Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Top 5 Scary Moments - #3

If I tell you I used to drink Buckfast with pant-shitting regularity, will your opinion of me change? If you don't know anything about Uncle Buck, the link will tell all. Suffice to say it has something of a reputation as being the beverage of choice for anti-social miscreants intent on wreaking havoc on "the man", the man in question being any cunt who gets in their fucking way while looped up on the old B.

It is not a pleasant drink. It has a consistency and viscosity similar to cough syrup, and I've always found the taste to be positively gag-inducing. However, the combination of high levels of caffeine and alcohol in the drink makes for an almost amphetamine-like buzz, ideal for someone who loved to mosh mental in clubs but needed a bit of a kickstart to get going. Since most of my late teens were spent in clubs lepping about to the music of the day, Bucky was frequently my beverage of choice. Thankfully, I was never involved in causing any of the violence or anti-social behaviour that are now synonymous with guzzling the brown sauce.

I've been witness to it though: beatings, bottlings, awful stuff, stuff that happens because some people can't manage a drink, not because of what they drink. Some cunts just can't go out and enjoy themselves without feeling it necessary to do harm to others, regardless of whether they've had a feast of pints, a bottle of vodka, a couple of lines, whatever.

If I were in primary school, this essay would be called "A Narrow Escape".

One evening, myself and two of the lads, DroighneƔn and Snoopy, were on our way out to Salthill, and we stopped at the bottom of Taylor's Hill to drink our Buckfast from our Supermacs* cups. (To complete the filthy hobo look, you had to call into a fast food place for some paper cups, and drink your beverage - concealed in a brown paper bag - from the cups. Made you look completely innocuous, instead of looking like the kind of trouble-causing fucker who drinks from a bottle. A few packs of Tayto Snax were also considered an ideal complement to the beverage.)

To save an unnecessary and boring description about where we were, please see this diagram:



The red blob is us - the three of us were sitting on a step in an alleyway, guzzling our beverages, when two minky-looking hard bastards walk past. We can feel them looking at us as we do our best to pull off the I'll-look-at-anything-else-as-long-as-I-don't-have-to-make-eye-contact-with-this-
scary-cunt face that you have to put on when you go out around town these days. One of the two, real friendly-like, asks us for the time. We tell him, and they move on.

If Snoopy hadn't been there, I have no doubt I would've ended up in intensive care just up the road in the Regional that evening. He was sharp, that lad - his spider-senses were tingling as those lads walked away. DroighneƔn and me, pah: never mind any extra-sensory perception, our regular senses were blissfully apathetic, dulled from the consumption of the oul Bucky. We'd have been fucked without Snoopy. Bless you sir.

As soon as those guys walked away, Snoopy stood up. He was a bloodhound, and he smelled trouble. Paul and I were sitting on the step, still sucking down the brown gloop, needing to get drunk enough to enjoy CJ's later. CJ's was an awful club. We're bantering on, talking the usual shite we always talk, when Snoopy shouts "Run byes, run!"

The urgency in his voice leaves little to question. I have a split second to look over my shoulder to see the guy who asked for the time come sprinting towards us. Lack of cuddles as a child means he now wants to cuddle us, though I suspect it's the less traditional type of cuddle, where intense agony, rather than love, is shared. He's pulling a balaclava over his face, he's fisting one of those cosh** things and he is fucking flying at us. Fear is a powerful motivator, and we're all reasonably fit; he hasn't a chance of catching us with that much adrenaline on our side. We run like fuck up Taylor's Hill, in time to see Thug #2 coming around from the other direction (see diagram). They'd been attempting the old western trick of heading us off at the pass, but, thank Christ, Snoopy had been onto them faster than most people would've been, and we were able to get the fuck out of Dodge just in time.

Taylor's Hill is a steep feckin hill - we made it about halfway up before we stopped. Those enormous cunts were nowhere to be seen, but we decided it might be best to make our way out to Salthill regardless. Soon we were laughing about the near-death experience, high and jittery off the bucketloads of adrenaline, and we nearly collapsed with laughter when we looked at each other and realised that throughout the entire incident, we did not spill a drop of drink.


