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Oddly, no. Just jealous that I don't go and get hammered with Raz. He is, in his own words, coll.
Maybe we should have a meat! Everyone else, I mean, not the coll ones who get together anyway. Though some of them can come as long as they don't laugh and point at the rest of us...
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Surely if you wanted to go drinking with Raz all you would have to do is drop him a line asking him if he fancied meeting up for a drink. It's not like getting an audience with the pope.
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Thorn: Ooh no. I couldn't do that. I'd need there to be at least one other person, too, acting as an intermediary in age, collness, etc. Just me and him wouldn't work at all.
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I had a weird moment the other day when I found an old photo of Dr Benway and Raz in my old flat. It was sort of jarring to see them both in my home. Alot of TMOers passed through that flat, including some cooler and more exclusive than Raz. I remember the pride I felt one evening when 69 Comeback Elvis stood and made fun of the DVD collection.
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God, can you imagine a meat now? Everyone just shrugging and looking vaguely bored? Thorn punching someone in the face then looking at his fist and shaking his head, amazed that even lashing out in such a way had lost its thrill? It would be horrific. Unless Rick came along, then we could all unite in kicking him, which would be fun for five minutes. Then Kovacs would walk in and say 'God, you're all pathetic. I can't believe how much time I used to waste being horrible to you all.' Then he'd sneeer and walk off. Then Infinite Jones would walk in disguised as Osama Bin Laden, would say something cryptic and vaguely creepy, everyone would say 'Fuck off Jones' in a bored tone of voice, and then we'd all sit around staring, occasionally saying 'I'm bored'. Whoo!
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No, but when we had visitors afterwards I did used to point at the patch of floor and say "That's where Elvis stood and made fun of the DVD collection." It meant more to some people than others. Mostly people just thought it was a lame attempt to try and appear cool by association, like for example starting a thread just to tell people you went out drinking with someone who used to post here, and expecting people to fall over themselves in admiration.
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who would come to the meat now? There's nobody on tmo. I mean, okay, not nobody, only the important people are left, but it wouldn't be a meat so much as a just a normal pint with people who you've known for years and years.
Has anybody noticed that misc has vanished? What's that about?
[ 11.02.2008, 05:57: Message edited by: Dr. Benway ]
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Why don't we have a meat over Easter at some point? I'll be back in London for a week. You can all come and laugh at my then 7-month pregnant stomach, and watch me cry because I'm not allowed to drink. It'd be radical.
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quote:Originally posted by Dr. Benway: Has anybody noticed that misc has vanished? What's that about?
It's quite scary. I know that Misc actually still exists and the last time I spoke to him he was very jovial and upbeat but was telling me how busy he's been. In fact, I think he's been abducted to mine conflict diamonds and they allow him nanoseconds of time online or on the phone to try to keep up appearances. Hang in there mlev.
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London, you haven't even contemplated the horror of me finally turning up to a meat. Bearing in mind that I:
a) need an intermediary like herbs. Unless I get a bit pissed, b) get pissed fairly easily but sometimes overestimate how much alcohol I need and then get too dizzy and nauseus to speak to anybody, rendering me utter shite to be around, c) have a tendency to get on brilliantly with everyone once the ol' confidence levels have risen and then say one thing that smartly alientates me from everybody there, a la Ricky Gervais. I would be proud of my nail-on-the-head talent for this if it wasn't so bloody shameful. And I can't seem to stop it.
So, erm. Yeah.
-------------------- Black Mask: Have a good weekend, TMO!
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Ben had his arm round me, tight it was and I was all like, 'Fucking leave it out Ben, yer giving me a crick in me neck'. You know what he's like though, when he's in the pub and some of the other top boys are about, he has to fucking prove something dunt he? So he slaps me on the cheek with his fat hands, 3 big slaps. SLAP! 'Fuck!' SLAP! 'OFF!' SLAP! '**** !'
You can't talk to him when he's like that so I just laughed, trying to play it cool like. I knew my cheeks had gone red though so I says, 'Yer ready for another Ben. S'my round like.' 'Goo on then, fuck off' he says and releases the grip on my neck. I decide to take a piss first, I'll piss on my fingers a bit and then stick em in his drink, the **** .
