Stay safe, speak soon, happy Yule.

Twas the night before christmas

And all was quiet on the streets

Nothing was moving

Cept cops on their beats.

All shop lights were on but tellers had fled home, the rush of the season had cut them to the bone.

Weary and tired service had been cut, time for a rest, some sleep and some food.

In the street twas a door with a man standing lone, hat pulled on tight, coat done up all. Cup in hand he did sip black delight, nothing was getting in, not this xmas night. 

Not that our figure did lack xmas cheers, he stood each night fighting men over beer. He saw the world walk by on every noon, 

from bulky young men and women that swoon. Not much of a difference did these bawdy folk make, 

Twas just another night to our figure out late.

Cup all drank up and keys in his hand

The portal to close upon the hours demand.

But before the wood could touch socket true 

A gruff voice did call from the side near the door,

'Hey pal a favour, one for the poor..'

Twas a lone underprivileged, all shabby no chic,

A pennie, a meal a kind face he did seak,

'Whats up there pal, what can be done?'

The big bouncer man said quick as a shot, 'no money have I but how about something hot?' 

A cup was produced and coffee so black was poured from a flask from bouncers day sack.

Twas not a million in diamonds and gold,

Nor was it comfort nor hand to hold,

Was simple and kind and just what was needed,

Twas a just an ear and a voice that was heeded.  

Hot town, summer in the city.

Hi,

Another little one from way back when, was funny at the time.

Sometime in mid summer in Liverpool quite a while ago all was normal and chugging along as per. Thing with night clubs is that they mostly run themselves, people know the routine (queuing up, pay at the front, go to the bar, get the drinks, squash yourself into a seething sweaty mass) you just have to nudge it along and jump when you have to.

 There's always going to be idiots. There always has and always will be, no matter how hard we try to educate or show people that, say, having no pants on, or peeing onto people from a high balcony just isn't very smart; They always will.

There are repercussions that may not be very nice like, say, the one you peed on marching up to you and punching your lights out. Obviously the only recourse for the now smited foe is to rush to the bouncers and state loudly and angrily that someone has just punched you for absolutely no reason at all and you want them dragged in front of the highest law in the land and have their eyeballs pulled through their bum hole. No matter what they have actually done and may deserve, people believe they are unique little snowflakes, wondrous and fantastic in every way, unquestionable and righteous.

People are largely dicks.

Yes there are exceptions to the rule but through my experiences with the human race they can be selfish, rude, violent children. Stupidity runs rampant, Darwin's rule is broken and those who would, in times gone past, have fled this world of ours with the last words of 'good kitty, my what big teeth you have' are now the pampered masses of a new and indulgent generation. 

 I know every generation believes that the next are brainless but it seems to be infectious. The arguments I've had with octogenarians and infants are the one and the same. Disheartening. 

And then something comes along that makes you smile. That one little incident that turns up the corners of your mouth and makes the heart flutter with humour. It can be by design. But most times by accident. The universe sometimes throws you a bone.

As we sorted through the gaggle of folks, chopping the queue, looking for the things that need to be seen. Are they drunk, on drugs, looking for a fight, going to get themselves into a state.. All the little things that leap out at me and scream to be noticed. I saw a lad. Shorts, t-shirt with a pair of tits on it (apt) and one green and one yellow flip flops. Don't know why he struck me. Sometimes I don't have a clue why these people stick out to me. They just do and I know they are going to be.. Silly.

He went through the front. ID'd, questioned about who else he was with and away he went, past the large swinging double doors and the fray of the heaving masses. Something stuck with me about him. No idea what it was but We would find out soon enough.

 Standard method of dealing with these things is to get eyes on. Simply put just stay in the club and watch them. It's not too nice. Hot, sweaty, noisy and you get pestered a lot by idiots who demand you smile and join them in being buffoons. 

"Why ain't you smilling, go on give us a smile.." 

"Am just busy hun.."

"If you like me you'd smile.."

"There we go then, that's your answer"

"Wha..?"

Sigh.

Whilst fending off the attentions of various vacuous gibbons I saw our friend being, well, being a prat. Pouring drinks over his head, pushing people in the throng, screaming at other idiots and then the big no no. Touching. A little contact is to be expected. Not trying to put your hand up their skirts.

Time to go.

I move slowly through the crowd. Don't rush, don't give the game away. Took a slanting angle to the man. Never from the front, always from the side. Stopped in the middle of the club. Watch the target, will he fight, does he have anything close that can be used as a weapon. Observe. 

Admist the unsuspecting conglomerate I saw him face to face with another man, arguing. He'd gone too far it seems and is about to reap his rewards. Lets stop that shall we. I made my way over and wedged myself between the two.

"Right pal, time to get off."

"You what dickhead.." Well thats a good start..

"It's time you got off mate, your not welcome" bet he doesn't take the easy way..

"Am gonna smash you dickhead"

Why do they never play nice..?

Hand moves to his arm, he shrugs off, my head moves to the left, the punch sails past, using his momentum his back is now to my front, lunges backwards with his head, ow..

 The back of his head it my forehead, as soon as I felt him bring his momentum forward I knew what he was planning and dipped my head down. Still hurt.

He was same height as me, smaller build but had a lot of strength. Drugs. Was hard to keep him under control, he was slipping from my grip. The movement of us struggling with each other had alerted my friend Owain. With slick ease he joined the grapple and took an arm, two's easier than one, and with that we began dragging him to the door. When people know the games up they become vocal. He was no different. The same old  threats, same old obscene demands, the same death to you and your family.. What a potty mouth. 

He's going to get us killed

He's going to rape our mums

He's going to burn down my house

Owains going to get cut up

We are both going to be shot.

Horrible stuff from a horrible cunt.

We get him to the door and fling him into the night. He screams, shouts and tells us to go fuck ourselves. Then he does something that is  probably one of the most abhorrent things anyone could do. He clears his sinuses and gobs a massive globbet of spit at us. 

Disgusting.

With his primeval rebuke complete he walks off, all swagger and roll. That's when we notice a flip flop on the floor in front  of us. What else can we do? He's away from the door, he's out of the place? As much as we would want to grab him and teach the little shit a lesson it would be illegal. That would be assault.

Almost as an act of frustration Owain picks up the flip flop and ninja star's it towards him. It was a wonderfull shot. A perfect shot. Don't know if it was the humidity that gave it lift or a particularly aerodynamic flip flop but it literally flew thirty feet just as the little tit turned around to give us yet more abuse and slapped him straight in his face! The sound was beautiful. It echoed across the ally like the parting strike of a scorned women. Lovely. His walk away was applauded by the sound of laughter. 

