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'The London Nightclub experience'
I've been in London for just over 10 years now. MaximoIncel's thread made me reflect upon my first 4-5 years here, and the weekends spent at nightclubs, trying to make something happen. When I look back at those days, it is with a mixture of pain, disbelief and significant lol.
A typical Saturday night would start well enough; standing in a choice establishment such as Fabric or SE1 (now closed). There you are, all Armani'd up and sporting an on-trend haircut; mildly pleased with yourself as a young, urban freewheeler. You stand by the bar, clutching your Corona and lime in the sweaty grasp of anticipation, pretending to enjoy the utterly shit breakbeat tunes that are so loud you can only hear the overwhelming bass that thumps your very innards, interspersed with the odd biscuit-tin beat and some talentless half-cast Asian mixing on the decks.
It's a veritable Noah's Ark of girls in here; it's packed with all shitcunts great and small; all creeds, colours and backgrounds. There you stand, desperately trying to make eye contact with someone who you think is in your league. But as the hours pass, girl after girl walks on by and your morale starts to plummet. You tell yourself that surely, sometime tonight, some shitcunt will either be ugly or drunk enough to at least engage you in conversation.
Then, the bell tolls at 12am, the lights fade, and you assume the role of cuckolded bystander as Jamal, Trayvon, Brad and Scotty walk past - like the four swinging dicks of the apocalypse - and, not even stopping for drinks, they manage to achieve more success with females in 5 minutes than you have in your entire existence. girls are wowed, wetted and ultimately taken by these ubermensch with ease. No sooner have they walked in then they are all leaving, arm-in-arm with the type of nightclubcunt that you could only secure with either Aladdin's lamp or a substantial dose of Rohypnol. The aftermath of this alpha-male carnage has hypnotized even the fattest, frumpiest girl still in the club - causing her to aim for no less than the full 8" of typical bad-boy. The final nail in your weekend coffin has been driven. Out of hope, out of cash and out of time before the big bolshy bouncers push you out of the door, you swill the dregs of your last Corona and get ready to commence the ritualistic 3am walk home.
Trudging across Tower Bridge in the biting cold fog, the city is silent. Out of nowhere, a couple appear ahead of you, stumbling and liberally french-kissing in drunken lust. They are in your direct path, forcing upon you a brutal, gut-punching reminder of the sexual fun you aren't and won't ever be enjoying. Maximising your misery, the gods cruelly shine the street lamplight upon their faces, allowing you to see in great detail the tongues passionately entwined and the pure, unfettered desire which is preceeding a fuckfest of a one-night stand.
Ocassionally, other ghost-like figures are encountered roaming the empty streets; similar rejects who are on the same journey as you. You walk past a ginger manlet going in the opposite direction, briefly exchanging glances with identical dead-behind-the-eyes expressions. No words need to be uttered; you both understand each other's mutual suffering on this noche.
The morning birds start to chirp mockingly, as you finally reach your trendy but ultimately soulless house-share in Shad Thames at 4am. Collapsing on the bed with the evening's stench of cigarettes and alcohol clinging to you like a terminal disease; you're unsure whether to cry or to start fapping in pent-up frustration. Instead, cock-in-hand, you drift into a troubled sleep, regularly interrupted by bitterness and resentment.
Then on Monday, a miracle takes place.
You seem to magically forget your weekend ordeal. You want to do it all again. You want to go out again next Saturday night.
Yes, I'll go to a bar where there will be decent and friendly women and I will have a good time, meet someone. It will be different this time, I will try to relax, be less obvious, not think too much. I will...
...Except, it won't be different. It never will be different. You will always be doomed, cursed to make that solitary journey home - unwanted, unfulfilled, unfucked.
Going clubbing tonight, Londoncels? Then I'll see you at 3am, walking home in the freezing fog across Tower Bridge. Can't wait."
This is golden. Almost Juruth level.
Got it from "that other place" boyos.
