Brett MaverixConvicted of murder, you say?
I know I said I'd post the rest of my Sydney story today, but I'm running a little behind. Bear with me. Instead, here's the story of last Saturday night, when I managed to drunkenly piss off two convicted murderers. Good times!
Sat 18/3:
We finished work at the regular time in the afternoon, and we'd actually had a really good day in terms of dollars. It was a nice change from the last few Saturdays. I think the main reason was that most of the artists in the area were at the Logan convention that day. Fuck hanging around with other Logan tattooists all day, they're all bikers, assholes, and idiots.
So anyway, there was a bit of unexpected extra cash to throw around, so Swirly and I went to the fancy bottle-o. You know those massive liquor superstores? One of those. Those places are dangerous.
The plan was to go to our friend Brooklyn's housewarming party for a couple of hours and then head to Roller Derby in the evening. We didn't know whether Roller Derby would be licensed or not, so we decided to stock up beforehand with a variety of miscellaneous European beers, and a well-earned bottle of Jagermeister. Hung around for a bit drinking some 9% beer that tasted like a can full of buttholes, then Mel drove us and Poo over to Brooklyn's housewarming party.
On the way, we pulled up at a zebra crossing, and I saw something so magnificently and exquisitely amusing that I swear my colon almost imploded trying to contain my laughter. I managed it for aboot ten seconds and then couldn't contain it any longer. What was so funny? A retarded man crossing the road. He didn't just cross it though. He pranced. No shit. PRANCED. On tiptoes, with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face and his arms held in the air. It looked like ballet for mongs. A window-licker's rendition of Swan Lake crossing the street not five feet in front of me. Just imagine that.
I lost it. I was laughing so hard that I almost threw up. Twice. It took aboot ten minutes for me to get over it and then all the muscles in my stomach were sore for the rest of the night. I still can't think aboot it without a slight chuckle. Yeah, I'm going to hell.
So on we went to the party. When we arrived, there was no sign of Brooklyn anywhere, and the backyard was full of upturned barrels and naked men playing ping pong. I think we stayed for a grand total of five minutes hoping something interesting would occur, and that the blokes would put some trousers on. Neither happened, so we got the fuck out of there. At this point aboot half the bottle of Jager is gone.
Mel pulls up out the front of the Roller Derby place and her and Swirly go off to look at the fancy cars, while Poo and I wee in the bushes and drink more Jagermeister. No point in sobering up, there might not be a bar inside.
Next thing I know, I'm talking to a whole bunch of randoms near the entrance and trying to convince some guy to have sex with his sister. Come on, it's Logan, everybody does it! He wasn't buying into it though for some reason and left rather disgusted.
It was at that point I noticed a whole bunch of bikers and car club members looking in my general direction, so I decided it would be best to settle down and stay as low-key as possible. I fucking hate bikers. Seriously. Dumbass humourless redneck fucks. Humourless redneck fucks who if given half an excuse will break every one of my fingers if I don't behave.
So I walk straight in and head to the bar (thank christ for the bar) and sit in a corner with Swirly and Poo. Mel ran off somewhere to find Tina, I think. We sat around chugging bourbon for a while, being uncharacteristically inconspicuous, when I noticed some tattoo work I recognized. There's this girl who has been in every Australian tattoo magazine and she looks absolutely stunning, with gorgeous tattoo work that compliments her body extremely well. And she was sitting on the other side of the bar with a couple of other girls.
Planned my approach, then headed over. I was going to have her. Can't let that shit get away. When I got closer, however, it dawned upon me that she doesn't really look very much like the magazines at all. I had to do a double-take. Yeah, it's definitely the same girl. But goddamn man, I know magazines use a lot of photoshop, I never realized to what extent though. And now I know. From now on I'm going to be VERY suspicious of anything I see in magazines. Not that I wasn't anyway, I just got a bit of a shock. Still number-closed her though, just because I could. Hah.
I didn't really watch any of the Roller Derby, I just sat in the bar drinking bourbon and trying not to draw any attention to myself. At some point I went to get another round and the bartender informed me that there wasn't any bourbon left. We'd drank it all. Oh. Remaining options were Passionfruit Flavoured UDL, XXXX Gold, or Carlton Midstrength. I didn't want to seem like a pussy, so I got the Passionfruit UDL.