In the bogs there's only the puff pot available, you know, the middle one, and there's 2 fat fucks using the others like. I get in between em and I clock that they are checking me out through the corner of their eyes. I don't want to get stage fright next to these rotund fucks so I start thinking about the time we went to America and I saw the Niagra falls.
Yeah, that does the trick and I look at the ceiling and let the stream go. I just remember in time to get my fingers in there but I had forgot about the other punter, who obviously was having difficulty performing himself, and I can feel him looking at me, pissing on me hands. I look across at him and just give him a grin, toothy as I can like, shake me hand and cock down and leave. I'll not be washing my hands this time.
'2 pints of Stella and a couple of whiskeys love' I tell her tits. Her tits turn round and I think of something to say to her arse. 'Lot of ***** in tonight' I say. Her arse turns round and her tits say, 'Yeah', sarcastic like. 'Fuck off' I say and she puts the drinks in front of me. I dip me fingers in Bens beer and give the ice in the whiskey a good stir as well, handing over a tenner I fuck off without getting me change, she's looking at me funny. Fuck her.
Bens talking to some boys, I reckon some of em are a bit handy so I sit down a bit respectful, nodding and that. I can tell they're checking me out but Ben says 'He's alright. Ugly **** but he's alright.' 'Cheers' I say and lift me drink. Drink my piss, **** , I think to myself.
The biggest lad starts talking, I'm not really listening coz there is this top tune on the radio, Shed Seven, fucking loved them I did, shame they split up like. I get snippets of what they are saying though. 'Fucking greasy wop.......blade.....filth......run em.....*****.....dead.....revenge......'
Ben necks his beer, necks his whisky and grabs me by the arm. 'Come on. We're going to have some fun' He picks up an ashtray and piles out the door, the other boys following behind us. All the shirts are milling about outside, singing the odd song in the sun, getting eyeballed by the filth on horseback. We pile down the road and there are some cameras following but Ben doesn't care, normally he is careful, sending out the younger boys as a decoy but today he is letting everyone see and the crew is growing.
I can see the police are following now but the crew is too big, we are running down an alley on the left, past the shop and then darting down an alley on the right. There is a noise behind us like pigs at feeding time, but I am up front with Ben, running. We round the next corner and in front of us is the I'ties, all in blue, black haired swarthy fuckers. Ben shouts '*****' and pelts at em, full steam, ashtray in hand. He brings it down on this poor ***** head and he just crumples, doesn't know what has happened.
Those around him do though and we all come together like warriors, like the great battles, like fucking Braveheart only there no fucking Scottish here. I get a few digs in but I am too busy watching Ben. He is battering everyone around him. This Italian who looks like a boar, brown and hairy is going for Ben. I can see it. I look down and see the blade in my hand as the sunlight catches it. I move towards them, the man gets closer to Ben as Ben slams some young lads head into the pavement. The bloke is on him now, ready to put a fat fist in the back of Bens fat head. I'm right on em as well and I pull my blade back ready to strike. The man begins to swing, and I get under his arm and stab upwards. I get him right under the ribs and give it a good fucking twist.
The man looks at me with shock, can't believe what has happened. He looks terrified. He turns and runs. Ben falls to the ground, my blade still in him. I turn around and punch this spotty, spoddy fucking wop in the face and then boot some **** on the ground.
posted
It was OK. Some logical inconsistencies eg 'lot of c**ts in here tonight", and then later a description of the sunlight reflecting off the blade. That sort of thing might be forgiveable when Steve Alten does it, but I think we should hold ourselves to a higher standard.
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quote:Originally posted by Thorn Davis: Some logical inconsistencies eg 'lot of c**ts in here tonight", and then later a description of the sunlight reflecting off the blade.
We were in Helsinki. Where else would Shed 7 still get airplay?
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No gathering of football hooligans, no matter how large, could overcome the melancholy air of defeat that permeates the bars of Finland
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