All That Juicy And Hear

You must be getting a bit bored with my usual weekend tales of clubbing and sexual shenanigans. Especially recently when the sexual part has been noticably absent. So I'll short-hand this weekend's clubbing for you:

Went to Juicy's 1st birthday. Blagged our way into the VIP party, and free bar, by confusing the doormen with The Drag Queen's breasts. Lots of lovely, lovely men there, including just about all of our usual friends. Eight separate people came up to me and a new found friend to say how much we look alike, and considering he's a sexy fucking beast I was rather flattered. Got really angry in the toilet queue when a group of Angertwinks pushed to the front but managed to bite my tongue. Then on exiting the toilet I was pushed into a wall by another Angertwink wearing oversized white-rimmed sunglasses (I fucking hate people wearing sunglasses in a club) and a stupid assymetrical hair-don't, who apparently didn't believe a chunky, hairy guy in his early 30's - ok, mid 30's. Ok, ok, late 30's. Fuck off - should go up stairs before him. So I grabbed his arm and pulled him back and behind me. He shouted something at me about needing to be somewhere so I turned and growled "We all need to be somewhere, just have some fucking manners". I then walked as slowly up the stairs as I could whilst he repeatedly punched me in the back, jabbering in a high-pitched squeal that I couldn't hear over the top of the music. One word did spring out at me though - "security" - so I turned and said "What the fuck is your problem?". "I'm Security. I work here you fucking stupid arsehole, I've already radioed ahead, and you're just about to get thrown out". I let him pass me, noticing the word "Staff" written on his t-shirt - oops - and then, not wanting to get thrown out of a party I shouldn't be at anyway, I doubled back and took a convoluted route to the heaving main dancefloor where my bald head seemlessly blended in with my surroundings. Ah, urban gay camouflage.

"Most Cringe-Inducing Comment Of The Evening Award" goes to:
A friend of ours has recently discovered steroids and has blown up out of all proportion. I wouldn't do them myself, but I'm pro-choice about just about everything in life. Stuff like that is up to the individual. And he does look pretty great, I have to say. Anyway, whilst dancing next to him I was suddenly elbowed out of the way by what appeared to be a 5 feet 4 version of Arnold Schwarzenegger. He was wider than he was tall. He was closely followed by a 5 feet 8 bodybuilder who this time elbowed The Drag Queen in the stomach, and more closely resembled a rhino than a human. Apart from his colour, which was clearly from the new St. Tropez "Streaky Poo Brown" range. They both appraised my friend's new-found bigness, and then the short one delivered the immortal line: "Welcome to the over-200lb club. You're allowed to talk to us now". I laughed and was rewarded with a glare.

Apart from that nothing happened. Didn't even snog anyone again. I really have lost my mojo this year. If you find it could you return it to the usual address? Thanks.

And apparently that's my idea of short-hand.