Of Pill Heads, Strangers and Rants...

JAMIE, BOBBY, MOI, EMMA AND DOM


Wings

Dear Reader. I write to you in the early hours of a saturday morning from my empty desk with a cup of cocoa while everyone else is out stomping it up the club for Dom's birthday celebrations. Why am I in you may ask? Well lets imagine that most of the people there were my mates at one time. One day a dick head came along and managed to convince them all to take, oh I don't know let' say for example ecstacy. Now let's pretend that these easily influenced individuals then go on to gear their whole lives to the next pill and talk about little else than talking walls and pink sheep. Now lets say there's only about three of us that don't need to crawl up the nearest horizontal surface to have a good night, and that we are getting more and more aware of just how much these tiny white tablets are gearing the others lives.
Now let's say this all happened fridy night and that I don't recognise one of my best mates, I walk home from one of their birthday do's and I avoid another one of them at work like the plague because of the label they carry.
After confiding in MAdam that I'm sick of watching those who will be unnamed thinking they're something else and that having an epileptic style dance fit on the tiles is impressive I decided to clear my head and natter with Marcia and Charlie upstairs in reception. After Marc agreed that he was sick and tired of having to watch out with Paul for who was on what, I decided I really have turned to despising the club. I don't have fun there anymore. My mates are off their collective faces gurning for fun and making twats of themselves. Some of the people in there buy their mates with little tabs of E and lines of coke. I wish it was back in the day of working there where the pill heads were dirt and a few drinks and a killer hangover was all that was needed for a crackin weekend not hallucinating about 10 foot mars bars and seeing who can pop the most before their eyes roll into their skulls. I wish I knew my best friend again and we could have monday nights laughing at Little Britain and having a goose. I wish the poisonous little scrotes who got them into this kind of crap would feck off to manchester with all the other pratts and dissapear into their crowd.
But wishing gets you very little so this rant will have to do for now.
In the words of Sherrin,

RAH

Wings xXx