Inebriated; Incovenienced

Leeds, as one dedicated reader put it, is home to more incest than the Garden of Eden.  The HIFI Club was of no exception to this rule. Many of its inebriated patrons draped themselves suggestively across the tables, keenly displaying their time weathered rectums.  As local alumni attempted to mark their mating territories, current students upheld the strictest of campus traditions.  One teenager attempted to set the benchmark by using a couple of straws to get through two large pitchers of unidentified fluid.

After he completed this gargantuan rite of passage, he belched profanely, thumped his chest akin to a gorilla and demanded that all females were to display their clitorises immediately, whether they wanted to or not.  Of course, he wasn’t quite as articulate as yours truly; as a matter of fact, his use of English was sloppy, contrived and devoid of merit.  It was a wonder that staff continued to serve him, in his current state of flux.  In the chill out room, the silence was yet again broken.

“FF.F.FFUCKKIN GIRLSH…G..GET Y’F.F.FFUCKIN GASHHH OWT….F.FFOR THE LADSH.”

It was at this point where I was going to do something about the disturbances.  However, the fiancée of one troubled girl sat up and demanded that the offender revoke the remarks about his woman.  Then there was this tension; the room was so thick with it that you could’ve literally sliced it wide open.  But there was no need to.  As those two drunkards seethed with rage, it was mere seconds before the tranquillity was disrupted by the noise of violence and all out war.  Their valour was not entirely without merit.

Pint glasses lost their sense of purpose when they found themselves embedded in someone’s face.  One man lay there screaming, a bloody arc pumping out of his face, his hands attempted to yank out the shard of glass that had narrowly missed his eye.  He retaliated by clutching the leg of some woman who attempted to fend off her assailant with a leopard print hand bag.  When she failed in doing so, she let out this deafening screech for help.  In seconds, fake fingernails were digging into fake breasts and poorly applied make-up ran down faces smeared with blood and tears.

Then the self important security guards burst into the room, taking down the unwanted chivalry one drunkard at a time.  One man, who was urinating into a gambling machine, was pulled aside and subdued with a choke hold.  His stream of urine managed to offend one of the guards who responded by pummelling him into submission.  Well, there were a lot of people screaming that someone else started it all but in fairness, I think they can all be blamed equally.  And since the situation was being dealt with, I took the opportunity to see if the girl with thick bruising across her face was okay.

She said her name was Alice and that she wanted to go home.  I insisted on a hospital to which she reluctantly agreed.  I hadn’t drank that much really, four or five pints at most.  So once she was sitting comfortably in the back of my Ford Transit, I assumed the role of “Doctor”, ready to give out a stern examination.  Oh, those university girls up in Leeds are game for anything and I really enjoyed probing her innards to locate the root of the problem.  Well, as you probably know, one thing led to another and all sorts of things happened.   I also managed to decorate my party van and I must say that thick crimson is really starting to grow on me, it really is.