Nth Rant

So. One more night with mates, and the mate I fancy (B) and her new BF. The resolution I arrived at after a bit of contemplation was that I was a twentysomething civilised sort of guy and damn me if I wasn't to managae being happy for my friend. The opportunity to test the resolution offers itself in the form of the opening of a new smoke hole. Smoke hole, we found out, is a new rock bar where some idiots who claim to want to improve people's appreciation of the music play the same songs they have been playing since the time so many years ago someone told me they were playing and I exclaimed in disgust 'They're playing?!?!?'. Let's bash the decor. Dr. Who meets Star Trek on a budget the BBC producers of the sixties would have laughed at. So we sit down after I get my first drink, which is a Tequila Sunrise. (My view is that if you want to get somewhere on a budget, you have to go with tequila, and I wanted to get to that mid-twenties civilised man who is happy for his friend, via not giving a dingo's kidneys, pronto) The sun in this particular tequila doesn't rise. It's a uniform pinkish orange. I wasn't the best bartender around back in uni but I could make the damn things rise or set depending on the order. 5 minutes in, the tall tumbler is empty. I look at B snogging BF and the not giving a dingo's kidney gene is slightly kicking in. I go to the bar to negotiate the surrender of the rest of their tequila stock, to find out that they're out.

"What do you mean you're out. It's 11 pm"(translating)

Bartender shrugs. I ask for a campari-soda (boring yet strong) and sit back with it. The place is full of Daleks and Klingons by now so I feel more comfortable among my brethren. This is what went wrong. Due to the circumstancial lack of tequila my attack on brain cells could not commence as planned. Tequila went in fisting the gates, but it had no back-up. The campari was finished in no time but it doesn't exactly arrive at the same spot. The air squadron have messed up the coordinates and the campari has been parachuted in the forest somewhere. Moving on to vodka shots. Those too fail too aid the tequila. My head is spinning but the not giving a dingo's kidneys gene is still barely active. I look accross at B who is miraculously free of the grasp of the 18-tentacled lobster-monster who is now her BF, and she is looking at me bemused. I give her a smile and shout (not loud enough) 'get a friggin room, I'll pay for it'. 'What?' she does not hear. I shout 'Want an orange-bloom? I'll pay for it.'. 'Yes please' Fuck. Now I have to teach the imbecilius bartender how to make an orange bloom. I get up and realise that the words I'm looking for are 'Fuck a duck'. The back-up vodka and campari have hit my balance. NOT THERE YOU STUPID FUCKS, GET TO THE GATES. TEQUILA IS WAITING. Yet cash is draining. So I decide to aid the two lost footsoldiers by a simple plan. BEER. That should get the SOBs where they should be. And it does. The gate is shattered. Troy is on fire, and I don't give a dingos kidneys.