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My shit Saturday night:
6:15pm: Leave house for mates house. He's not like my best mate mate or even much more than a 'bloke I know who's not too big a wanker' mate but I am sick of spending Saturday nghts at home working. So I set out. Morale is high.
6:50pm: Arrive at mate's house. Mate is wearing a football shirt and kneelength shorts, he is not ready to go out. I feel overdressed and I hate dressing up to go out anyway. If I thought there was any chance that we'd end up in my favourite rock, rock chick and excellent beer sink hole The Purple Turtle I would have worn decent clothing. As it is I feel like I'm dressed wrong and am fairly uncomfortable. Mate is watching a 'Friends' marathon on E4. I start to lose the will to live. The prospect of a cherry beer while listening to early 90s grunge and punk is floating away from me and even as it does so it looks so attractive. Briefly wish I had the balls to walk in there by myself and just start talking ot random people. Almost decide I have requisite love pods but then realise I am dressed like a dweeb. Watch the Friends interact in a cute and amusing manner. My soul is dying.
7:30pm: Chinese food arrives. I have shredded chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken balls and special fried rice. It is tasty and filled with MSG... morale rises slightly. Hope is in sight. Drink Pepsi Max with meal. It tastes like soapflakeade. After we eat mate grabs Sky remote and flicks through various soul destroying music channels until I feel like my ears may start to bleed. have to resort to a fantasy of being a deep cover CIA agent to look even vaguely keen about watching 80s pop videos. I am starting to think that this might be a mistake.
9:00pm: Mates mate who is apparently doing a PhD turns up. He seems to believe that if he isn't talking about getting some pussy 24/7 then he's not a real man. He is about 5'2" tall and is wearing a t-shirt with a drawing of a rhino above which is the legend 'Horny?' He is one day going to be a professor of something if he passes his course. This scares me. We play Bomberman Kart which has to be a contender for the most fucktarded games ever written with its shite graphics, toothgrinding pop melodies and total absence of bloodshed. I spend all my time trying to make my go kart go in reverse properly, which it won't. The 'lads' are too busy accusing each other of being 'ass pirates' and the like to notice. I want to go home but feel that this might appear rude.
10:30pm: We leave the house to go for a drink. We are five minutes from the Turtle but mate's idea of a bangin' choon is something by Usher that makes my stomach churn. I wish I had pretended to have a proper bad stomach like I wanted to before leaving. Maybe an evening in by myself with Once Upon A Time In China would have been a wiser move...
10:45pm: We are in a fucked up theme pub with as much atmosphere as deep space. We are surrounded by women with fake tans and almost no clothes on who are all shouting at one another or look to be having as good a time as I am. I want to drink and leave.
11:00pm: We are wandering from empty bar to empty bar while the lads look for 'totty' and I wonder how much more ABBA, Shitney and Christina Aguilera I can have thrust into my ears like invasive syphilitic penii. The Turtle is so close but I realise now that I have totally misplayed that one. Mate eventually decides that he would like to go to a theme bar filled with middle aged housewives and playing an offensive stream of pop filth. I decide that there are somethings that no one should ask me to do and this is one of them. I bid him a goodnight and walk the long road home.
I tried not to be some kind of elitest rock snob and to just go out and go with the flow but in the end that kind of thing blows dead goats for drug money. I am never doing it ever again. So I should get used to the company of my USB modem and the Netizens... because at least on the wubbleyouwubbleyouwubbleyou some people aren't complete dicks. Anyone want to go to a kickin' rock pub in Berkshire?
My shit Saturday night:
6:15pm: Leave house for mates house. He's not like my best mate mate or even much more than a 'bloke I know who's not too big a wanker' mate but I am sick of spending Saturday nghts at home working. So I set out. Morale is high.
6:50pm: Arrive at mate's house. Mate is wearing a football shirt and kneelength shorts, he is not ready to go out. I feel overdressed and I hate dressing up to go out anyway. If I thought there was any chance that we'd end up in my favourite rock, rock chick and excellent beer sink hole The Purple Turtle I would have worn decent clothing. As it is I feel like I'm dressed wrong and am fairly uncomfortable. Mate is watching a 'Friends' marathon on E4. I start to lose the will to live. The prospect of a cherry beer while listening to early 90s grunge and punk is floating away from me and even as it does so it looks so attractive. Briefly wish I had the balls to walk in there by myself and just start talking ot random people. Almost decide I have requisite love pods but then realise I am dressed like a dweeb. Watch the Friends interact in a cute and amusing manner. My soul is dying.
7:30pm: Chinese food arrives. I have shredded chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken balls and special fried rice. It is tasty and filled with MSG... morale rises slightly. Hope is in sight. Drink Pepsi Max with meal. It tastes like soapflakeade. After we eat mate grabs Sky remote and flicks through various soul destroying music channels until I feel like my ears may start to bleed. have to resort to a fantasy of being a deep cover CIA agent to look even vaguely keen about watching 80s pop videos. I am starting to think that this might be a mistake.
9:00pm: Mates mate who is apparently doing a PhD turns up. He seems to believe that if he isn't talking about getting some pussy 24/7 then he's not a real man. He is about 5'2" tall and is wearing a t-shirt with a drawing of a rhino above which is the legend 'Horny?' He is one day going to be a professor of something if he passes his course. This scares me. We play Bomberman Kart which has to be a contender for the most fucktarded games ever written with its shite graphics, toothgrinding pop melodies and total absence of bloodshed. I spend all my time trying to make my go kart go in reverse properly, which it won't. The 'lads' are too busy accusing each other of being 'ass pirates' and the like to notice. I want to go home but feel that this might appear rude.
10:30pm: We leave the house to go for a drink. We are five minutes from the Turtle but mate's idea of a bangin' choon is something by Usher that makes my stomach churn. I wish I had pretended to have a proper bad stomach like I wanted to before leaving. Maybe an evening in by myself with Once Upon A Time In China would have been a wiser move...
10:45pm: We are in a fucked up theme pub with as much atmosphere as deep space. We are surrounded by women with fake tans and almost no clothes on who are all shouting at one another or look to be having as good a time as I am. I want to drink and leave.
11:00pm: We are wandering from empty bar to empty bar while the lads look for 'totty' and I wonder how much more ABBA, Shitney and Christina Aguilera I can have thrust into my ears like invasive syphilitic penii. The Turtle is so close but I realise now that I have totally misplayed that one. Mate eventually decides that he would like to go to a theme bar filled with middle aged housewives and playing an offensive stream of pop filth. I decide that there are somethings that no one should ask me to do and this is one of them. I bid him a goodnight and walk the long road home.
I tried not to be some kind of elitest rock snob and to just go out and go with the flow but in the end that kind of thing blows dead goats for drug money. I am never doing it ever again. So I should get used to the company of my USB modem and the Netizens... because at least on the wubbleyouwubbleyouwubbleyou some people aren't complete dicks. Anyone want to go to a kickin' rock pub in Berkshire?
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
no the first post is a simpsons refrance for some reson farqure said it
plow king is what barny calls his plow compony after homer calls his mr plow,
silly rellly
Have to say I've never done the Edinburgh thing and would love to but even subsidised the logistics would probably prove too tough...
Hey I'd love to meet up too but unfortunately I'll be away the whole bank holiday weekend on an old mate's stag thing. There'll be plenty of meets coming up though I'm sure so I can guarantee we'll catch up before long.
And BTW the Purple Turtles rock, although I haven't been to one in a while. And yes finding people who appreciate decent rock/metal music is a lot tougher than it sounds...