Sometimes the universe just throws you a bone.

Hope you enjoyed.

Stay safe. Speak soon.       

 

Those wonderful men with their texting machines.

Hi,

 This one, as with the last, has had the names and places witheld due to request.

 In the world I frequent there are lines. They are a strange mix of cheques and balances. In normal society certain people would be viewed with distaste or even hatred (myself normally falling in the latter catagory). People are taken on who they are, not what they do. For example when I'm on the street I work in or the surrounding streets I say hi to all the tramps, they are a great source of information, you learn who's new on the scene and what they are up to. Also they are human-fucking-beings who deserve the same respect as anyone who walks this hallowed ground we all home. 

 Now I don't judge people on what they do for money. When it is all boiled down I could be accused of performing violence for cash, the moral ambiguety of it all is not as black and white as that, as you are no doubt learning dear reader. I know prostitutes, both those who charge £20 for services and those who charge £200 per hour (from what I've learnt it all falls down to class of hotel, a better dress and laughing at the John's jokes or even pretending to be genuinely interested in the conversation), I know Romanian pick pockets and of course that scourge of society.

Drug dealers.

 The thing with drugs is they are easy to sell, there is no such thing as a drugs 'pusher'. You don't have to push drugs. Drugs fly of the shelves by themselves, everyone wants them. True drug dealers don't walk around in obvious clothing, music screaming out of the Audi's speakers whilst shouting 'get em whilst their hot'. They are mostly subtle, quiet people who are desperately trying not to get caught.

 They are also smart, I refer you to the previous comment about thugs. They are intelligent on a survival level. They really don't want to have their collar felt by the lads in funny hats. No, for the most drug dealers are intelligent, subtle and quiet.

Except for Johnny.

Johnny was an utter tool. A complete tit of the highest nature. I'm amazed he had not been nicked before tonights little tale. His mouth knew no bounds, he's the only person goonish enough to actually walk up to cops and ask where the best streets for 'selling' are. Absolute ham fisted, no brained smeg monkey. 

 Because we all live in each others pockets and interact with each other on a daily basis we have a respectful agreement. They (the life ruining scum) don't piss about in our clubs and we (in the absence of those lads and lasses in blue) don't smash their teeth in and dump them in a back ally despite what they may deserve. Simple equation, don't sell in our clubs and we wont hurt you. The reason we don't involve the law is because they can't be there 24/7 to help out. As much as we all would love to have a cop on the corner every hour of every day it just isn't possible. The thin blue line has been hacked at again and again to the exstent that even after a massive brawl we sometimes won't get a cop. Another reason is that these people are not exactly law abiding folk to begin with, nail one of their's to the wall and they will reciprocate in kind. Hence the truce. A truce that Johnny broke.

 One sunny Saturday evening things were going great, we had started at around 1 in the afternoon and were still rolling at 1 in the morning, only three more hours to go. There had been the usual problems that summer brings out, all the midday sunshine drinkers were either at home in an alcoholic stupor or staggering down the street in a crab like fashion, all wobberly limbs and besmirched facades.  The queue stretched down the side of the canal and the going was good, that was until Johnny turned up. 

"Sniffy coming to the front mate" said the head lad at the end of the main queue over the radio. 

Great. Just when things were going so well.

"Roger that, why don't we just fuck him off?" Why do we entertain him, little twattock.. He's the same size as my next door neighbours dog!

"Cos the little pleb has a cousin we don't want mither with" spoil sport.

"Sound. If I catch him though he's fair game" let me play, let me play..

"Absolutely" bingo!

Music to my ears. Don't rock the boat but if we can catch him breaking the agreement then it's toodlepip and don't come back. There are ways around having to deal with these lot. 

 The obnoxious little toe rag swaggers up, all hand shakes and smiles. See who he shakes hands with in the queue, go on twat, show me who your customers are. Without a hint of shame he slimes up to me and with a big smile shakes me by the hand.

"Good to see you friend" 

"Yes mate, you too, staying long?" I reeeally want to fuck you off..

"Haha as long as it takes" wink.

What a nugget. I cannot wait for this prat to fuck up. Be seeing you soon pal.

And with that he oozes into the thrumming club and starts to look around. So, as far as myself and a good friend of mine (for this tale we shall change his name to Simon) are concerned we have been given the all clear to hunt this lad like any other. Catch him in the act and toss his out into the humid night. Here's how you hunt someone in a nightclub. First problem is that as soon as any bouncer walks in, most of the club becomes alert to them. We stick out like a sore thumb. Folks don't want us near them incase we suddenly go stark raving frothing at the chops mad, bone their girl friend and turn their face into a Picasso for no other reason apart from asda being out of tuna.

 The way we used to work it was like this, get a large or noticeable lad (Simon) to be obvious and just walk round whilst myself and another actually make an attempt to blend in. This way the lad your hunting will be concerned with the big lummox and not the see the two coming from his left and right. Problem was we kind of fucked it up. Happens. You go in with the intention of being Mr Smooth and end up looking like Mr Bean. I knocked the table over, that I'm sure of. My oppo fell down the stairs (yup. Not kidding) and Simon just kind of disappeared. Shall we prepare the spare room for Mr Cockup?

 Whilst I was disentangling myself from the table and my oppo (with obvious concussion) attempted to take his shoes off we got a radio call from Simon. 

Amber man. Goody goody gumdrops.

When we finally got to the male toilets we found Simon and Johnny. Simon had three bags of charlie in his hand and Johnny had a face like a smacked arse. Well well well, what do we have here?

 Johnny was making all sorts of demands, he wanted his drugs back, he wanted to be able to sell in the club and most of all he wanted us to fuck off.

Not very likely pal.

Simon wasn't impressed. He had searched him and was only able to find three suicide bags, he was pretty sure that he had more on him but without the aid of a torch, some latex gloves and a crowbar we were not likely to find them.

"Where's the rest of it?.." Says Simon.

"Fuck off.." 

"Look, stop fucking about you spunk trumpet..." Says myself.

"Fuck off" 

"No one wants this to get out of hand pal, lets have the rest.."

"Fuck off"

Man of many words this lad.

And with that shakespearean dialogue complete it's decided that the best course of action would be to remove El Gobshite and feed it up the chain of command that he wasn't welcome anymore. As we are getting to the door of the toilets Johnny starts complaining

"Are you lot gonna fuck off then or what?"

