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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Breakups, swingers and boozery; oh my!
Now, as a principle I don't really go to clubs. The booze is too pricey, I like the music but as like a lot of men am only blessed with the ability to perform one very rigid dance. This leads to an inability to trap off with a member of the opposite sex and I instead opt to bimble off down the kebab shop rather than gyrating.
Anyway, I had broken up with the former Mrs. Cunt a few months ago and had spent the week indulging in lots of alcohol and having what's know as 'a bloody good time' because naturally, I was upset about it all. So, I gets a phone call from a buddy to see if I want to go out to Manchester's very own sticky floored venue, 42nd Street - beats sitting in wanking watching another re-run of Top Gear thinks I, so whips on some glad rags (well, it was jeans and a t-shirt really) and gets gone.
After having ingested several beers, eyeing up the ladies having a sweat and a wobble and passing the typical comments, I gets up and partakes in a dance not similar to something by C3P0. It's not going anywhere and being not the healthiest person in the North West, I start to get a bit of a sweat on and decide 'bollocks, it's time for a fag'.
In I come, post cigarette and sit down to compose my thoughts and started thinking about the former Mrs. Cunt. So whilst I'm in my moment of solace I hear 'do you wanna shag me?' and look around. Now, it seemed like I was in luck as I'd already been taken out for a kebab this week by another lass. The chance to see a mimsy would have been amazing, so naturally and for the team, I say 'yes' with a slight twitch on.
We speak, I drink more, she drinks more, and then she says 'but my boyfriend wants to watch'. Ummm... thinks I. Cue another few drinks. 'He also wants you to have sex with him'. I didn't really fancy smashing someone's back doors in that night, so I politely declined, ceased the twitching and let them leave with someone who resembled a barbary ape.
There are also a few other stories regarding Canal Street on a Russian society social, and when I was banned from entering 42's by the goblin on the door for being 'fucked' and insisting "I'm fine, don't worry 'bout me!"
Length? Nah, no apologies this week. I didn't let them see!
(Does anyone know if 42's has a reputation for being a swinging hot spot, btw?)
( , Fri 10 Apr 2009, 12:57, 2 replies)
Now, as a principle I don't really go to clubs. The booze is too pricey, I like the music but as like a lot of men am only blessed with the ability to perform one very rigid dance. This leads to an inability to trap off with a member of the opposite sex and I instead opt to bimble off down the kebab shop rather than gyrating.
Anyway, I had broken up with the former Mrs. Cunt a few months ago and had spent the week indulging in lots of alcohol and having what's know as 'a bloody good time' because naturally, I was upset about it all. So, I gets a phone call from a buddy to see if I want to go out to Manchester's very own sticky floored venue, 42nd Street - beats sitting in wanking watching another re-run of Top Gear thinks I, so whips on some glad rags (well, it was jeans and a t-shirt really) and gets gone.
After having ingested several beers, eyeing up the ladies having a sweat and a wobble and passing the typical comments, I gets up and partakes in a dance not similar to something by C3P0. It's not going anywhere and being not the healthiest person in the North West, I start to get a bit of a sweat on and decide 'bollocks, it's time for a fag'.
In I come, post cigarette and sit down to compose my thoughts and started thinking about the former Mrs. Cunt. So whilst I'm in my moment of solace I hear 'do you wanna shag me?' and look around. Now, it seemed like I was in luck as I'd already been taken out for a kebab this week by another lass. The chance to see a mimsy would have been amazing, so naturally and for the team, I say 'yes' with a slight twitch on.
We speak, I drink more, she drinks more, and then she says 'but my boyfriend wants to watch'. Ummm... thinks I. Cue another few drinks. 'He also wants you to have sex with him'. I didn't really fancy smashing someone's back doors in that night, so I politely declined, ceased the twitching and let them leave with someone who resembled a barbary ape.
There are also a few other stories regarding Canal Street on a Russian society social, and when I was banned from entering 42's by the goblin on the door for being 'fucked' and insisting "I'm fine, don't worry 'bout me!"
Length? Nah, no apologies this week. I didn't let them see!
(Does anyone know if 42's has a reputation for being a swinging hot spot, btw?)
( , Fri 10 Apr 2009, 12:57, 2 replies)
i used to work there
and still do kind of, in our other club the venue. anywho, after 4 years in their employ, i have never come across any of this swinging malarky! the goblin doorman is called jimmy by the way, he's a bit of a legend but can get carried away at times.
( , Sat 11 Apr 2009, 17:26, closed)
and still do kind of, in our other club the venue. anywho, after 4 years in their employ, i have never come across any of this swinging malarky! the goblin doorman is called jimmy by the way, he's a bit of a legend but can get carried away at times.
( , Sat 11 Apr 2009, 17:26, closed)
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