F-closes: 0
K-closes: 0
#-closes: 0
fights: 2

After a friend's birthday meal, at midnight four of us headed on to a small London club that I hadn't been to before.

After an hour, called my mate, "where r u?". "Oh, we had to leave as Brian got chucked out as he got into a fight!" What?!!

OK, that was weird. Regardless, I decided to stay at the busy little club and sarge solo.

An hour later, I'm opening an HB9 chick who had been hidden away by the sofa around the perimeter of the club and was standing behind the tables. Size 10, 5'7", extremely tight little dress. I used a situational opener -- I joked about her rearranging the two wine glasses (imagine someone being quite obsessive-compulsive). She agreed an laughed. She was quite welcoming. I said to her friend "is she always this fussy with arranging the position of everyone's wine glass?"

Suddenly some 5'8" extremely stocky muscled guy in black grabs me and shouts WHAT ARE YOU DOING and I'm thinking in the split second this must be the bouncer, right? Within two seconds I'm outside the club -- having been held by my short collar an shoved backwards until I got outside onto the street -- and this guy is totally in my face and hyper.

So I thought that a bouncer would now come over and recognise that I'm in the right? Eh... no.

I'm Rebus, a man of peace. Whereas, cunt face is in the wrong.

But instead, this shows how fucked up some nightclub visits -- extremely occasionally -- can be. It's just mob rule. If there's more of them and therefore less than you -- in this case, just 1, yours truly -- the bouncers favour the mob. It's so fucked.

So I'm standing my ground, looking cunt face in the eye and trying to defuse it with "it's cool. We're cool. There's no problem". But I'm ready to block any boshed attempt by cunt face to punch me, in which case I'm ready to knock him out with a Rebus sledgehammer. But that ain't cool either, so ya ideally don't wanna do it, as it's so twisted these days (ref: Evening Standard newspaper or Daily Mail) that no matter what you do, the police will be onto you and fuck up you and your career, even if it was self-defence.

So a bouncer separates us. He says I should leave, but with a tone that he wants to protect me from them. Such bullshit!! THEY are in the wrong! And what about my jacket?? (in cloakroom -- fortunately I got it 5 minutes later)

Also a note on race. All of 'em were second generation British Indians. They think it's disrespectful to speak to their sister. WTF!! I can't imagine English Londonders reacting like that. Therefore, it's so pathetic. Get some cultural education then integrate into this multi-national society you pathetic little pricks.

BTW one of my exes is an HB10 British Indian, and I love India.

Conversely, these pricks tonight reckon by going out clubbing in a group of ten or so that they create their own little bubble where normal reality's rules --- e.g. unimportant stuff like UK law --- doesn't apply to them.

BTW there was no thoughts going through my head like anti-AMOG'ing him with classic material like "hey! don't touch me, I'm not you're type!" etc as this was way beyond more serious than that jokey shit.

BTW BTW Got jacket. Left club prematurely. Got home. No punches raised. But what bullshit. Not cool.