It's a knock out

Hey,

How have you been?

This is another relatively recent one, as ever all persons involved have had their identities changed, family's moved and relatives relocated. 

Bit of a long one this, stick with it.

Every Wednesday I work in an area that can only be described as insane. The club is packed to the rafters with all sorts of presumably mentally ill folk with the sole intention of getting as wasted as possible, impregnating anything that moves (sometimes things that don't/can't or wont) and taking enough class A's to make Hunter S. Thomson shake his head and admire the recklessness of the human condition.

As you can imagine dear reader there's a lot of fights. Whenever the termally testosterone laden goons get together to swill great amounts and powder their entire faces it's bound to happen. At first you try and subvert it, pick out the trouble starters and remove them or curb the amount they drink but that would result in an empty room.

It's like a machine, a factory if you will of drink, drugs, fights and the fucked up. It's called HotMess and lives up to its name.

On the night in question it was all hands to the pumps. We had a fight or hard removal every five to ten minutes. Tensions were high and so were our customers.  Despite the fighting I was in good spirits and whistling whilst I worked. Not that I enjoy this kind of environment but I do enjoy chaos in all forms. Big smile.

I was moving round the two bars downstairs, the blinding strobes turning the thronging mass of bodies into a colidiscope of movement like a zeotrope. The deafening music repeatedly battering on the ears like a thousand undead hands. Wednesday at the office..

As I squeezed past the oblivious masses like an animal moving through thick jungle I hear the screamed request for help in the smoking area. In an instant I'm moving people out of the way, as a plow through snow. Out of the blinding hell and into the warm summer night air.

A minor scuffle was happening, other bouncers had various people in intricate positions and the matter seemed to be in various hands. That's when I saw him.

Sheepish,
Head down,
Agitated,
Won't make eye contact.

I walked over to him and spoke my mind..
"You are part of this ain't ya?"
To his credit he was honest, he knew he had been made. Small lad, about 5'6, Pakistani, white polo shirt and jeans.
Kind of looked like Mr Bean.

"Yeah fam, I did it bruv.." he replied.

"You know you gotta go mate, you ain't gonna fuck about are you?" Best friendly dad voice.

"Nah cuz, I ain't like that.." why don't I believe you?..

I'm rarely wrong.

As we were walking to the entrance of the downstairs part of the club, the fighting ferret decides to go.. Well.. Berserk.

Literally berserk, teeth nashing, fist swinging, table throwing nuts! He didn't get far and soon found himself in a full nelson being carried to the rear fire exit, nashing his teeth and trying to kick and bite all that got in his way. But as soon as we got to the fire exit at the top of the stairs he just stopped. Calm as a summer cat. Just stopped. I let him go and pushed off. Get distance between you, he doesn't seem right in the old swede.

With supplicatory hands in the air he turns..
"Am sorry bruv, am sorry.. I just.. I just don't like racists man.."

With that the metal doors are slammed and the warlike whippet goes forth unto the night.

About half an hour later I'm walking out a lad from downstairs, found him soundly asleep in one of the booths pissed as a fart. He was no trouble at all, in fact was quite happy to be going. Whilst pointing him out to the lads on the main door I see a small lad in a white polo shirt running down the board walk towards the entrance, a manic grin on his kip, eyes wide and wild.

Without hesitation or provocation he launches a spectacular right hook that connects to the jaw of an unsuspecting fella in the smoking area with a shout of "PTCHAAAAAAARRR!!"
The bloke whom has just been chinned hits the deck like a sack of spuds whilst the polo sporting loon attempts to sprint past us. My arm stops that quite rapidly, I think it's called a clothes line. No sooner has he hit the deck we are on him. He honestly cannot see what he has done wrong!
"What bruv? What?? Why ya hasslin me man? I just don't like racists man.."

What?.. what the hell are you talking about you crazy fucking goon?? The only fucking interaction that poor cunt had with you is you twunting him in the fucking gob like a drugged up power ranger whilst shouting PTCHAAAAARRR..!!!

When the poor lad whom had been chinned came round he was understandably miffed but didn't want to press charges so nutty mc whompem was marched down the bridge and told in no uncertain terms, to do one.

A little time later my oppo and myself had to remove an idiot from the bar, he put up a bit of a fight and was wrapped up before being dragged out. Because we didn't want him messing about at the door we took him to the end of the bridge and released him. He stood there and screamed like a fucking child. Nearly in tears with indignation and fury. He was mid flow into his obscene rhetoric when suddenly like a speeding cheetah out from behind one of the concrete posts that support the metro platform above us ran a small lad sporting a white polo and a Jack Nicholson grin.

PTCCCHHHHAAAAAAAARRRRR...!!!

The sound of his fist hitting our nugget in the face was epic, like two steaks being slapped together. Down he went, eyes blank, unconscious.

It took all my strength to grab the maniac and sling him to the floor, suddenly limp and apologetic, shouting about racists and how he does not care for them one bit, oh no!

What the fuck is your malfunction you utter fucking knob? Who do you think you are? A drugged up Asian Mr fucking T???

When resurrected from his untimely slumber our angry victem wasn't so angry any more, in fact he was quite placid and forgiving. Forgiving enough to not want to press charges.

Balls.

Mr Spooney McKnockout, title holder of the 2016 'twunt them from behind' championships was gripped firmly by the neck. It was explained that all patience had in fact run out. That if he was seen in any capacity again he would find himself in the canal whilst still in possession of any drugs he still hadn't crammed into his face or nose and his mobile phone.

He agreed. He agreed that it was time he left. Those mad wide dish plate eyes and crazy joker grim. He was on so many drugs his urinary sphincter must have been like a balloon knot. Bet he couldn't have taken a piss to save his own life.

The night went on, fight after fight. Silliness following silliness. Until things became really silly. A white car came into the street. It was full of lads with no sense of humour at all. We had kicked one of them out earlier on in the night and he had returned with his 'boyz'.

These lads meant business. There was no fucking about. No talking. They just charged the door. Big fight. All called to the front. Toe caps into teeth, fists into noses, thumbs into eyes. We managed to get them to the end of the bridge. There we stood. Screaming our war crys into the night whilst each group faced off.  The boss gave the green light. Do what you have to folks, no one falls tonight but them!

In the middle of their group was a large lad, 6'2 ish and very well built. He was screaming and shouting, tearing hair and clothes. Demanding blood. That was until out of no where.. A little lad.. In a white polo shirt.. sprinted into the middle of the group.. And knocked him clean out.. A single pent up screech as he flung his rock like clenched fist into the jaw of the unsuspecting pray

PPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTTTTCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR......!

Down went the monolith. Eyes wide open and a look on his face that truly displayed the utter shock that he felt before being switched off by someone who looked like an Asian Mr Bean.

Our mighty morphing screaming nutbag kept on running, arms and legs going in circles like scooby doo fleeing a ghost. His voice resplendent in the warm night air, the last of his war cry still being screamed as he fled down the center of the main road whilst being closely followed  by the remaining members of those who would have caused us harm.

I could have kissed the mad little fucker.

No idea where he went. No idea if the lads who chased him ever caught him. No idea if his heart gave up and leapt out of his throat to book itself into the Betty Ford Clinic. I'd like to think he's still out there. Somewhere..

Stay safe. Speak soon.