"Eh? Why would we fuck of mate?" Says our oppo.

"I don't want to be seen being walked out by you lot, it makes me look dodgy"

.....?

"YOUR A FUCKING DRUG DEALER JOHNNY!?!" You really are not all there are you pal?

With that I take one arm and my oppo takes the other, scoop up Johnny and begin to walk out, this is when Simon decides to make the walk of shame a moment to remember and pulls down Johnnys pants, puts his hand in the air to show alll around the drugs and shouts COCAINE at the top of his voice. Not quite as smooth as I'd like but gets the job done. At the door things take a turn for the surreal. Johnny demands his bags back. He gets angry, real angry. I honestly found myself wishing he would have an embolism. I imagined him going cross eyed, letting out a long and high pitched fart before shouting about volvo's and falling to ground dead as a dodo. No such luck. The grave subject of impending mortis was on the cards though. Johnny said something very silly indeed. He said he was going to have us killed.

"Say that again.." Asks Simon.

"You heard you prick, your're dead! Am gonna call the lads and have you fucking shot..!" Replies Johnny the Kid.

"Really?.." Enquires us as one mind.

"Your're . All. Dead" 

I could see something turning over in Simons mind. Could see the cogs moving behinds those keen eyes of his.

"So you've got your phone on you then yeah?" He enquires.

"Course I fucking have dickhead"

"And at least another five baggies" all innocent and smiles.

"Fuck off" will take that as a yes then.

It's at this point Simon picks up Johnny and throws him into the canal. It truely was a monumental 'flying argh' he hung in air a'la 1980's action show stunt, man and water slowly drifting towards each other in a sublime and aquatic embrace.  I have not laughed so hard in such a long time. The noise he made alone was priceless, it was a high pitched squeal. Almost like an angry guinea pig. As if sound alone would stop in inevitable rendering of man and drugs. We later found out that he had three phones, eight bags of coke and some 35 pills on him.

Maybe he should'nt have been rude?

 

Hope you enjoyed.

Stay safe, speak soon. 

    

The Brown Note.

Hi,

 In marked contrast to the seriousness of the last post I thought I'd write down a few stories about the funnier (all be it morbidly so) side of my life. Hope you enjoy. 

Due to the embarrassing nature of this post I will not disclose the who's where's and when's of this particular tale. Is bad enough as it is without the poor lad dying of shame. 

As with all work environments there is always the possibility of working with folks that either aren't as professional or good as you. I saw him slumping down the street towards the club, all shoulder rolls and tight shirt. The snow was crisp and yet this lad was only wearing a shirt, no coat. And what a shirt, wow, it was tight. You could see the lot, bits bulging where they should (and in some cases shouldn't) the sleeves straining under the duress and tension, poor guys just wanted to break free and be oiled. This was the kind of chap who insists on showing you pictures of themselves in the buff, oiled up and plastered in fake tan. You desperately try not to look at the skin tight yellow budgie smugglers but the eye is ever drawn to the package.

Grim.

 This was our eleven o'clock lad. The later the time that a bouncer starts either means that they are the new guy or a tool, not always the case. Just most if the time. With sinking hearts we stare at captain roid n' quiff, lets have a natter first before we make any judgement. Only fair.

"Calm down girls, there's plenty of me to go round". Big smile. Wink.

Fuck. He's a nugget. A whopper. A proper meat pie. In fact the gargantuan level of dick-headness cannot be adequately commited to script. I don't actually have enough words for how idiotic he was. Spoon fed fuck knuckle? Spunk sculpting monkey trumpet? Roided up quim gibbon? Nope. Can't. No words.

With a sigh and a hand shake the head doorman introduces us to Mr Bolas de Burro. What a shocker, he trys to crush my hand. Prat. He's 19, 6'1, on so many steroids, has a shock of brown hair curled into a quiff and clothes so tight that a gentleman from the village actually walked past and said "come on honey, thats just too far" 

"Right, I've got a really special job for you mate, proper high end" says the head lad.

"Well thats what I'm here for boss, to take all the top jobs.." Replys the half man, half cow.

"I need you to guard the rear fire exit pal, can't let anyone out son, no one. Got it?"

Serious face.

"Absolutely chief, I'm ya' man". Tit.

And with that our skin tight warrior shoulder rolls his way into the club, as the double doors close on him cutting short a few bars of repetitive music that drift away into the smorgasbord of the nights cacophony, a fellow doorman known for not being so verbose merely mutters "wanker". Our thoughts exactly.

 Throughout the night the normal trials and tribulations of a busy Saturday come and go. A few fights, some drama's, lots of shouting and of course my favourite. Tea. We talk as we work. Communication is key, we tell each other everything we see or hear. Movements, ours and theirs. Every movement is spoken. If your oppo doesn't know where you are, someone could get hurt, tell your lads where you are going! It's quite common when not working that I will turn to a friend or family member and quite abruptly inform them that I'm going for a shit. Habit.

 Whilst we work and whistle we get talking about the muppet on the rear fire exit. One of the lads pipes up from doing the clickers at the 'out' side of the door that he has worked with him before. We ask if he was a plank at the other venue as well, affirmative is the reply. But it gets better. He goes on to inform us that big man likes colonic irrigation. Big time.   Apparently he ducked out of a scrap last time with the excuse that he didn't want to 'volcano'. 

Um... Okay.

 The words had little time to settle into our ears when all hell breaks loose. We hear the glasses smash and the scream. Kick off. Here we go lads. We rush in, doors slammed to the wall, men bark orders into radios, replys hence forth and we go in the direction of main dance floor three. We are greeted by a swirling mass of folks bashing the hell out of each other. Simple process. Grab one, twist him up and drag him to the door where three of our lads are standing by. By the time we each get there the quarry is quite.. Sleepy shall we say and are not normally a problem for the front door boys. That just leaves the other side of the disturbance. At first we thought it was another group of lads but we soon find out it's just one bloke. Bloke, ha! He was more like a sofa wearing a suit. He had more jowls than I have tea cups. Even his ear lobes were fat. And what a frame to invest all this money on, he had to be a good 6'6. Funny thing was he didn't want to leave. Two of our chaps had managed to get him to the fire exit and in true sofa form he was stuck, not only was he wedged but he was side ways up and angry. Never seen a chesterfield enraged before. 

 After a quick con-flab it was decided to get all hands on deck and push the bugger out. Simple?

Nope.

