JuneBridals long evening gown
It’s 10:30. You look at your phone. It’s Delta giving you ring back. “Come on lads. Taxis outside” you say.
Your mate Terry looks up at you all bewildered.
Just sniffed a gram in 2 lines hadn’t he and he’s paranoid to fuck.
“I’m not going mate. Gonna stay here, get a couple of half’s in and watch a film”.
“Fuck you terry” you shout. “We’re off to Diablos. If you don’t come yer ma’s a bad grassing twat”. But terry shudders as he looks back down at his blower. His jaw creeping round the back of his skull.
What a shitbag. Terry’s always doing this. Too much too soon the little Baghead.
You and Yer mate Woody (everyone knows a Woody!) head for the door and grab your coats. Splashing a load of moody St Johns market Creed on your collars as you make your way out. “The birds are going to love this lad!”
The taxi drivers laughin. The tunes are blurrin out his speakers and he’s got a belter ald Lil John 051 mix on absolute twatting it as he hangs out the window tooting on a big polly joint. “Where to boys?” he says.
“Diablos on slater street please mate” you say. “Is right the boys” he says. “Sick in der kid”.
15 mins later you’re in town. But you’re too early. Diablos isn’t open til 11. So you head round to conny square.
Woody suggests going to McCooleys so you go in. It’s shit and full of bad wools so you leg it round to Baa Bar for a shot of Brain Damage and a quick Stella.
Right, It’s now 11:15 so you head round to Diablos.
On your way you see a hen party dressed in pink tutus waving a load of inflatable dicks and a fella in a pirate costume with his arse out. Fuck them though. The whoppers. They aren’t getting in.
You head for the door. There’s a queue. The group of Irish students in front of you have just been KB’d for not having any Proper ID and for being too bladdered. Woody sneaks a little neck in with the fat one and then does a dusty on her as soon as it’s your turn to show the doormen your ID. The biggest doorlad points at your passport photo and says you look like an Albanian dog catcher but JuneBridals long evening gown
You laugh it off and fly through the double doors into the den of iniquity.
The room is smoked out and the music is LOUD. Woody turns to you. “Lad” he shouts “can you smell that?” “Smell What lad?” You respond.
“Clout lad”. He says.
Then he strolls over to by the bar where there’s 3 little dirts sat off waiting for nudger. One of thems got no skids on and you can see her butty poking out the bottom of her kilt. More to the point you smell what she had for brekky. And it was more than likely spinach and egg.
Woodys right in there buying them the 2 quid jaegarbombs but you didn’t just come out for fanny.
Not yet anyway.
Right now You want Tunes and Rob Cain is giving it to you like a proper rapist.
That fanny drencher ‘17’ tune by MK drops and the three little scuzbuckets from by the bar jump up like they’ve got electrodes up their slices and shifty to the Dancefloor draggin your mate Woody with them.
You’s are fuckin well in with these. The dirty bitches.
Next thing you know it’s 6bells and it’s closing time. You’ve had a fuckin stormer.
All of the slags from earlier have bailed with some grafter called Wayne but you’ve met a proper little stunner from Birmingham called Charlamaine who wants you to go back to her hotel room with her. You think her miff probably stinks because she’s got braids in her hair but yer not even arsed because you’ve had a beast of a night.
Fuck knows where Woodys gone tho. Think he might have got dick teased so badly that he’s gone to empty his Ollie’s in a brasses gullet behind TJ Hughes. The animal.
Diablos has started your weekend with a bang once again.
And on that note. See you at 11.