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.

 

Hello beastie..

Hi again.

This one comes from Liverpool and is quite old but funny none the less.

Hope you enjoy.

Again it was mid week (why? Why does this stuff always happen mid week?) And nothing was much doing. I was on the door with my oppo, a sturdy biker looking pal of mine with a mighty beard and shaved head. Between us we looked like half of a 90's metal band. As ever I'm going to change the name and not mention the club.

Myself and Timber (see what I did there mate ;P) were nattering about what ever bouncers natter about when bored ridged (everything from the sciences to politics, philosophy to religion as it happens) when we noticed two lads huddling in a door way at the end of the ally.

As it was not raining we thought this to be kind of weird. The snorting and sniffing said it all. Cocaine. Silly boys. Not our business though. Thats for the police to deal with. Not that we saw many cops around that end of town.

The cop car slowly pulled into the wide ally way. It almost instantly stopped and two of Liverpool's finest jumped out. After a little bit of the normal "and what's that you have there my lad" followed by the instant reply of "what's what officer?" the two lads were put into the police car.

Now its at this point that all is normal with the world. Some durps have been caught in the act and the cops have an easy collar. We go back to nattering about whatever we were nattering about. Thats when we hear the shouting. Oooh hello, whats this then. We pop our heads out like the nosey lads we are and see the cops getting hands on with yet another braindoner. With some effort this lad is splayed across the back of the car and held there.

The male officer shouts that the other one is still in the bar (meaning the Irish bar that makes up one side of the end of the allyway) and dives back into the thronging pub, leaving his female colleague trying to restrain said scrote across the panda car. With civic duty in mind and not because we were bored as hell we both decide to have a wander down. Not wanting to get in the way of things we take up positions either side of the cop car.

Thats when we hear the doors open.

Looking down I see one of the lads in the back sitting there with cuffs on and has tried the door. The car didn't have the prisoner lock put on. I look into this cheeky cocaine fueled grin, fingers still on the door release. I shake my head.
He nods.
I shake my head and pull a stern face.
He nods really quickly, massive grin.
I turn my head to the side and scowl.
He winks.

Shit.

As if on one cue they both try to get out of the car. Hampered by the handcuffs and myself and Timber they don't get far. I get mine back in upside down. Literally head in the foot well and very pissed off. Timbers is also back in and possibly unconscious. Well now that was fun.

The female copper slides sideways. The scrote she has in an arm lock is fighting her. He has realised that what awaits him is a cold cell and terribly made tea. Time for some more fun. We both lay hands on and take the lad to the floor. What follows can only be described and a twist-athon. An honest to goodness, fingers up nose, feet the wrong way, testicle popping twist up.

Red faced and panting the cop shouts into her radio and dives into the bar. You're welcome lady. Leaving me and Timber to play with our new friend.

Thats when all of Liverpools police descend onto us. All of them..

Three police vans, four police cars, eight foot units and the dog van.

In the scuffle onto the floor she had pressed her panic button by accident.

Code 111, run.. Family is hurtin..

So there's me and Timber on the floor with an irate Dawinite, screaming at the top of his voice in squeaky scouse about cocaine, an unlocked panda car with an unconscious male on one side and on the other some feet sticking into the air with none of the cars owners in sight whilst myself and Timber just grin.

"Er.. Hi.."

Thats when the dog unit decide that what we really need now is some dog action.

I like dogs. They're great. This wasn't a goggy though. Nope. This one wanted to play. It wanted to play in the same way that Timber and I had played with the lads in the panda bar. What big teeth you have, hello beastie.. 

Thats when the two police officers burst through the doors dragging the 4th member of the cocaine adventurers. Poor lad. The look on his face was that of abject terror. Dogs, more cops than derby day and his mates were being molested by two members of a 90's metal band.

As they dragged him away to a van we could hear him screaming

"IT WAS ONLY A BIT OF BEAK..!"

Just as quick as they had arrived they left. One moment I was starring down the business end of woofy-McFacechew and the next we are standing in the allyway watching an army of cops melt back into the night.

Poor lads. Not fun to be them.

Time for a brew me thinks.

Stay safe. Speak soon.
       

Short night, long shift.

Hi,

Not seen you in a while. You ok?

This one comes fresh from the nights end. Happened last night..

