Nightclubs
Thinly-disguised entrances to Hell where bad things happen. Tell us your dancefloor disasters.
( , Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:35)
Thinly-disguised entrances to Hell where bad things happen. Tell us your dancefloor disasters.
( , Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:35)
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so there's me...
gyrating on the dance floor.
a flock of cooing maidens looking on longingly.
when all of a sudden in walks the burliest knuckle dragger known to man, orders a pint of snakebite at the bar and saunters over to me.
I embrace him, quite gruffly.
I'm afraid what came next is a bit of a blur, but I do remember 'putting my finger on the pulse' before we were politely asked to leave.
'let's all go back to mine!' I yelped and clapped my hands together, jumping on the spot.
I was wearing my 'frothing hat' for all to see.
I arched my back over as if trying to attempt 'the crab' but once bent over I strutted around the club. This was to be my finest hour.
with my pointy winkle pickers on and hair dragging on the ground I began Cossack dancing to the sublime beat. one two ha! two two ha!
It was 'popcorn' by Gershon Kingsley if i remember correctly.
all of a sudden everyone in the club began to arch backwards. legs akimbo. kicking and spinning, one by one everyone was hooked.
Suddenly a door opened and someone released around 30 or 40 chickens onto the dance floor which flapped and frolicked around sometimes being kicked sometimes just laying eggs.
soon everyone was covered in eggmess and slipping around rolling in the gunk that encapsulated us all.
then I looked into the centre of the crowd, you've guessed it. Paul Ross, bold as billy bragg hoopla'ing around a pole made of mashed up pepperami's.
blood poured from my eyes as the realisation of my predicament washed over me. I was to be Paul's bride in this demonical ceremony.
I seized the moment and made a dart for the door, still arched double but lurching at a tremendous pace, I barged the bouncers out of my way and spiderwalked down the stairs to freedom.
I've never spoken of these events before, and I never will again.
I guess I must put things from my mind to help deal with them... hell, doesn't everyone?
D HOUSER. MD.
09.03.82
( , Wed 8 Apr 2009, 17:09, 2 replies)
gyrating on the dance floor.
a flock of cooing maidens looking on longingly.
when all of a sudden in walks the burliest knuckle dragger known to man, orders a pint of snakebite at the bar and saunters over to me.
I embrace him, quite gruffly.
I'm afraid what came next is a bit of a blur, but I do remember 'putting my finger on the pulse' before we were politely asked to leave.
'let's all go back to mine!' I yelped and clapped my hands together, jumping on the spot.
I was wearing my 'frothing hat' for all to see.
I arched my back over as if trying to attempt 'the crab' but once bent over I strutted around the club. This was to be my finest hour.
with my pointy winkle pickers on and hair dragging on the ground I began Cossack dancing to the sublime beat. one two ha! two two ha!
It was 'popcorn' by Gershon Kingsley if i remember correctly.
all of a sudden everyone in the club began to arch backwards. legs akimbo. kicking and spinning, one by one everyone was hooked.
Suddenly a door opened and someone released around 30 or 40 chickens onto the dance floor which flapped and frolicked around sometimes being kicked sometimes just laying eggs.
soon everyone was covered in eggmess and slipping around rolling in the gunk that encapsulated us all.
then I looked into the centre of the crowd, you've guessed it. Paul Ross, bold as billy bragg hoopla'ing around a pole made of mashed up pepperami's.
blood poured from my eyes as the realisation of my predicament washed over me. I was to be Paul's bride in this demonical ceremony.
I seized the moment and made a dart for the door, still arched double but lurching at a tremendous pace, I barged the bouncers out of my way and spiderwalked down the stairs to freedom.
I've never spoken of these events before, and I never will again.
I guess I must put things from my mind to help deal with them... hell, doesn't everyone?
D HOUSER. MD.
09.03.82
( , Wed 8 Apr 2009, 17:09, 2 replies)
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