Sunday, 11 October 2009

Manchester by night

Aren't people who frequent the Internet weird ?. I was reading a piece about the sad death of Boyzone singer Stephen Gatley before i started to type this, Most of the comments below the news were from guys arguing about whether he was Irish or British. "MArk, go out and buy an Atlas. Ireland is neither a part of the UK nor a part of Great Britain. IT has been an independent country since 1921.Boyzone are Irish.apart from idiots here not knowing basic world geography.... blah blah"
It made me laugh. I was never a fan of Boyzone but he's just fuckin died!. I imagine a groups of old acid queens sitting at a funeral complaining about the wrong kind of flowers. (by the way Boyzone are Irish)

Anyway on to my weekend. Went out with Daniel and Howard last night. It was a great night until Daniel had too much to drink and got all maudlin about me moving away.
I thought he was gonna cry at one point and he sounded one step away from that "your my best mate you are" thing that drunks do.
I reminded him that I'm not moving to the other end of the earth and i would be coming back. Plus, he can come over to see me as well.
But as neither he nor Howard have a car at the moment there seems a slim chance that will happen. And it also seem hypocritical of me to be saying all that considering how dithery i have been about moving away for exactly the same reasons. Anyway, he was sick and he went into a coma so we dragged him into a taxi legs first and took him home.

To top things off i saw Jack as we waited for the taxi. He didn't see me, he was with a group of guys. I could have called out and said hi, but i decided to let it go and ignore him.
Besides we were all distracted by the fattest women in the world wearing the smallest dress known to man. It was straining at the seams and I'm convinced that should she have sat down the whole fucking thing would have popped like a balloon, leaving her starkers to the world. The only people who should wear tight things are those with tight bodies to go with them. I spied plenty of them last night. Fucking freezing, in t shirts, Brilliant !.

One guy stood next to us who looked attractive from a distance, but when he got close he stunk of sweat. Not nice fresh sweat, that three days old stuff that reeks. He had a tattoo of Homer Simpson on his shoulder and an earring that had the words "hot cock" on it.
The things you see in Manchester sometimes.

I once overheard someone say that the worst tattoo they had ever seen was on a guys arse. It was a British bulldog cartoon complete with German helmet and carrying a riffle. The gun was pointing towards the arsehole and a large speech balloon was coming out of the dogs mouth which said "come on out, we know your in there"


Octavius said...

That tattoo thing was pretty funny mate. Manchestor sounds a little rough around the edges mate.

Signed up on your blog a little while ago, and I am liking what I have seen so far.


Pilgrim said...

Who cares about Boyzone? But Northjern Ireland ain´t genuine british. Throw them pigs out! Propz Pilgrim