids- if you heard it, its probably true- but it never hurts to ask! (well not always anyway)
All the love- kisses handshakes- all that!
S.x
VIEW 24 of 24 COMMENTS
Hello new friend! Picture a really pale, blonde pirhanna with makeup and tattoos....there you go!
Like your tatts
mmmmmmmmm Brody Dalle
sounds like the jack and coke is def preferable to the hammer and knuckle option (that description of how you remove the nail made me feel sick by the way