I think it was around this point the Roller Derby was winding down, so Tina came and grabbed me and we jumped in her car and headed for the valley (no, I wasn't driving). Stopped in at her house for a bit and then made our way to the train station. Once on the train I somehow managed to anger two dudes who were sitting near us. I'm not even sure how I managed it, because I sure as hell wasn't trying. I must have done something really nice in a previous life though, because we managed to complete the train ride without me having my teeth knocked out of my head. The first of the evening's miracles.
Not sure what time we arrived at the bar. I know there were lots of people around though, and I was significantly less intoxicated than I have been the last few Saturdays (read: not quite to the point of repeatedly blacking out), so I recognized quite a few faces and even remembered a few names. I impressed myself.
I think I was wandering around talking to some random girls when Swirly and Poo showed up. I'm not entirely sure how they got there because they weren't in the car with Tina and I. It didn't really matter anyway, we just found a table and caned beers for a while.
So then the usual stuff happens. I wander around the room (always in an anti-clockwise direction) looking for randoms to sarge and continually have people buy me drinks. It's fucking great being a tattooist, everyone gives me beer!
I was sitting on a bench near the bar, when she appeared. This girl is a different story entirely, and ties in somewhat with my Sydney adventures, the story of which I will continue in a few days. Stay tuned, I’ll tell her story later. Anyway…
After that, nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened, until somebody ran up and yelled to me "Dude, you'd better get over there quick, your mate's about to get his arse kicked!". Immediately I assumed he was talking aboot Poo, and figured he probably deserved it, but I looked over to where he was pointing and noticed Swirly talking to some very large very angry looking men, with a bouncer intervening.
Now, if you've met a few ex-prisoners, it's easy to tell when someone's done hard time. They have a very distinctive manner about them. Paranoia. Shifty eyes. General body language is like a coiled spring. Pretty sure they even give off different pheromones as well. It's difficult to tell EXACTLY what gives it away, but you just know when someone's been inside for a long time. And these guys were giving off this vibe more than anyone I'd ever seen before.
I watched for a couple of seconds and the large men seemed to settle down a tad, and the bouncer left Swirly talking to them. I figured things were OK, and somebody asked me what just happened. So I said "I'm not sure, the bouncer was just talking to those dudes" and I pointed in their general direction. Crappy idea.
"Oi! What the fuck are you pointing at?!?".
Shit.
"Come here cunt, and tell me what the fuck you were pointing at!!"
I wouldn't have gone over there, except Swirly was still stuck talking to them/being talked at, and I didn't want either of us to get beaten/shanked, so I figured I would try and smooth things over.
I went over and assured the large gentlemen that I was not in fact pointing at them, I was just indicating that my friend is in the general vicinity of where I gestured. They seemed satisfied with that answer, and I turned to leave. They wanted to talk some more. Damn it. Damn it to hell.
If there's one thing I hate/am scared of more than bikers it's paranoid-schizophrenic ex-cons who want to chat with me. I was trying to be as polite as possible so as not to end up with a broken toothbrush or something in my guts, when the subject of why they went to prison came up.
"Mate, I just got out. Long fucking sentence, I can tell you."
"Yeah?"
"Maximum security ain't good."
"Ohh.. so erm.. do you mind if I ask what you went to maximum for?"
"Slit a guy's throat."
"Oh. Any particular reason?"
"He raped my 12-year-old sister."
"I see."
I don't think I've ever had a more awkward/terrifying conversation in my life. Spent aboot $30 on beer for them before they let us leave. It was fucking fucked. No shit, we were scared. Bad.
So naturally we sculled a bunch more beer and sat as close to the bouncers as possible for the rest of the night. A while later just before the bar closed, the two large men left, but not before handing Swirly their empty beer bottles and winking at him. Drunken logic, we assumed they were going to kill us when we went outside, so we tried to convince the bouncers to escort us outside when we left. They wouldn't. Cunts.
Through some miracle we didn't end up stabbed because somehow we made it onto a train. Then the train fucked out, so we got a bus home. Long fucken night. And that's my Saturday story.
Comment if you enjoyed it. Every little bit feeds my already bloated ego and inspires me to write more. Yup.
