This evening I was supposed to go to a Zod gig in Crawdaddy with a some friends. One bailed cause he’s a weakling. The other two I couldn’t get in touch with to confirm if there were going or were there already. I went to the venue and stood outside for a while hoping I could contact either of them as I didn’t particularly fancy spending €12 for a night on my own.
In the 25 minutes I was waiting outside, the bouncer that kept throwing me the eye probably thought I was dealing.
Hilights included;
- Saw two very white, working class guys wearing comical bling, including large encrusted crucifixes, attempt to jump a railing to sneak into the redbox.
- Saw a drunk guy walk not one foot away from the front of an about-to-depart luas.
- Was shocked at the lack of clothes that girls wear, it’s 2 degrees tonight. One girls entire bum was on display as her skirt-belt blew up in the wind. Walked past she saw me looking at her she asked probably her boyfriend to hold her hand, ’cause, yeah, that makes you less of a slapper.
- Gave a polite homeless guy a large handful of change, mostly coppers.
- Saw three people attempt to scam their way into a €25 gig in the redbox by tattooing the door stamp onto the back of their hands in biro and hear them tell their diabolical plan to a friend over the phone.
- Gave some guys directions to the pod, which they were standing outside.
- Gave a cute girl from eastern Europe directions to the redbox, which she was standing across the street from.
When I could no longer feel my hands and my other fringe limbs I elected to go home and spend the rest of the night with my IRC friends.
Still, at least I got an interesting blog entry out of the evening.
I… what? Oh.
[ Update ]
Finally heard from one of the guys to tell me it wasn’t even in Crawdaddy and that he didn’t go anyway. [I|We|He] [am|are|is] [a] dinkus[es].
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