Well this is some kind of friendly and we have ourselves a fresh new year garnished with new ideas and ways of trying them.
What I want to riff with you this time is responses to a night out in Belfast...
Ya know if you haven't been out for a while in Belfast you think, shit I haven't been out in ages and you go out and find it's just as shit as it was when you were 22 and why you got sick of going out in the first fucking place.
But there's also what you should notice besides what you know; there are two ways to deal with not scoring at the end of Saturday night in Belfast...which is inevitable more than it happens...
Either like a small, over-thoughtful minority you wind your slow, weepy way home and hit whatever you have left in the carryout until exhaustion or sheer boredom get you to sleep. Or to stop you puking. Then the next day is spend nursing an aching head, half-remembered regrets and playing sad songs of loneliness by obscure artists.
Or...the more popular one is to try and kick the shit out of anything that moves. Take that sexual frustration out on the weaker, the disadvantaged or depending on how much of a 'roid monkey you are, the bouncers. They're cunts anyway so no-one is sorry if you slap them one. Though being major league 'roid monkeys they will definitely kick the shit out of you no matter how hard you are because they rove in groups and don't have ten pints and countless shots in them.
Weirdly this is the one state where women don't get punched by men in Belfast, though it is fleeting. After 2am, the mood darkens so even women aren't safe anymore. But men will pick fights to satisfy sexual lust. How does this actually work biologically and rationally? Who knows, but then again it's Belfast, so ignorance is bliss.
As a final aside, there is standing with your arms open, a beer bottle in one hand and the words to the effect 'what about you love' to a group of disinterested women walking quickly past you and completely ignoring that you are there and that you even exist as they talk amongst themselves in the usual inane babble that passes for lady talk. This has yet to make it as a successful chat-up line as is the subsequent add-ons to it concerning your junk and how you'd like to rip that apart with your junk. The insults as they fade away up the road will probably never work. Women only like being called fucking bitches in some cases of S&M and even then there's a prior form of relationship.
Anyway, dat's how this shit can go down. See ya soon!
Bisson.
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