The deafening cacophony of sensory assault starts from the moment I step into the club. Lights, music (if you can call it that) and people. Lots of people. The club can hold about 800 but am sure more are in. Going to be one of those nights.

Firstly I get myself ready, down the winding passages of the club and through the back stage areas to the cubicle that is laughably called the staff room. The smell is awful, old shoes and dirty uniforms litter the place.

Bag off.

Earpiece out, badge and clip on tie.

I unbutton my shirt and tighten the velcro straps on my body armour. Nice and tight, so tight I won't feel it when I'm hit.

After adorning myself with the all of the above I turn my radio on. Channel 13. Great. My lucky number.

"radio check, radio check.."

The response comes back loud and clear.

Time to party...

I step out into the sub level of the club. It's rammed so full that no one can actually move. Hundreds of people moving as one to the blasting noise coming from the speakers towering at each corner.

Find somewhere safe, somewhere you can see all.. Yeah. Good luck with that.

With my back to the mirrored wall I stand and try to get comfy. Sweat running down my back. Radio chatter endlessly passing back and fourth.

Green man bar 2.

Doorstaff to bar 4.

Clean up hallway 7.

A million little dangers all encapsulated in a small sentence.

I'm not here for that. I'm here for one sentence. One little sentence and number.

I don't have to wait long. When the shout comes its a frenzy. Shouted in the heat of a moment. The message distorted by music and screams and violence.

Red man bar 6. Showtime..

As fast as I can I sprint into the throng of the crowd, some move, over hinder. I can feel someone behind me. They have their hand on my belt, not pulling back but pushing forward. Ivan.

Good lad, solid lad. May have the upper hand in this one. Yeah, good luck with that pall.

As we turn the corner into bar 6 I see the whirlpool of fighting. Middle of the dance floor, about 20 fighters maybe another 15 part timers. Each face contorted into a mask of hatred, bottles and belts, fists and feet. Blood.

From every direction bouncers are piling in. No time to see who's to blame (grab them, stop them) no time to distinguish who's right and who's wrong (don't stop moving, duck, move, fight)..

I'm hit from several angles at the same time, blows bounce off my head, face and body. In the middle of the melee are 4 lads, each one repeatedly punching. The sound of the fists hitting faces again and again. Blood everywhere. Bingo, them's my boys..

I don't know what happens next, one second I'm running into a fight. The next second I'm pushing through a crowded club. Darkness intermittently permeated my strobe light. In my arms is a man. He's about my height, my weight and is trying to punch me in the head. I have one arm up is back, my arm around his neck and am using him as a people plough. Beepbeep folks, dickhead express coming through. 

Like a shuttle leaving the atmosphere we are propelled out of the front door. Artificial night is turned into artificial day, the gasp of people held to one side by the lads who hold the door and the shouts of either encouragement or hatred ring out. Is it just me? Am I alone? Where is everybody?..

As I push off from my nugget-plough and move backwards (keep some distance, chin down, hands up) more fly past me, ten at least. All around me are bouncers, some bleeding and some with ripped clothing.

With all malice to each other forgotten the mob turn as one to us and charge. Chin down, hands up, plant your feet. Here it comes. Snarling faces, fists and shouting. The dull sound of meaty thuds as I'm punched again and again. Little time to look, little time for style. My fists fly out (keep it tight, nice and crisp) the feeling of my knuckles connecting against something. Kinda meaty yet kinda hard. He goes down. Face down. Next.

Like a blur it's all over. Lads are on the floor (any in white shirts and waist coats???) and people are screaming. Why scream hun? Is no one paying attention to you? Seriously, I'm the one who's just been walloped.. People are running or staggering away. Shouts of threats, promises of returning.

And just like that it's done. I'm bleeding from my nose. My knuckles are raw and my head has lumps. Everyone is grinning. 2305hrs. 5 minutes into the night.

"Oi you, I saw you twat them lads, that's well out of order.."

The dulcet crys of the common spotted manc gibbon. Always the bad guy huh..

Gonna be one of those nights. Time for a brew me thinks.

Stay safe, speak soon.

Rumination's

Hey.

Sorry it's been so long since I posted anything. The silly season was upon us and all attention had to be put towards helping idiots of many creeds not kill themselves.