Sat 18/3:
We finished work at the regular time in the afternoon, and we'd actually had a really good day in terms of dollars. It was a nice change from the last few Saturdays. I think the main reason was that most of the artists in the area were at the Logan convention that day. Fuck hanging around with other Logan tattooists all day, they're all bikers, assholes, and idiots.
So anyway, there was a bit of unexpected extra cash to throw around, so Swirly and I went to the fancy bottle-o. You know those massive liquor superstores? One of those. Those places are dangerous.
The plan was to go to our friend Brooklyn's housewarming party for a couple of hours and then head to Roller Derby in the evening. We didn't know whether Roller Derby would be licensed or not, so we decided to stock up beforehand with a variety of miscellaneous European beers, and a well-earned bottle of Jagermeister. Hung around for a bit drinking some 9% beer that tasted like a can full of buttholes, then Mel drove us and Poo over to Brooklyn's housewarming party.
On the way, we pulled up at a zebra crossing, and I saw something so magnificently and exquisitely amusing that I swear my colon almost imploded trying to contain my laughter. I managed it for aboot ten seconds and then couldn't contain it any longer. What was so funny? A retarded man crossing the road. He didn't just cross it though. He pranced. No shit. PRANCED. On tiptoes, with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face and his arms held in the air. It looked like ballet for mongs. A window-licker's rendition of Swan Lake crossing the street not five feet in front of me. Just imagine that.
I lost it. I was laughing so hard that I almost threw up. Twice. It took aboot ten minutes for me to get over it and then all the muscles in my stomach were sore for the rest of the night. I still can't think aboot it without a slight chuckle. Yeah, I'm going to hell.
So on we went to the party. When we arrived, there was no sign of Brooklyn anywhere, and the backyard was full of upturned barrels and naked men playing ping pong. I think we stayed for a grand total of five minutes hoping something interesting would occur, and that the blokes would put some trousers on. Neither happened, so we got the fuck out of there. At this point aboot half the bottle of Jager is gone.
Mel pulls up out the front of the Roller Derby place and her and Swirly go off to look at the fancy cars, while Poo and I wee in the bushes and drink more Jagermeister. No point in sobering up, there might not be a bar inside.
Next thing I know, I'm talking to a whole bunch of randoms near the entrance and trying to convince some guy to have sex with his sister. Come on, it's Logan, everybody does it! He wasn't buying into it though for some reason and left rather disgusted.
It was at that point I noticed a whole bunch of bikers and car club members looking in my general direction, so I decided it would be best to settle down and stay as low-key as possible. I fucking hate bikers. Seriously. Dumbass humourless redneck fucks. Humourless redneck fucks who if given half an excuse will break every one of my fingers if I don't behave.
So I walk straight in and head to the bar (thank christ for the bar) and sit in a corner with Swirly and Poo. Mel ran off somewhere to find Tina, I think. We sat around chugging bourbon for a while, being uncharacteristically inconspicuous, when I noticed some tattoo work I recognized. There's this girl who has been in every Australian tattoo magazine and she looks absolutely stunning, with gorgeous tattoo work that compliments her body extremely well. And she was sitting on the other side of the bar with a couple of other girls.
Planned my approach, then headed over. I was going to have her. Can't let that shit get away. When I got closer, however, it dawned upon me that she doesn't really look very much like the magazines at all. I had to do a double-take. Yeah, it's definitely the same girl. But goddamn man, I know magazines use a lot of photoshop, I never realized to what extent though. And now I know. From now on I'm going to be VERY suspicious of anything I see in magazines. Not that I wasn't anyway, I just got a bit of a shock. Still number-closed her though, just because I could. Hah.
I didn't really watch any of the Roller Derby, I just sat in the bar drinking bourbon and trying not to draw any attention to myself. At some point I went to get another round and the bartender informed me that there wasn't any bourbon left. We'd drank it all. Oh. Remaining options were Passionfruit Flavoured UDL, XXXX Gold, or Carlton Midstrength. I didn't want to seem like a pussy, so I got the Passionfruit UDL.