Try as we might we could not budge him, we were pushing so hard that his shirt had rolled up to his neck and his belt had snapped letting his pants fall down. Everytime we pushed it sounded like squeeking rubber. Now enter captain tight pants, God's knows where he had been till now but here he was to save the day. With a grin and a swagger he walks up (not really much else he could do in those testicle squashers) and informs us that he is here to "get the job done".

Just to be nice to the lad we all step back allowing him the whole of the coal face. He puts his shoulder to the task at hand and pushes. His feet scrabble for purchase on the floor like a cartoon character at the start of a run away from a spooky ghost. He grunts. He roars. His face goes a shocking shade of purple. Veins stand out all over his body.. The music dulls.. That's when we heard it.

It started as a little fart.

But it went on. And on. And on. It varied in tone and pitch. High and squeeky followed by low and ominous. By this stage the poor lad had managed to get our obstacle half in and half out so that he was slowly being squashed by him.

The sound got worse. Deeper. Much deeper. The roar of energy had turned into a roar of shame.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO....!"

And that's when he shit himself. It was the longest crap I have ever heard, with tears running down his face and sobs emitting from a down turned mouth it went on and on and on. As the pants were so tight the bulge was easly visable. And the smell! Oh the smell! With tears of laughter running down our faces we dragged him out and took him to the toilets. The large man was eager to leave and helped us remove him from the pooh like situation he had put himself in and went into the night.

 As for the subject of our tale he got the ok from the head lad to leave site and slipped out if the very same fire exit that had been the scene of his most unfortunate expulsion, never saw him again. 

Hope it made you laugh like it did for us.

Speak soon. Stay safe.

Ready For Anything.

Hi.

 Sorry that it's been a while since I posted. Had the chance to have a few days off, trying to fit a week into a few days is hard work. Not as hard as some have it but troublesome enough.

 Again this one is from about five or so weeks ago. It highlights issues that are effecting so many people and those who work the doors are finding themselves confronted with this time and time again.

 Wednesday. Nights are drawing in, getting colder. Time to start wrapping up, starting to feel the chill now. Many cups of tea and a thermos of soup. The little freedoms that make working on the door bearable in the cold weather. It was busy, midweek footfall was booming, streets bustling with many new faces in town. Time again to have to teach a few what no means, that they are not beautiful and unique snowflakes. The students are back in town. Joy. These days your average student is not the gangly armed little critter that they used to be. Everyone seems to be into body building in various forms, this combined with their lack of, well, brain makes them all the more fun. 

 Whilst wiping the noses and checking the nappys of a small group who wanted to come (yes you need ID, no I don't care if your daddys a lawyer, no we don't take facebook as ID, no you can't come in just to have a poo, mate I don't care if you poo in the street, yes I am horrible) a lone figure attatches himself to the rear of the group. Drunk. Tall. Stocky. Yeah, lets get rid of this one shall we..

Hang on. Wait. Alarm bells. Why?.. Watch worn on the left arm, a good watch, wouldn't reflect the glare of the sun. Boots, well worn and expensive. The kind of boots you could yomp all day in. Nothing that can be grabbed hold of in a fight, short hair and no rings. Tan on the forehead and wrists.

Squaddie.

I've a lot of respect for those who have been there, as I've stated before, my life has been violent. Been shot at, stabbed, had cars driven at me, attacked with an axe (seriously) all in the name of cash. But these lads and lasses have gone that extra and done far worse for country.   

 Still, drunk is drunk. 

"Not tonight mate, no disrespect but you've had enough.."

"You what?.."

"Said not tonight mate. Try somewhere else."

"Fair enough pal, gotta try though ain't ya?"

Should have seen it coming, should have been on the ball more, saw the threat, didn't expect the punch. The sound a well placed experienced hit makes in your skull is a doozy. It echos, itthrums through you. The sound was like steak being hit with a hammer and I'm the steak. Blocked the left hook, come on mate, give me credit. The sound his nose made on my forehead more than made up for the cheeky love tap he gave me, lets play then dickhead..

 Now this isn't the first time I've had a tangle with members of the armed forces. Myself and Owain used to deal with different regiments in Liverpool. He took the Commando's and I took the Para's. Is not a boast, we were always battered, bruised and bloody after each and every fight, these folks are made of something else, something more than the averege punter. It hurts to fight heros.   

He's blind, the next three punches miss or glance off the top of my head. He goes for a grapple, we are locked up now, he's going to go for my knee's. Bingo. There's the forward kick. Missed. He's going to try and get me to the floor, time to turn this one around. In one motion I turn my hip into him and as a lumbering mass akin to a whale and a pot of petunias he sails over, legs in the air. I follow through the door and land in the lobby. Nice shot.

 Grappling on the ground is often a messy affair. In the ring both fighters are not wearing much and are, to a certain extent free to maneuver their opponent to the desired hold. Not so much when you are fully clothed. It's frenzied, hard work. Gasping for air and clawing for purchase. I find that the most direct methods are the ones to win. Bite, claw, eye gouge and always egrediaris ad balls. Not nice but to loose is to get, in short, fucked up.

 I manage to get him on his back. End game. He's going to try and flip me. Plant knees to stop it. He's going to try and push me off. Come in close to defy his reach. I wrap his right arm under us, pin his left under my knee and insert my thumb into his eye whilst I push my thumb under his jaw at the top of his carotid artery. Soon he will slip into unconsciousness. Night night mate.

He starts to cry.

 These are not tears of any loss that I have experienced. These are tears of hatred, rage, crushing destruction, uncontrollable as they are plenty. A broken man. I remove my thumbs and release his arms.

I hold him.

Both of us on the floor enbraced. I hug him hard. As if I can squeeze the pain from his fractured mind. Held like a babe.

"It's ok. Your safe. Your ok. Breathe, it's all going to be alright.."

Six foot tall, 18 stone, well build, broken. What have they done to you boy. What have they done? His tears spent, he wipes the snot from his face. I ask him if he's ok, he mumbles affirmative. I get up and give him my hand. We stand in the lobby of a nightclub in the middle of Manchester. And for the first time in a long time he's safe.

 He takes two sugers and pours them into the swirling darkness of the cup, slowly the grains fade away. He explains that he came back from Ganny three months ago and just can't cope. I've heard this song before and the tune I like it not, but dance we must to the morbid jig of the war machine. His heads gone, nothing makes sense anymore. He apologizes for everything. For the fight, for breaking down. Not needed mate. Not at all. I give him a number that I've given a few folks. They will help. Until then time for a brew. 

