Supersoakers! Clubs! Police! Fear!
I'd decided to go out. Not many others were willing, but I had some pills named "Supersoakers" and so the usual suspects ended up coming out.

We went to a club in Sheffield. We got twatted, we were dancing like twats, we were having a great time. Our evening was not to last though. There was a bang, lights came on, tunes stopped and there was a tanoy announcement. A flourescent yellow and black wall steamed forwards and suddenly the air was rent by yells, screams and unmentionable oaths. There was the sound of rain as plastic bags and cash dropped to the floor. We were being raided.

As 160 coppers charged in, most people froze. Not me; I dropped to the floor and scrabbled about, shoving pills and wraps into my pants, grateful to have worn briefs, and stuffing cash into my pockets. We were all searched as we left, some thoroughly, some not. I was, but they left between my legs alone and when questioned about cash, I told the truth and was let out.

I fucked off home, quickly, although by a circuitous route and ran through the booty as my heart rate gradually subsided to a normal level. I'd made about £300, plus a few wraps of coke, some speed and a couple of hundred odd pills.

So I went to an after hours club running til midday. THe police turned up again. I was recognised, and was clearly twatted and was dragged outside into the startling Sunday sunshine. I was thrown to the ground and searched. All that was found was a few pounds, some keys and an empty plastic bag.

I was clearly sparkled, they asked some questions and when I couldn't (wouldn't) answer sensibly they tore a strip off me and threatened me with arrest if they saw me again.

I went back indoors; I carried on; I had fun (although I had been told off, and shaken up a bit).
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:27, Reply)