*Irish fast food joint. Tasty and tempting food.

**blackjack

~

In other news, go and check out Blunt Cogs. I just had my first cartoon published there (thanks to Kim), which I reproduce for you here:

13 Comments:

Kim Ayres blathered this crap:

Cool strip :)

Kieran blathered this crap:

Great post.

Just like trainspotting but with a handy map.

I'm impressed the speeding thug decided to don a balaclava. How very sectarian of him. I fondly remember being chased by a bunch of retards in a black escort who wielded a variety of weapons, my favourite a plank with nails in it. Adrenaline is an amazing thing, but it can't help you out run an air rifle. Our beverages of choice were white lightning, 20/20 and Cougar Lager. Ah, them was the days.

Old Knudsen blathered this crap:

Lucky that Snoopy was a watchdog or your Charlie Brown arse would of been hurtin, and maybe not from the Billyclub (king billy's club no surrender)and Kieran you're a fast wee shite but I'll get ya next time with my big plank.

ill man blathered this crap:

Adrenalin? Tell me about it..... The last time I was given a cuffing I shouted so loud the fuckers did a runner and half the street came out to see what was happening.

Kav blathered this crap:

kim: Ha! Thanks again.

kieran: Cheers - I thoroughly enjoyed your tale of getting a flat today, but did not get time to leave you a comment. Sorry about that.

I've never seen anything like the balaclava thing, before or since. The preparation, the forethought - I can picture him getting ready for a night out: let's see, money, keys, hair done, aftershave on, balaclava ready...

oul knudsen: Ah I'm going to miss that incredible stream-of-consciousness.

ill man: Good man - I probably wouldn't have even thought of that, I would've just run. Note to self: shriek next time you're getting your head kicked in.

ill man blathered this crap:

Nah, yr still better running. I was kinda cornered, screaming like a baby was all I had open to me.

Sassy Sundry blathered this crap:

Wow. You certainly knew how to get yourself in trouble, didn't you. Is that why your little logo has a severed head?

Debbie blathered this crap:

Only you could make a scary story like that funny.

Anonymous blathered this crap:

I was in Galway just a few years before that. Change the relevant parts to Thunderbird, The Warwick and angry Dutch crusties and its the same story. and then I'm in the US and can't afford to go back either.
Am I your path finder ???
Spooky
Worse here is my soundtrack to that era
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Te0s-ysnDWw

RamblingMan blathered this crap:

i once tried to semi-intervene in a fight between two women outside supermacs in o'connell street - their boyfriends (together !) quickly reassured me that no intervention was necessary and to kindly foxtrot oscar

John Mc blathered this crap:

Kav

Very similar experience, minus the buckfast but including the cosh. I had to outsprint three fucks on glue, all the way across the football pitch beside the Westside shopping centre.

Question, you might be around the right age for this. Seeing as you liked clubbing in Salthill do you remember a club called "Infected". In the now defunct Setanta's. It was on Monday nights, alternative stuff. Anyhow twas my baby.

Kav blathered this crap:

Howya John, welcome along. I only knew Infected by name - twas slightly before my time. The club all my mates used to go on about was Vagabonds - same kind of music, the besht in alternative rock etc - but even that I was just a year or two too young for. Bah.

John Mc blathered this crap:

Vagabonds - ringing a bell, but I can't remember which nightclub it was in ?
Those were halcyon days. We got in free to all the clubs because we were DJ's, and the whole rave scene was still very underground. Between that, the grunge thing, and ecstasy, it really felt like we were all living in our own groovy little world. Most of the clubs were dj'ed by people who really loved the music. We would keep the door money and the clubs would get the drinks. It meant the clubs could get a decent crowd on the off nights.
Of course there was the night I did an AIDS benefit. Out theme song was Infected by The The. At the end of my set I played it ... at an AIDS benefit. Smart move!