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.