Been a bit of a let down really. If I'm honest. Had the 'normal' fun and games but with bery few in number. A mini new year and Yule if you will. At the height of new years night there was but 40 folks in my place. 40. This is in marked contrast to years hence where it wasn't unusual to have over 3000 go through the door (most vertical, a few horizontal). It's led me to have quite a lot of thinking time. Thoughts as ever drift to the ever decreasing standards of both our society and the industry which I frequent. 

Are people becoming more stupid? Is the IQ of the nation in freefall? I see all manner of idiot things on a normal night, but is it really normal? Do I have a biased  view of the world due to alcohol? I don't go out much in the day you see. Sure I venture out and am forced to interact but not on a regular basis. 

In short, am I selling the human race for a lower amount than it's due? Is the weight found wanting? Am I just a grumpy old git. 

On new years night I saw a man (we shall use this word for lack of a better description, casting my own views on what makes a 'man' aside). He seemed to have had a good night but it had taken a turn for the worse. He was brought to my attention buy the loud cry of (I LOVE this, each and every time it's screamed) of "I'll fucking knock him out", I looked up and he was being pulled away from the door next to mine by what I presume was his partner/girlfriend/shag for the night. He was raging at the doorlads for what ever reason, maybe he had been blocked, thrown out or just insulted. Either wayhe was admiment that justice would only be served if violence were to happen.

Admist the shouting, screaming and general threats he was a whirlwind of arms and legs, each time he span round to 'storm' back to the door and lay waste to all his partner was there to get in his way, being of the belief that he wouldnt't stand a chance against five large bouncers. Try as he mite she was there to defy his wish for the old ultra violence. This wasn't the normal 'hold me back! Hold me back!' dance that's played out but an actual attempt to lamp someone.

 It soon became obvious that she wouldn't let him get smushed by the droogs and we flounced away round the corner to the taxi rank (my door is on a corner so I can see both streets) before starting what can only be described as 'a hum-dinger' of a barny with said maiden whom had help spare his face. As my oppo and myself watched it soon became a possibility that he was going to punch her.

Nope.

Unless you're being attacked there's no excuse. Said this before. There's no such thing as one rule for men and another for women but if there's no threat for either then violence is not an option. Me ladso here didn't agree. Three times he raised his hand. Three times we were on our toes waiting to intercept. And three times he stopped at her flinch.

Not playing this game.

I know the law. The law clearly states that if anything happens that is not life threatening anymore than 10 feet from you're door then it's nothing to do with you. But am I going to stand there and watch some dickhead chin his girlfriend?  

No..

Just to make a point of being passive I walked over slowly. Our friends in the thin blue call it 'proceeding'. Without the silly "ello ello ello, what's all this then" I approached and held both hands up in supplication.

"Allrite folks" if it was alrite I wouldn't fucking be here would I?

"Fuck of dick head" replys Rocky.

"I know you ain't having the best of times but you may want to stop threatening the gi..."

"FUCKOFFORYOU'LLGETSMASHED" 

Who do you think you are you little woman threatening pigeon chested prick?..  

"No need for that mate, just calm down"

See, ain't I nice.

"If you don't fuck off you'll..."

No idea what he would have done. He never finished his sentence. He was lost for words. Cat had his tongue. Mind must have gone blank..

I squeezed a little tighter on his throat, my large hand gripping so his eyes bulged. I didn't shout. Didn't scream. Just calmly spoke.

"Listen to me you fucking scum. If you ever go to hit her again I will put you in the hossy, yeah? You understand? You twat her and I will mash the shit out of you.."

Point made? I like to think so.

I let go. The look on his face was that of a little child whom has been chastised by the 'favourite' parent and doesn't know what to do. For a second I thought maybe he was going to take a swing but no. His eyes welled up and away he went into the crowd. 

I turn to the woman and ask her if she's ok? 

"What you being a prick for?.."

Say what now?

"There was no need for that ya' dick head"

Um.. Say what now??  

"He should have knocked you out!"

Err.. Have I been slipped a mickey? Is this really happening???

And with that she runs into the crowd, screams 'knob head' at me whilst trying to catch up with her knight in pri-marni.

Now is it me or is that not normal? More to the point IS that normal? Is that amount of delusion how most folks roam the world in? With the idea that they are both a one punch maniac and always in the right? 

Or am I just a grumpy old git?

My summery after the silly season is now boiled down to this:

 Snow should be shipped in, folks should wear coats, never agree to work extra hours on another venue for a dubstep after party and fifa is shit.

That is all.

Stay safe. Speak soon.

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.