As I watch him disappear into the thronging masses of the night, I thank him. All of them.

There's always a way out. Always someone who will listen while you talk. Don't let it build up until you feel like your head is going to explode. Talk to someone. Together you can try to rebuild. There's always a way. 0800 138 1619.   

Speak soon, stay safe.

Face Book Page.

Hi,

To make things a little easier Lady Bear has made a face book group. I shall be posting new entrys on there.

Bunny's List.

1. Hi,
2. 
   
3. Here is a copy of the list. It was a take on 'Skippy's List' and a few folks found it slightly funny so I thought I'd post it to give a small insight to my eclectic personality. The list was comprised between many friends that I worked the doors with and written down by my Lady Bear ❤️ All the below are rules made up after actual events. Hope you enjoy.
4. 
   
5.    The standard SIA licence is NOT the only requirement of clothing on shift
6. Bunny will never again turn up for work in power risers
7. Swords and axes are NOT essential doorstaff equipment
8. No, Bunny, a daneaxe is not a 'cultural accessory'
9. Bunny will not attempt to get the bar staff attention by jumping up and down headbutting the air conditioning 
10. Bunny will not check whether or not he is wearing a protective cup by punching himself in the crotch
11. Especially not while in the kitchen of the premises in the presnece of the head of security
12. On discovering you are not wearing one, punching your crotch again while giggling is not normal
13. Doorstaff are not permitted to take a sneaky snooze on THE STEP, and bite anyone who tries to step over them
14. Customers do not have to answer 3 riddles in order to enter the premises
15. Skinny women are not 'snake food'
16. Bunny is not allowed to ask skinny flat chested women if they have left their boobs somewhere
17. Bunny is not to deny entrance to skinny girls until they have eaten 'a decent chippy tea' 
18. Bunny will not refer to customers in door reports as meatsacks, fucktards or gene pool rejects
19. Bunny is not allowed to shout at people to get off THE STEP if he has just laid them out on it
20. The metal shutters opposite the premises are not a 'safety net'
21. Students are fragile and not to be used as frisbees
22. Lighting a cigarette on THE STEP is not a declaration of war
23. Bunny will not adopt a gollem voice in order to call the head of security a 'stupid fat hobbit' 
24. Bunny will not put a curse on the head of security
25. Even if he is from Yorkshire
26. No part of any human is to be worn as an jewellry, regardless of how it was aquired
27. Ears are not people handles
28. Bunny is to escort confrontational customers from the premises, not 'ride them like seabiscuit' 
29. There is no basket ball court in the carpark, and no plans to build one
30. The fire exit, despite its name, is not meant to be on fire
31. Bunny is not to challenge women to a contest of best dressed lady garden, and present his mohawk as a brazillian
32. Bunny is not to scent mark the head doormans property by rubbing it with his face 
33. Bunny is definately not to scent mark the head doormans property by rubbing it with his crotch
34. Infact Bunny is to assume anything involving rubbing is right out
35. In no conflict situation is Bunny to call for mayonaise
36. Bunny is not to come to the aid of his collegues in a confrontational situation by screaming 'I WANT HIS TEEEEEETH!' 
37. Bunny will not sacrifice annoying customers in order to 'appease the thunder god' 
38. Bunny is not to consume Relentless, skittles or blue jelly on shift
39. No one is to feed Bunny Relentless, skittles or blue jelly for their own amusement
40. On no account is Bunny to be fed after midnight
41. Bunny will not call 2 emergency vehicles to the same location in order to 'race' them
42. Bunny will not address law enforcement officers as 'flower'
43. Bunny will not dance provocativly at law enforcement officers
44. Bunny IS allowed to tap dance up THE STEP
45. Bunny IS NOT allowed to tap dance up students
46. Bunny will not attempt to post mouthy bar backs into the ice-maker
47. Running into the bar screaming is not apocalypse training
48. Customers attempting to fight in the bar are not 'bowling balls', groups of smoking students are not skittles. Anyone caught playing this game again will be excommunicated
49. Water-boarding is not a legal form of restraint
50. Customers' santa hats are not a snack alternative to fried chicken
51. When asking questions to ascertain sobriety, 'are you a terrorist' is NOT an acceptable question
52. Pointing and laughing does not constitute 'medical assistance'
53. Pouring wax on THE STEP is neither funny nor 'training', it is infact a safety hazard
54. We will not be overrun with 'spider-babies' if you do not have the green fruit pastel

Go where life pulls you.

Hi,

Bit of an old one really, not major in any way. Was just a fight that had amusing side lines really. Hope you find it as funny as I did (side note, this is the time when Bunny's List was invented, hope to post that soon). 

 Many moons ago I worked in Liverpool, it was an ok town to ply my trade, some ups and some downs. Met many brothers and sisters there, for the most good folk. Oh, and a hell of a lot laughs. Thing I found about being a wool in Liverpool is that you are quickly taken into the fold if you prove yourself. It was, for the most, a good time.

 I remember the lad coming in, he was about six four, stocky and off his chops on beak (slang for cocaine). If it was down to me I would have turned him away but the incompetent head doorman at the time was either intimidated by him or just didn't want the hassle. He saw me though. 

"Wha yoooou lookin at lah?"

"You mate" who else is there to look at you chong faced gurning gibbon?!

"An why's tha lid"

"What can I say, you stand out, big lad like you" for fucks sake, your'e so scarred it looks like Edward Scissor Hands fucked up whilst playing patty cake with you.

"You jus keep you'z eye'z to you'z self mate.."

I will bet my best pair of boxer shorts and a brew that I'll be seeing you real soon

And with that he swaggers inside. I shoot an accusatory glance at the head lad. Unsurprisingly he is chatting up a girl. Sigh. Now for the first time I introduce to you a very very good friend of mine, a true brother you could say, a man who has been back to back with me whilst fighting for our lives, someone who has spent hours in laughter at the silliest of things on wet cold nights and everything in between.

The Spartan.

Owain was right behind the banger (slang; street fighter) in question throughout the entire, well I would like to say conversation, but honestly it was more a guttural exchange with a no brained monkey who has mastered the ability to wipe his own bum. I hope. And was ready to act if things became silly.            He has a perception of situations like me, he thinks as fast as me and by the God's if there's anyone who I'd like to be next to at Ragnarok, he is definately part of my dream team (the others will be mentioned as I go through these weird and wonderful tales). 

