My mate Bruce, who is in remission from whatever it is that is killing him, was back in evil form again last week in HK at the Rugby7s and later, in the seedy oubliette-like caverns between the Wanchia skycrapers.
I didn't see all this incident as I was sitting quietly at the front, sipping sedately on a chilled lemon-tea, chatting idly with several cute potentials about the likliehood of a sympathy fuck for a sad fat bald old bastard, or even $500 each, when late in the evening of Sunday, or perhaps it was already Monday, in the ordinarily genteel drinking establishment Mes Amis, in the very pulsing heart of WanChai, five bouncers were sitting on Bruce to keep from "doing any more damage"...
People who could still stand as the carnage rained about their expensively coiffured heads were grabbing their little ones and seeking refuge from the terror further along the bar, as Bruce flung his not inconsiderable blubbery bulk around the the modestly proportioned mosh-pit to the bass-augmented rhythms of various songs from the 80's and 90's, until subdued.
Friends, myself included, sought to pour oil on the troubled fluids seeping from Mr Pissed-in-his-pants and promised the bouncers that they would send the tired and emotional gent home safely and see that he caused no more mischief, and that no, more shots of the Tasar were not really required.
Though he protested - saying to me somewhat Oedipally, and somewhat mysteriously as he had been orphaned young and brought up by benign and loving female relatives, in a breath dense with the rum-like fumes of caramel-enriched CH3CH2OH, "You're not... my father! You can't tell me what to do... Not my father..." - we fed him into a taxi and hoped it would make it to whatever fleabag hotel had been foolish enough to accept his booking this year.
Good riddance. We can't have that sort of behaviour at E@L GHQ. Satisfied, we all headed across the road and into Club Venus for the world's most expensive non-blowjob.
Ah, how the mighty have fallen, always landing on their feet of clay, as the saying goes.
Three days later, Bruce claims innocence of the whole thing, his memory knackered like a weary horse's unchewable stringy flesh.
(Some of this story MIGHT have been exaggerated... But not much.)
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
Sounds like typical drunken happenings of the weekly variety were both on display and condoned by those in attendance...
...at least the bouncers didn't opt for a bit of Balmain folk dancing on poor Bruce.
wait, when you say $500 do you mean sgd, usd, or hkd? currency's my new obsession.
Indy: I swear, I mean HE swears he does not remeber any of this.
Ivy: HK$500 is what I meant, sorry. That would be a discount price for a low quality shag, older lady, or later at night say after 4am, etc. Average street price or pick-up bar, like Laguna or Fenwicks, a hooker is about HK$1000 to HK$2000. "Girly bars" urge you to buy drinks at KD$220 a pop (and I do mean pop) as you cop a feel, then ask HK$4000 for a bar-fine. It is possible for a drunken gwailo to clock up HK$6,000 to 8,000 without even noticing. Not a cheap night out with the boys after all.
i rather get on the internet and find someone to do. it's cheaper. hell wait, it's free.