The army
My older bro decided to seek gainful employment courtesy of Her Maj in the army. This led to many trips to various places around the world.

Anyway, one particular weekend I was due to be down in London and my bro had phoned up to let me know he'd be there as well (Life Before Interweb). So we agree to meet up.

Anyway, me being (*cough cough*) slightly underage and Ian being in the army, we decided to drink. To the point where the idea came to us to make our way to a nightclub for some good old fashioned boogying.

So off we toddle. I know of a club near Kings Cross with a refreshing attitude to underage drinking, so we head there. We get in the queue, and I notice Ian looking perturbed.

By perturbed I mean fucking terrified.

"What's wrong you flid?" I enquire.

"Well" said Ian "Last time I was here, I had something of a disagreement with the door staff. You know that broken arm I got?"

"You mean the one that needed a plate and several ounces of finest grade metalwork, and that you told your dear mother occurred on exercise in Germany?"

"That's the one. Erm. It happened here."

"Ah"

By this stage we were too late. We were nearly at the front of the queue and there was no way we could have cut out. So I told Ian to grin and bear it. The doorbears scarcely gave us a second look (it was that kind of club) and in we went.

There was quite a lack of female company, but we fell in with some chaps who also happened to be pongos (and a more depraved bunch of alcoholics I have never met). Several shots were had until I saw a very pretty young lady strutting her funky stuff on the dancefloor. (Life Before Gay)

I decided to do the manly thing, and go down to slur at her whilst dancing like a mong on acid. My surefire technique was bound to work.

As I headed downstairs, I was tapped on the shoulder.

"Carrot" Ian hissed. "Don't do it. She's the reason I got my arm broken."

"What?"

"Well, she's the owner's daughter and she's only 17...now"

Now, anyone who knows me is aware that when drunk, I am a stubborn bastard and will not under any circumstances listen to advice, least still from my well travelled and wordly wise elder brother. So down I go. My drunken lurching amazingly has the right effect. She invites me into the lady's bogs so she can play with my willy, and I , ever the gent, oblige.

2 minutes after, I hear a bang on the door. "WHATTHEFUCKDOYOUTHINKYOUAREDOINGGETOUTHERENOOOOOOOOOW"

"Oh fuck" says the girl. "It's me Dad"

At this stage, well let's just say I'm in the right room as I threaten to void myself. I am in for a right shoeing, and I know it. Anyway, the door slams open and I am grabbed by the scruff of the neck by a bloke who is literally 6 foot in all dimensions.

I start making peace with my God.

The niceties of being taken out the back for a full and frank discussion was not on offer here. I was dragged (and bear in mind I'm 6ft + and not light) straight out the front.

"Right fuckhead" the manager drools. "I'm going to fucking sort you."

"Hey pal" I hear from across the carpark. "Can ye're mother sew?"

At this stage, a 5 ft nothing scottish squaddie jumps on the bloke and headbutts him in the nose (imagine the Nac Mac Feegle, and you're pretty close). Obviously, this distracts the owner, but piques the interest of the bouncers, who come flying over.

Closely followed by 6 other drunk but extremely angry squaddies, who start pummelling the shite out of all and sundry.

Me and my brother make a sharp exit.

We didn't drink there again.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Wed 15 Apr 2009, 7:35, 1 reply)

Great post!
Fuckin wonderful!
( SpankyHanky, Wed 15 Apr 2009, 8:59, closed)