» Nightclubs

Sankey's "soap"
Sankey’s Soap, in Ancoats, Manchester. Great club, in the main, great music, ecclectic crowd...

A very chilled but slighly chemically twitchy evening was unfolding, and I was glad to be in the club after the fuckwit-neanderthal-gautlet which was the way in. About half way through the night I was wandering upstairs trying to gather up the folks for a dance downstairs – DJ Shadow’s set was hotting up – when I spied a good looking but jaded girl flashing her breasts. As I was on a pill, the clumsy drunken seduction was pretty much lost on me, and many others I must say, but most of the men were nonetheless transfixed. Curiosity got the better of me and I leaned against a nearby speaker to see what would develop. You could tell by the atmosphere in the place – booze soaked heat – that something was going to happen here. Sure enough, within seconds it seemed, a bloke had risen to the bait and they were at each other’s mouths kissing vigorously. After a minute of this, as if it had been planned in advance, the woman lifted up her skimpy skirt and the willing bloke stuck it in her – right on the dance floor! I tried not to look shocked, or even move my head too quickly in any direction, as these small gestures are the ones that can earn you a beating amongst folks that fùck on dance floors. To my shame, I think I even played along with the scumbags around me, miming their jealousy. What really got me about the scene was the look in their eyes – here they were having intercourse in public and what did their eyes say? Nothing. Like the blank, twitchy stare of a wildebeest rutting away. Not human. I always think back to that when I meet the occaional hard-core clubber who goes on about clubbing being the new religion, or the potential saviour of society...
(Sat 11th Apr 2009, 9:51, More)

» Workplace Boredom

Net send messages
One of the IT geezers in a place i used to work at showed us the amazing technique of the net send message on a rainy afternoon. Most people reading this will know what these are i imagine, but for the uninitiated, its basically a pop-up messaging facility between networked pcs. The bonus is that it is, if memory serves, IP address based, so no instant trace of who sent the message, at least to the PC nieve folk who got messaged over the next couple of weeks. They also look quite official. The atmosphere of big brother paranoia and heavily timed toilet breaks etc etc helped us to make the most of our new trick.

Before the game was up, we had sent numerous people (mainly middle managers) to see their bosses to apologise when they came in late or weren't dressed "appropiately" (according to our exacting and ridiculous standards). We also sent people out to the car park to randomly move cars and told people that they needed to go back to the toilet and wash the back of their trousers.....childish but necessary amusement back in the dark days of call centre employment
(Wed 14th Jan 2009, 15:15, More)

» Tramps

Crying shoeless tramp scamp
Not sure if this one has been posted yet or not, I would read all the stories and check, but then I would have already finished my lunch break.....although I am enjoying the subtle compassion vs. loathing for the great unwashed battle taking place. My Mum is a great soft touch and we have taken in many a waif and stray over the years, so I do have a couple of stories to add to the pot this week.

The first tramp in question is not one who my Mum invited to stay with us, and is probably not a tramp at all. In fact, the guy is probably doing very well for himself. Or not...

This "tramp" would sit on the pedestrian precinct in Manchester's city centre, overtly shoeless, sobbing his heart out. The bloke had a proper theatrical gift (or perhaps some serious inner angst to draw on)and the first time people saw him, they would quite often instinctively go and ask him if he was ok, and perhaps give him some money (from memory, he wasn't actually asking).

The novelty did wear off though, and rightly or wrongly most regular passers by decided this sobbing routine was a con. Confirmation that this was the right decision came when a group of (female) friends of mine saw the said shoeless wonder in a swanky wine bar in Deansgate enjoying a mojito. I believe the phrase "Oh, you've found your fucking shoes then" was used to full and embarrassing effect.
(Wed 8th Jul 2009, 11:54, More)

» I'm going to Hell...

There are so many reasons, but this is probably the most comical
Me and my cousin were 13 and 14 respectively. My eldest nephew who we had been asked to look after for a short while was 4. We turned down the sound on the TV and mimed fake conversations for 10 minutes and successfully convinced a 4 year old boy that he had gone deaf. We laughed through his worry. Are we going to hell for it? Quite likely. Is my uncle, 45 at the time, going to hell for playing along? Definitely.
(Mon 15th Dec 2008, 11:48, More)

» I was drunk when I bought this

Lung destroying pipe
A friend of mine, let's call him Chris (his name), once bought an electric pipe on the way home from a day at the pub. Seemed like a good idea to all concerned at the the time, but paying £25 to have extremely hot smoke blasted into your lungs by a 50p fan engine is not as good as it first appears.
(Fri 10th Jun 2005, 13:10, More)