 He looks at me and I look at him, we nod and go to each side of the door. About a minute later we look at each other and say "the nod was cool but what are we actually going to do about idiot boy?" After a brief discussion it's decided that we will see what happens and deal with it accordingly (bad idea boys, bad idea). Owain goes inside to get eyes on and we wait for the inevitable call inside.

Whilst we are dealing with the everyday workings of a nightclub, the que, ID's, separating the drunks from the soon to be drunks and generally taking abuse from people who have more self importance than an indignant smug git who is due a one pence refund on his gas bill. The normal things we do when people don't think we are doing very much, an ex-doorman aptly named 'Gay' Nathen slouches up to the door and after   hugs kisses and hello's we natter about what's happening in the world (bouncers are terrible gossips). 

The alarm goes off. Fight. 

As one body we pile into the club, no hesitation, no thoughts. Run! When you see a fight in the middle of a crowded club it's something to behold. It's like a whirlpool of people, literally going round and round. It's a marked contrast to it's static surroundings, people don't know what to do. It's a fight, flight or freeze. Most freeze. They just stare slack jawed and either mumble nonsense or scream. Never understood the screaming.

In the middle of the vortex are two people. Owain and our good friend franken-nuts, the scarred anti-thesaurus. Both are grappling, tearing at each other, blows bouncing off each others head again and again and again. Without thinking I'm through the crowd in a heart beat, grabbing and grappling. Arms entangle, joints are locked and suddenly the goon has all arms and legs grabbed and we are running towards the door, MOVE! MOVE! OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!

 As a tangled mass of arms and legs we burst forth through the double doors into the eternal embrace of faux light, the neon night. A symphony of screams and shouts, exclamations of encouragement for and against ring across the allyway which is the stage of tonights drama.

 As one group we lurch to the opposite wall and slam to a stop against the shutters. This lad is strong. Strong, drunk, on the fighting powder and pissed off. No one likes to have their toys taken away and when Owain stopped him punching a guy at the bar he certainly saw his arse. Owain has one arm up his back, the head doorman has the other, I have his left leg up in the air and soon the floor shall be his cradle. 

Nope.

Try as we might we could not sweep that last leg away. kicked it, swept it, jiggled him till me made funny noises and still no cry of timberrrr could be heard. That's when Nathan sprints over, once a bouncer always a bouncer. As I see him I shout "get his leg mate, get his fucking leg..!"

Got you now you bastard! Give me the old big man speech will you? Er, someone has got my leg! Smack someone in my club will you? Um, why am I going backwards? It'll be the nick for you mate. Yep, wall's getting further away, definitely going backwards here!

Fighting against the kicks and struggling of a now enraged monster whilst having someone grab your leg and pull is interesting for sure, I look behind and Nathan has hold of the monsters leg and mine! STOP!STOP!STOP!NATHAN STOP! 

Nathan was gurning with the strain of pulling two legs in seperate directions! Purple in the face, snot bubble protruding and veins sticking out of his neck!

STOP PULLING MY FUCKING LEG YOU SPOON FED FUCK KNUCKLE SPUNK TRUMPET...!!

And with that I lurch forward and face plant right into the wall. Ow. Thanks Nathan. Prat.. 

 The cops arrive and do what they do best. The very angry man is led away chuckling at the famous flying bouncer with the flat face and I decide to have a word with Nathan. 

"What was that all about mate?"

"Um, yeah. Sorry about that"

"Seriously dude? Didn't you notice the difference between legs?.."

"To be honest I did wonder why he was wearing one white trainer and one doc martin boot..."  

Sigh.

Time for a brew.

Speak soon. Stay safe. 

Stuff that caught my eye.

The Thin Brown Line.

Hi,

 This one happened a little while ago, it was one of the incidents that prompted people to say I should write this blog. Before I start, I'd like to say that not all cops are as inept as the ones I had to deal with that night. I have so much respect for the men and women of the British Police Force, they have helped me out on so many occasions it's unreal. I have never understood how so many bouncers decry the cops, they are the ultimate back up. Most if the time.

 It was a normal (hahaha, seriously Bunny? Normal??) wednesday night, the streets were semi busy and we had a private party upstairs, downstairs in the main bar was quiet. For some reason I had another bouncer on with me, possibly for said private function. Normally I'm on my own in the week.

 There were about six or seven folks in the smoking area to my left (keep back to the wall, no one can sneak up on you if they can't get behind you..) chatting about whatever it is the intoxicated masses chat about (always listen to conversations, you never know when you could hear "..and then I'll take his legs out..").. Thats when we heard the cry, the guttural scream followed by shouts of indignation and upset. I look to my left down the street and I see a man helping his wife up to her feet, she has been pushed over by a hand to the face, she was pushed over by a wild haired, crazy eyed young girl, she has a phone pushed against her ear, she is loudly rapping to the repetative music (nonsense, rambling rambling nonsense), she wears one white trainer and one blue and she has her tits out. Yup. Both.

 You know how women sometimes wear tops that make the girls pop out, they have to post them back in every five seconds?.. Well the loon in question was doing the same except instead of posting them back in, she would kept getting them out when they attempted to flee and hide, possibly an attempt not to be associated with the wild haired woman.   

 It was obvious that she had flung the innocent female to the floor and she was coming my way. In tow she had two ill dressed figures with her, the first was a black lad, bright white tracksuit and gold flat brimmed baseball cap, smoking a very very large spliff. Slapped upon his chubby chase was the biggest grin I've seen since I saw a Tory find a fiver. He was the boyfriend. 

 The second stooge to grace our stage was a gangly, blond haired youth, spots covering at least 99.99% of his face, he was wearing a black t-shirt that seemed three or four sizes too big for me, let alone him. This coupled with the jeans of similar size made me think of the movie Honey I Shrunk The Kids.

"Ah fuckerty-doo, there goes brew-o'clock..."

Without ending her mad stride she passes the group of smokers to my left, her hand shoots out and clamps onto the face of a young woman, without even looking at her she pushes her over by exerting all her weight through her arm and into her victims head. Back she falls and lands on her arse. All the time she was screaching the weird, hyperventilating rubbish again and again and again. This one is getting high from crazy.

 Now the thing is I attract nutters. They see me from the other side of a crowded city and trog over. Many a night I have had weird and wonderful conversations with those who have one foot in this world and one in the spirit world. Spoke to Jesus about Aston villas prospects for next season once. Nice bloke. Likes special brew.    

 So it was no supprise when she claps eyes on yours truely, a big grim spreads across. She about turns and comes to go through the door. My arm stops her, not a chance! Lets see if she has any kind of reason..

