On visiting a mate in Leicester
Circa 1982.

I can't remember the actual name of the club so for the purposes of this story we'll call it "Cinderellabagofcuntingshite"

Left (what we later realised) a perfectly good pub, queued for a good 30 minutes only for the bouncer to tell us "Sorry lads, no entry without a tie"
A tie? As far as we were aware, Cinderellabagofcuntingshite was not a gentlemen's club with a dress code, but that night it seemed it was and after all, who were we to argue with the oracle on the door?

Now I was all in favour of just going back to the pub but my mate was adamant about the prospective totty in the club so we took a twenty minute bus back to his parents where we raided his not overly extensive wardrobe.

Seems he only owned one tie, his old school tie.

"I know" he proclaimed "my dad will have loads of ties" Well you know he was right. His dad did have an extensive collection of ties, fucking bow ties.
We picked the best of a bad bunch, he a rather nasty dark red paisley print number, me a torrid canary yellow with small blue polka dots and then tied them so badly it looked like someone had wanked in a hanky and then stuck it on our throats.

Another 20 minute bus ride (this time being sniggered at) and woo-hoo we're back in the queue. This time we only have to wait 45 minutes to get to the door where the same bouncer tells us to "take those fucking stupid bow ties off you twats! Are you trying to get your heads kicked in?" before letting us in. TIELESS. What an utter cunt.

Didn't pull, spent all of our money on nasty lager and went home depressed.
(zebby wasting irony here on, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:22, Reply)