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Scumdogs - Episode 3

Pete was running. Don't look back, he thought. Behind him he could hear the dog barking and the two police officers shouting for him to stop. Not a chance - not with this stuff on me, he thought. As he left the station platform, across the main floor and towards the exit, Pete was very surprised at how fit he still was, despite 10 years of smoking cigarettes. Mind you, being chased by the police is enough to bring out the Linford Christie in anyone.

He barged through the turnstile, only to be brought to a sudden halt as his jacket caught on one of the metal arms. He tried to free himself, but the police were gaining on him, the alsatians barks growing ever louder, seemingly echoing in his ear. Fuck this, he though, and pulled himself free from his snagged jacket like a snake shedding its skin. He was so anxious to get away that Pete forgot the bag of drugs he had smuggled in his pocket.

Some big sweaty guy bumped into Sally.
"Watch it, love!". She turned toward him and he shook his head. She turned back towards the doorway and the figure with the russell mask had gone. What could it have meant? Was there some connection with the dog mask and the dog hairs on Pete's jacket? What did he mean by "German Shepherd issues"?

She wasn't eager to leave the club empty handed and decided to pursue the mysterious figure in case it would lead her to Pete's whereabouts. "Relax" by FGTH came on. After 5 minutes of pushing her way through the sweaty bodies, she found herself at a small room, which was like an alcove off the main dancefloor, which housed several comfortable seats which ran round the wall. It was smoky inside (this was before the ban came in), but peering in she could make out the silhouette of the very Mr J Russell she'd been looking for. She moved in and sat down beside him.
"You're looking for Peter, aren't you?" he/it said in an enigmatic voice.
"Yes - where is he?"
"He's in a lot of trouble", he replied in a sombre tone.
"Biscuit?" he suddenly asked, holding out a packet of dog biscuits towards her.

At that very moment, 2 streets away, Pete was being ushered into a black Mercedes, with blacked-out windows. The man in front, in the passenger seat, was not one for small talk.
"Where are my pills, Peter? I believe they were last seen in your possession."
Pete felt very uneasy. He was in trouble indeed.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Scumdogs - Episode 2

"Just a few more steps", he thought to himself as he made his way along the platform, trying to hide the fact that the paranoia was ripping through him. As he neared them, the dog turned towards him, panting, it's tongue hanging out - it knows! Oh please, no, not now! Sure enough, it began barking, and the 2 police officers it was with turned towards him.
"You there!"...

"And if I should falter
Would you open your arms out to me
We can make love not war
And live at peace with our hearts
I'm so in love with you
I'll be forever blue
What religion or reason
Could drive a man to forsake his lover"

God, it's strange in here, Sally thought to herself as she was greeted by the sound of Erasure's A Little Respect. She'd never before ventured into a place like this, only heard about it from Pete and other friends. This was most definitely a men only venue. One of the first things she clocked at the bar was a big guy with moustache and leather cap, who was the double of a certain Mr Freddie Mercury. Then, she was barged out of the way by a couple of guys in criminally tight pink t-shirts, who were seemingly high as a kite, waltzing past. Crystal meth, probably.
"Sorry, love!" one yelled. This place is like one big cliche, she thought - looking round, it was like YMCA spiralling out of control.

A far as she knew, Pete hadn't been here in years. It was a long shot, but where else could she look for her wayward companion?
"Sal!", came a voice from her right, "how you doing?!". It was Trevor, whom she'd known sionce school.
"Trevor! I didn't know you were..." - Sally was taken aback.
"A friend of dorothy? No, I don't think so - you don't have to be a queer to enjoy yourself here! Best club in town - nowhere else like it! In fact I bet 90% of the punters here are straight and are just here for the atmosphere, just like me!". Judging by what she'd seen so far, this theory was unlikely to be true.
"Have you met Tanya?" he enquired, referring to the slightly gothic, slightly crazy looking girl beside him.
"Hi!" said an enthusiastic Tanya.
"Hi. Listen, Trev, I need to go, I'm looking for my friend Pete. You seen him?".
"Naw, I haven't - besides he would stick out like a sore thumb here. This place is camp as Christmas in a pink tent - Pete is the straightest-looking gay I've ever seen!"

Sally decided this probably wasn't Pete's sort of place anymore and decided to try elsewhere. On her way out, a man in an indian headdress barged into her.
"Watch it!" she yelled, growing impatient with the whole situation.
"Take a chill pill, darling. Honestly, some people..." said the chief in a rather camp accent. But Sally wasn't paying attention anymore - her eyes were firmly fixed on the figure near the door with the jack russell mask on.