"What are you doing hun? Put them away will you, no one wants to see em"

"Would you cage pikachoo!"

"You ain't getting in, go away"

More blood than soil..!!"

"If you carry on you'll get nicked"

Thats when she goes for my face. Fingers stretched to claws, a snarl gritted across her mouth. Now for those of you who are about to cry in horror at my actions, let me say this. If you think a woman is any less of a threat than a man then think again. It doesn't matter what you have between your legs, it's the scalpel that cuts. Not the gender of the surgeon. 

 The swipe is blocked, my head moves and she is spun round, her knees are kicked out and she is taken to the floor face down with control. Arms up her back, knee in the small of her back. Down but by no means out.

 Time for the nitenet again me thinks. Again using radio speak I say that I have a half naked nutter that needs help because lets face it, anyone walking round talking about blood and soil with their tits out in this weather has to be either a commited Wiccan or needs someone to talk to.

 This is the part of the tale that gets weird...

In no short time a squad car pulls up. Two of Manchester's finest depart and 'proceed' over to myself. Before I could even explain what has happened the command to release her is given. "Get of her or you're nicked.."

"Eh!.. Say what now?.."

"Get off her or you'll be tugged mate!"

"Um.. Are you sure?" Not like there's a damn good reason that I'm kneeling on a half naked women in the middle of the street..

"OFF! NOW!.."

Slowly I release the woman and jump back. I can see whats going to happen a mile away, like a strange but accurate crystal ball of woe. I know exactly whats going to play out here.

Wrong.

The cops gentley help the woman up and see she is exposed, they ask her if the nasty horrid bouncer has done this to her?

"Taking it for a ride, hatred and gin"

They tell her to put her self away, she continues talking weirdo (keep feet apart, wait for the strike). One of them holds her arm to get her attention (her hand is moving to the back of her trousers! Watch the hand!). He shakes her slightly to rock her out of the rants (get ready, hands out of pockets, clear line of attack, wait for the weapon). He looks away from her to his partner, he's about to say something (WEAPON WEAPON WEAPON GO GO GO..!!!) her hand snakes out of the back of her pants. It's not a knife, it's not a bottle, it's not a weapon.

It's shit.

She smears her whole crap covered hand over his face, excrement smeared from his cheek, over his mouth, past his nose and onto his forehead. 

Well the reaction was quick despite his gagging, both grab her. Arms behind her back, knees kicked out and controlled to the floor. Both arms behind her and a knee into the small of her back. She's laughing. I thought it best to keep my mouth shut as they took her to the car. Even the two she had in tow were silent, they soon turned and left without a look back. Never let your preconceived ideas about someone get the better of you. Sometimes shit happens ;)  

Time for a brew me thinks.

Speak soon and stay safe. 

Of mice and men.

 Hi, 

The events of this post happened at the weekend on the tail end of the Saturday night.

I've just had a bit of what you could call 'a ding dong'. A twenty man brawl in the middle of the road with bottles being thrown, faces getting ruined and belts being used a maces. Bit of a doozy of a day you could say, how was your last day at work ;) Worst thing was the lad who I was working with shit out. He dropped his balls, crapped it. He locked himself in the club and watched as myself and ten other bouncers from the club next door fought in the street.

What a cunt.

 It all started as these things do, at the end of the night. We had 8 or so customers left in, I had stopped letting in and the front door was locked. We were using the side door with a slide bolt to allow people out.

"If you leave now folks you can't come back in.."

"Why?.."

"Because we are shutting mate.."

"But I want a fag.."

"And you can have one, but if you leave you can't come back in.."

"Thats not nice, I'm going to write a complaint about you, your getting sacked, let me out.."

"Sure, what ever.. Sigh.."

 As I thought upon the selfish nature of humanity and what enlightenment an electric eel to the groin would do for obnoxious people, manager John comes out from the bar to have a ciggie outside. Now I like John, he knows the dance and understands what the real world is like.

 At this point my oppo is chatting up a woman (as he painfully does at every opportunity). Suddenly John pokes his head through the gap of the door and calmly squeaks in his thick scouse twang "aye, Bunny mate, it's going off.."

 So. Here we go. This is when the heart starts going for most people. This is when the adrenalin pumps and the mind goes wild. For me, personally, I thought..

"Ahh monkey balls.. I was just about to have a brew. Fuckerty-plop.."

 I say to my oppo "red man mate, we're on" and run out of the door towards the fight. For those of you who don't know what red man means, allow me to to enlighten you. There are three codes we use (other firms and areas have their own I'm sure).. The first is Green man, this is a none hostile situation, it's a walkout, it's an info request, it's a 'please come inside a moment, don't worry it's nothing serious'

 Next we have Amber man.. This is bad. A fight is certain to happen. Now.. Or, if you are in the venue it's a call for assistance. You know that when you attempt to remove someone they are going to fight. Get here. Now.

 And finally we have the aforementioned Red man. This means it's going off, they are fighting. Abandon your positions and come do the voodoo that you do so well.

In the street I see two lines of lads aged between 20 to 28, smallest one was about 5'10 and the largest was around 6'4 all of various builds. One group was white and one black. Now I have no hatred for humans on account of their colour, sexuality or religion. I despise what humans do as a species but thats by the by. I could quote any number of great men or women through the ages but I will quote John Lydon; "I've met the man on the street and he's a cunt.." 

 In between these two groups of gladiators is a line of bouncers from the venue next to mine, it's not always all for one and one for all but when the shit hits the fan you step up and save the lad next to you from getting his head stamped on. Simple as that. 

 The two groups are desperately trying to get to each other, there's crys of various types (including 'come on then Harry Potter, I'll fucking cut you' which made me chuckle) and lads are taking their belts off, wrapping them round thier hand so the big metal buckles over the knuckles, nasty. The situation is getting bad, very bad. Bottles are being picked up, threats are being made and it is certainly going to kick off. I contacted the police with my nitenet radio (a direct line to the cops to bypass 999) and in radio speak tell them to get their fucking arses down here. Now most people think that thugs are stupid. They ain't, they just have a different type of education to most of the population and it's one that has kept them alive (well, the one's that learn quickly anyway) so as they see that theres no way theough the bouncers they leave, they walk to the end of the street and are gone, que whooping and racist chants from the remaining group. But they haven't left, they haven't fled. They are walkimg round the block. 

