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darknation

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  1. true story.

    was at the retinal circus in london last year, specifically to see the retinal circus show. As a side note, do not drink the water in london; it tastes like someone else's kidneys. Anyway, the show was fantastic and, being a fucking humongous alcoholic, I decided to go to the afterparty and get smashed, perhaps meet my heroes and generally be a cool dude.

    The afterparty was in a complete cesspit music-basement with a bar upstairs that only sold beer in tins. There was a suspicious lack of people at the place; not knowing london, I cursed and asked the bouncer if this was the DTP after-party and if so where the hell was it all going down?

    Bouncer says downstairs, third door on the right.

    So off I go with my friends and GF in tow, clutching half a crate of ridiculously overpriced beer with the intention of getting completely mashed. The room to which we were directed was, if anything, even more of a dump than the rest of the bar; green wallpaper hanging off the walls, shitty leopardskin sofas. No one else is there - we must be early.

    We set up camp; already half ruined from the gig, the tins of beer stand no chance. The empties begin to pile up. An hour passes and there is still no sign of this fabled afterparty. More beer is bought and consumed.

    A lot more.

    About an hour and a half into our epic drinking binge my GF taps me on the shoulder; a few girls have just walked in, and my GF thinks they are from the choir in the show. I scoff at this notion and continue to get completely wrecked.

    Two hours in and I am *drunk*. And, through the miraculous alchemy of beer, I am starting to put two and two together. Something here is not right; the green wallpaper, the faux leopardskin couches... what the fuck sort of shitass music basement has couches like that?

    There are empty tins everywhere. We have split beer everywhere. Our shit is spread from pillar to post. The girls from the maybe-choir are giving us some serious evils.

    It is at this exact moment that two things happen; the band members walk into the room and, simultaneously, I realize that we have invaded their fucking dressing room.

    The drummer is HUGE.

    Lesson to be learned from this - there is something worse than meeting your heroes and finding out they are complete cunts. Imagine meeting your heroes and finding out that they think you are a complete cunt.

    It is my secret shame.

    1. Show previous comments  6 more
    2. AndrewB

      AndrewB

      If your story makes any sense at all, the incompetence of the bouncer should have been the glue that held the story together. Or the fact that you can't discern left from right or count to 3 when drunk.

      No emphasis on any of this. Then again, I can't say I read your story that thoroughly so maybe I'm the incompetent one.

    3. darknation

      darknation

      yeah, odd is it. I think the bouncer, upon seeing my general awesomeness, assumed I and my friends were with the band, hence directions to the green-room / band facilities.

      Was a large performance with more than thirty people on stage, make up artists, techies etc. so this is less stupid than it sounds.

      andrewB: you are less of a penis than you used to be. must be cold outside.

    4. Cupboard

      Cupboard

      Well here's a problem. All of your tins were empty and the band was looking to fill up.

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