The Pleasuredome.
Residents (as I once was) of the puss-filled boil that nestles deep in the armpit of the nation; commonly known as Lincolnshire, may have ventured at some point or other to the trendy nightspot called the Pleasuredome.

By day it's home is a bastion of low rent chavdom situated in the anus of Skegness, itching away at this poor excuse for a coastal resort like a bloated haemorrhoid that's been sat on too heavily too often.

But once a month it would be transformed into an asylum for terminal gurners, and eager, drug-fuelled youths would flock from far and wide to gyrate spasmodically for hours on end to distorted & repetitive beats.

Several rooms would quickly fill with these rejects from the special school of life and white gloves and glow-sticks would cut repetitive lines through the stale sweaty air, while shivering chins would exclaim to owners of other shivering chins that they fucking loved them, man!

And it is with perhaps too little shame that I admit to having frequented this establishment throughout my youth. In it I cut my teeth (almost literally, bloody pills) in the world of clubbing and drugs, and too many hours were spent with my eyes rolled far into the back of my head and my bottom jaw chattering like a monkey on crack.

And the shameful truth is, I fucking loved the place.
( Moey, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 13:52, Reply)