I think it was around this point the Roller Derby was winding down, so Tina came and grabbed me and we jumped in her car and headed for the valley (no, I wasn't driving). Stopped in at her house for a bit and then made our way to the train station. Once on the train I somehow managed to anger two dudes who were sitting near us. I'm not even sure how I managed it, because I sure as hell wasn't trying. I must have done something really nice in a previous life though, because we managed to complete the train ride without me having my teeth knocked out of my head. The first of the evening's miracles.
Not sure what time we arrived at the bar. I know there were lots of people around though, and I was significantly less intoxicated than I have been the last few Saturdays (read: not quite to the point of repeatedly blacking out), so I recognized quite a few faces and even remembered a few names. I impressed myself.
I think I was wandering around talking to some random girls when Swirly and Poo showed up. I'm not entirely sure how they got there because they weren't in the car with Tina and I. It didn't really matter anyway, we just found a table and caned beers for a while.
So then the usual stuff happens. I wander around the room (always in an anti-clockwise direction) looking for randoms to sarge and continually have people buy me drinks. It's fucking great being a tattooist, everyone gives me beer!
I was sitting on a bench near the bar, when she appeared. This girl is a different story entirely, and ties in somewhat with my Sydney adventures, the story of which I will continue in a few days. Stay tuned, I’ll tell her story later. Anyway…
After that, nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened, until somebody ran up and yelled to me "Dude, you'd better get over there quick, your mate's about to get his arse kicked!". Immediately I assumed he was talking aboot Poo, and figured he probably deserved it, but I looked over to where he was pointing and noticed Swirly talking to some very large very angry looking men, with a bouncer intervening.
Now, if you've met a few ex-prisoners, it's easy to tell when someone's done hard time. They have a very distinctive manner about them. Paranoia. Shifty eyes. General body language is like a coiled spring. Pretty sure they even give off different pheromones as well. It's difficult to tell EXACTLY what gives it away, but you just know when someone's been inside for a long time. And these guys were giving off this vibe more than anyone I'd ever seen before.
I watched for a couple of seconds and the large men seemed to settle down a tad, and the bouncer left Swirly talking to them. I figured things were OK, and somebody asked me what just happened. So I said "I'm not sure, the bouncer was just talking to those dudes" and I pointed in their general direction. Crappy idea.
"Oi! What the fuck are you pointing at?!?".
Shit.
"Come here cunt, and tell me what the fuck you were pointing at!!"
I wouldn't have gone over there, except Swirly was still stuck talking to them/being talked at, and I didn't want either of us to get beaten/shanked, so I figured I would try and smooth things over.
I went over and assured the large gentlemen that I was not in fact pointing at them, I was just indicating that my friend is in the general vicinity of where I gestured. They seemed satisfied with that answer, and I turned to leave. They wanted to talk some more. Damn it. Damn it to hell.
If there's one thing I hate/am scared of more than bikers it's paranoid-schizophrenic ex-cons who want to chat with me. I was trying to be as polite as possible so as not to end up with a broken toothbrush or something in my guts, when the subject of why they went to prison came up.
"Mate, I just got out. Long fucking sentence, I can tell you."
"Yeah?"
"Maximum security ain't good."
"Ohh.. so erm.. do you mind if I ask what you went to maximum for?"
"Slit a guy's throat."
"Oh. Any particular reason?"
"He raped my 12-year-old sister."
"I see."
I don't think I've ever had a more awkward/terrifying conversation in my life. Spent aboot $30 on beer for them before they let us leave. It was fucking fucked. No shit, we were scared. Bad.
So naturally we sculled a bunch more beer and sat as close to the bouncers as possible for the rest of the night. A while later just before the bar closed, the two large men left, but not before handing Swirly their empty beer bottles and winking at him. Drunken logic, we assumed they were going to kill us when we went outside, so we tried to convince the bouncers to escort us outside when we left. They wouldn't. Cunts.
Through some miracle we didn't end up stabbed because somehow we made it onto a train. Then the train fucked out, so we got a bus home. Long fucken night. And that's my Saturday story.
Comment if you enjoyed it. Every little bit feeds my already bloated ego and inspires me to write more. Yup.
Fucking superb. I spat out my mouthful of XXXX Gold when I read that. Hey, don't judge me. A fullstrength beer after starting work at 545am today would have knocked me unconscious.
Random Musings on Life, Love and Everything
And even then I was drinking toohey's new.
Don't let us uni students show you up or anything.
I'm judging.