I heard the bottle smash into the lads face and the scream from his girlfriend before I saw the ambush. Screams, shout, threats.. The sound of car horns and the fight spills into the road. As one group the bouncers run around the corner. It's mayhem, utter madness. Theres a lad lying on his back unconscious on the pavement, a woman is being punched in the face again and again and again, her attacker's face screwed up into a mask of hatred, she's pissed herself. The sound of bottles smashing, punches landing into peoples heads, screams and bellows. 

 What would you do? Seriously. Ask yourself. What would be your first course of action? There is 20+ people trading injuries. How would you stop this. Now here we come to the first insight of my job. I don't start fights. I stop them. Any fucking medical grade retard can start a barny, we have been doing it since one brother looked from the rock to his sibling and had a lightbulb moment. Stopping a fight is hard work, it envolves separating a number of very very angry people who honestly want to seriously hurt their fellow combatant. Not messing about, not slightly angry, not really mad. Theywant to  hospitalise each other and you have to get into the middle of that..!

The only option is to seperate and subdue. Grab someone and punch them. Choke them unconscious, slap them silly if you have to. It's not nice, it's dangerous. You will get hurt and in a lot of cases they will all turn on you! Now I know what many of you are thinking, your thinking "but that's assault! Your as bad as they are!" You know what? Shut up you stupid clown shoed ass hat! What fucking planet are you from?? With the police cut down to the very bone the average reaponce time can be from ten minutes to not at fucking all..! In thattime someone has died, someones son is literally kicked to death, someone's daughter is stabbed, punched so hard that they hit their head on the floor and never wake up. If you want it to stop you must act. It started on our street so we are the ones to end it, or gain some control at least.

 I don't know how many times I was hit, punched, kicked and generally roughed up. All I remember was a blur of people, blood and things whizzing past my face. I had dodged half of them before I even recognised the threat. No idea who was driving but I was sure as hell was just on for the ride. I remember rolling on the floor with a lad who was trying to bite my face, I stopped him by pushing both of my thumbs into his eyes until he screamed for me to stop, I took my thumbs out and head butted him. 

 The polce (thank the God's for the thin blue line) turned up in typical Sweeney style. 7 vans, all with side doors open before they had a chance to stop. Then it was over. Apart from the bouncers everyone suddenly had somewhere else very important to be. They legged it in all directions.. I saw some literally sprinting down the middle of the main road (a four lane road in the middle of Manchester, now thats not fucking inconspicuous is it, tit)  

 Just like that calm was restored. The cops arrested a few (out of about 20-25 fighters only three were caught) and everyone went about their day. As you can imagine we took a few minutes to shake each others hands and for some to have a smoke. And that's when I saw him. That's when I saw my oppo. He had locked himself in the club and was peering through the glass door watching all that had happened. He was shaking. 

 And that was my Saturday night. Bruised, sore, ripped clothing and a good few lumps. 

Never did get that brew.

Speak soon, stay safe. 

It's a funny old world, ain't it..

Hi,

 I've been thinking of how to start this for a while now. Many of my friends over the years have encouraged me to write down the strange, wonderful and mostly violent things that happen to me. And, I will be honest, a very violent life it is that I live.

 You see I live in a strange world, a world that many people are scared of, a world that has a very old set of rules. At times the actions I take can seem strange to many, sometimes abhorrent in their reasoning. But these rules have been followed by a certain kind of person since someone stood on the front door of the Trip To Jerusalem and said 'not tonight mate' . 

 

 Every week I'm involved in some kind of fight. There are no rules, no referees, no tapping out and certainly no surrender. To show weakness will get you hurt, possibly even killed. I'm not a soldier, I'm not a body guard, I'm not a cop. No, I'm the hated, loved, despised, cruel, loving, thick, over educated man at the front door.

I'm a bouncer.

My name is Bunny. I work in Manchester city center. I've worked the doors in two of Britain's 'most violent' cities for 8 years now. And have I got a few stories to tell. Before you stop reading and disregard what I have to say because I'm a 'thick violence loving dick head' let me stop you for a moment and let you into a few secrets. I'm writing this, I write as I speak. It's not ghost written and there is no spell checker. I'm educated. I'm well read. I'm polite until its time to be impolite. I have patience that would put a saint to shame and above all I hate violence nearly as much as I hate alcohol (or should I say what alcohol turns people into).

 So, now I've dispelled the suspicion that I'm a knuckle dragging moron with the disposition of a pissed off rhino and the IQ of an albino cave slug, lets begin. 

 I started working the doors because I felt trapped, I worked in a call centre at the time and life was grim. The daily drudge of speaking to people who felt that they had lost control in their lives which subsequently led them to venting their frustrations on any animal, mineral or vegetable that was unlucky enough to get in their way was, in short, soul destroying. Every day I would wake up and literally hate my working life. It was killing me. So when the chance to change who and what I was came up I lept at it.

 I come from a dirty little town in the north of England called Crewe. Crewe is a grimy, unpleasant shit hole. At one point it had a knife crime rate that was only suppased by major cities, so I was no stranger to having a fight. It was part of every day life to be honest. After a while you become numb to it all, you accept what is happening around you and you go with the flow. My thinking was that working the doors would be similar.

 Wrong.

 Nothing could prepare me for the twists, turns, tribulations and thrills that working as a bouncer would bring. At times you may think that I'm making it all up, that I'm talking total bullshit. I swear that everything written here is true, it's happened to me.. Not situations I've heard about, not stuff that happened to a friend of mine (although there will be a few stories in here that are not mine and I will cite them as such), not made up crap but real honest to God's truth that I have seen with my own two eyes.

 Before we get to the blog its self I will apologise for a few things. I swear, a lot. Despite what people think swearing is not the refuge of the uneducated, I have been in the company of judges, lords, surgeons, prince's and millionaires. All of whom swore like sailors having a bad day. It's healthy to have a good swear, yes there are inappropriate times but there are also definitely appropriate times to hence forth your frustration, bile, hatred and malice in the form of vulgarity.

 Secondly, I'm graphic. I don't hold anything back. You wont find any blushing virgins here, as a terrible monster of a man once said "warts and all" is what I write.

 And finally, I'm opinionated. I have spent many hours watching humans ruin themselves and others in the never ending quest to get mashed out of their minds (for reasons good or bad) and as a result of being this fascinated spectator I've come to some conclusions that most will find either bleak or down right offensive. To continue reading is your own choice my friend and believe me, it's all about choice. 

On that sinister note, hope you have enjoyed the blurb if you will and that my rantings, scribbles and musing give you at least a small incite into my world. Speak soon, stay safe