Mouthing words.
My mate was part of a door team that worked a very popular club in the north of England during the early 90's. Part of his role was to "tax" unauthorised dealers to keep things under a certain amount of control and discipline. Generally, it was all good humoured, but with enough muscle behind it to keep everything safe.

One of the fringe benefits was that a large amount of "the tax" ended up back at my place after closing, to be redistributed amongst the poor and needy. Me.

There was a great story about someone mistaking charlie for whizz, making a huge bomb, and necking the lot and becoming very paralysed. But I was not there, and cannot verify this tale.

Also, there were nights when some of our fuelled antics attracted the attention of Greater Manchester's Finest. But again, not very personal, as they were collective moments. There were acid and mushroom trips, that were some of both the scariest and funniest times of my life. There were kids who went to far, and got the jacking mixture a bit wrong and are no longer with us. There were all sorts of dodgy deals, tales and goings on that make that period of my life a blast.

But my personal tale, surrounds a cocktail of pills and powders that I partook of one evening. I don't know what they were, or whether they had a kite mark to prove they were genuine drugs. But the strangest sensation took hold. I was sweating like a blind lesbian in a McFishery, and could not move, whilst at the same time, the largest "I'm feeling goooooooooooood" look was plastered all over my face.

Inside, I was shitting bricks. I was thinking that this was the big one, my limit had been reached, and I was to say goodbye now because I'm not coming back.

I tried to call for help, but couldn't speak. Like lockjaw, I couldn't move my mouth. Sweating more, I'm trying to look around for someone to help me, but I can't move my head. And my grin is getting wider... my eyes may have been rolling a bit, but from the inside the only thing I felt was functioning was my eyes.

So I tried to use them.

Using just my iris, I was using them to communicate to people around me by mouthing, yes mouthing, with my eyes: "Help me! I'm dying"

But nobody noticed. They just continued talking shit around me. I sat there for what seemed like ever.

Finally, the paralysis subsided. I sat back and said "thank fuck for that" or something similar. The girl sat next to me said "Here, want some..." and passed me round two.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Tue 21 Sep 2010, 11:42, 1 reply)

I Think I've Heard Of This Club...
There was a book written about it by a certain member of the Manchester scene, and released earlier this year...
(caescarna Hell's Roomba, Tue 21 Sep 2010, 15:05, closed)