Scumdogs - Episode 1

There was something about that canine, a glint in its eye as if it knew something nobody else did...

It was around 2am and Sally was making her way to the gay bar to see if her friend Pete had gone there. Pete had been taking Pro Plus all day, and it was making him erratic. They'd met earlier that evening for a few drinks and a snack at Malcolm's Bar, in the city centre. She'd noticed right away that Pete wasn't quite his usual self: he seemed on edge; anxious. When she asked him what was wrong, he seemed reluctant to talk about it and was eager to change the subject. She pressed him further, herself becoming anxious as to what was troubling her friend.
"German Shepherd issues", he replied. "You wouldn't understand."

Now, she was at the front the club. A large neon sign read "ELECTRIC SIX". Pete had mentioned the club before. It was a venue he had frequented a lot during his student years, and there was the possibility he had wound up here on this rainy Saturday night.
"Men only", the bouncer announced as she approached the door. "Sorry, love".
"Please, I'm looking for my friend. I think he came here. Can I just quickly go in and check?"
"Ok, on you go, doll, but make it quick", the bouncer replied. As she entered, she began to ponder just what Pete had told her in O'Leary's bar, shortly before he made a swift exit without telling her. She was still clutching the jacket he'd left on the seat. There were hairs stuck to it. Possibly a black labrador, maybe even a collie, but there was no mistaking them - they were dog hairs.

Alcohol: A Very Dangerous Drug

Colleague X hasn't spoken in weeks, I'm caught up in a race row and recently things have gotten out of hand on this blog and some unpleasant language has been used. What happened was that I was extremely drunk last night after taking advantage of some cheap drinks in a pub in Yoker (£1.50 for a pint of Fosters, 80p a buttle of Bud!). Anyway, to cut to the chase, I ended up getting into a silly drunken fight at someone's house. After, I randomly decided to check the latest comments on my blog. I saw one from someone pretending to be the police (how sad is that?) and one from someone called Adam who was trying to be Mr Righteous and tell me what I should and shouldn't say on my blog (Adam, I've nothing against you but you used the name "Dr Esteban Ramirez" on Blogger instead of your real name - enough said about that, I think). These comments made me angry at the time, and mainly due to the testosterone/adrenalin/alcohol mix in my bloodstream I left some abusive remarks.

Now, I apologise if anyone was offended by these comments - I've done this sort of thing before when drunk and looking back it really makes me cringe - but what I won't do is apologise for any mock racist remarks I made. I am opinionated and I say what I feel, not what society tells me to say. Get over it!

This episode has made me realise that I've no longer any desire to share details of my life with the public. My current readership is not the one I would want to share my thoughts, ideas and humour (however funny, offensive or shocking) with. Sorry, but morbid fuckers who talk about headstones, saddos pretending to be the police, people who think it's acceptable to go on about the "blecks" in a mock South African accent but then come over all high and mighty when I use the word "nigger" (there, I said it again)? Dr E Ramirez? Nope, sorry, our views and attitudes differ greatly and I think it's best all round if I keep my proverbial mouth shut from now on.

A Breath of Fresh Ayr

Previously on duncbaresall.blogspot.com...

"...If I could find anywhere half decent away from where I am now, it would cheer me up bigtime..."

I have - and it has!

No more student-halls-esque accomodation for me! However there still remains one niggling thing I would like to completely remove from the equation... Ayr itself.

Endure the Silence?

At work recently, we were put into different rooms. I was put in with a colleague, who I'll imaginatively refer to as Colleague X. Now, Colleague X is man of few words, or more specifically, a man of no words. Yes, entire days pass where the only conversation is a single, abbreviated "see you later". Other than that it's complete silence all day. Now, up until now my attitude is that if Colleague X isn't going to make any conversation then I'm not going to bother either. As a result of this I'm now as quiet as Colleague X. I've been called quiet in the past and often am, but Colleague X makes me look like Graham Norton/Lily Savage/Dame Edna rolled into one (in conversation terms, not dress sense).
The dilemma is this: either I make more of an effort to talk to Colleague X and maybe he'll come out of his shell, or I continue as I am and take the attitude "well if he's not making any effort then he can fuck right off!"
The latter, I think. Dilemma resolved.