From: Leaf@theleaf.worldonline.co.uk
Newsgroups: alt.drunken.bastards
Subject: Re: Watch this space..........Part One
Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2000 17:37:05 +0100
"Leaf" <theleaf@theleaf.worldonline.co.uk> wrote in message
news:3991d055.0@burroughs.atdot.com...
> I honestly think this warrants DB attention.
> It involves booze, sex and drugs...........
> I am not allowed to tell it yet but when the time comes, I am fucking
> writing it.
>
> Leaf
Ok.
Here blows.....
Yesterday, I took the morning off (legit) and decided when it came near to
w*rk time, I would take the afternoon off too. This was prompted by Cruise
deciding he wanted to get a tattoo. This is not to be done alone and not
when totally s*ber. He needed me to ensure those criteria were fullfilled. I
am a loyal person. A true DB. And any excuse to skip w*rk, drink heavily,
drink a lot and watch a person have pain by choice will do.
It was 3.30 p.m. by the time we picked up the phone and made some calls to
tat shops. We rang three. The first two were 'by appointment' only. How
very British, we thought. The third said "Just drop in. I can do him." We
asked what time he closed. Five thirty. We could make it. We high tailed our
asses to Bradford and got to the shop (which was in the middle of wasteland)
at quarter to 5. The bastard said he was closing shop. We growled and went
in search of a taxi to hunt down a fucking tattooist who wanted money.
Cruise was about willing to mortgage his house to get this tattoo by now. He
also figured it was a possibility that he might feed his other vice
considering the neighbourhood we were now roaming. We found a very nice
woman taxi driver (who, personally, I would employ as a bodyguard *anytime*
I felt the need of one) who chased the whereabouts of a tattooist named
Babs. Bab's tat parlour was an ex-parlour the seedy remains of which were
located in a basement under a railway bridge. She was, however, kind enough
to leave her new address on a piece of paper tacked to the barb wired fence.
Nice taxi driver whisked us there. Cruise tipped her heavily, which I think
was a good, yet un-British thing to do. But, as I said earlier, she was big
enough to send Cruise back without the need of an airplane.
We spotted Babs parlour and, before I could blink, Cruise was out of the car
and racing towards the place shouting 'It's open! I see the light!" I was
less optomistic as I spotted the mesh shutters over the shops' window.
Cruise, on the other hand, was running full tilt up this alley, through some
passageway and up some darks stairs. This was looking ominous. It was
looking far more interesting as we reached the top of the stairs and I
glanced right as Cruise pushed the bell. There was an Amsterdam style window
and Cruise was already going through the door before I could splutter "Whore
house!" So there I was, in a room with three 'nurses', their tits just a
little south of their chins, asking for directions to a tatto parlour. They
were nice women. Got us a tat shop telephone number too.
Once outside it took me several minutes to control my laughter.Cruise was
already spitting bricks having been thwarted twice in his mision. We rang
the number given to us by the whore. Sadly, he couldn't do it til the next
day as he was slumming it in Huddersfield while we basked in the pleasures
of *down*town Bradford. We went for a drink in a very grotty pub and Cruise
spotted a heavily tattooed young thug. We asked him the whereabouts of a tat
parlour. Funnily enough, he knew of one. One that might still be open. He
and his girlfriend, who had the crazy eyes of a deer on headlight juice and
the palour of an aids victim, kindly escorted us to the parlour. I thought
this might be the very opportunity to seek out Cruises vice. She was more
than happy to oblige. We got to the parlour and, while we waited to be seen,
Cruise all jumping for the tat and the catnip, I nipped outside for a smoke.
The girl followed shortly after looking more gittery than before. I go back
up and the tattooist is telling Cruise "I am an artiste. I cannot do that
sort of w*rk!". Cruise was far more tollerant of the situation and that gits
remark than I.
We left with the yob and the yellow girl in search of ..well... *that*
stuff. An argument ensued between the girl and her bloke and it seems, in
retrospect, they must have thought I was a cop. They *apparently* were in
dispute as to which pub their contact was. The girl, obviously more trusting
(and having seen the colouor of Cruises money), was pretty damn sure *she*
knew where we were headed... but the bloke, all smiles and a death threat
look at the girl, persuaded her otherwise.
All in all, exciting and adventuresome as the day was, it was a 'no win
situation' and we decided to call it a day and return home and drink a lot.
Leaf---watch space for Part 2
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