1. Your alcohol infested brain begins to signal to you that something is wrong, “This vodka isn’t a double, I ASKED FOR A DOUBLE!!! I’ve had doubles all night, I’m seeing double… this tastes like lemonade and piss… oh it’s a Stella.”
2. You approach the bar to find out who made the error and correct them to prevent anything of this sort happening again, “This not a double, don’t you think I don’t know what a double is, it’s two!! Yes I know it’s a Stella but I ordered a double! You’re not a barman you’re a twat….man.”
3. Something still feels wrong, one of your alcoholically hypnotised senses is trying to tell you something, “There’s loud music playing, but I’m not familiar of the song, therefore it’s shite, I’m not having fun. Where’s the jukebox?”
4. Music and sound begin to baffle you as you wonder how you can hear it but not see it, “The music is originating from these magic noise cubes, I think I’m going to piss myself right in the middle of the dance floor again— to the toilet.”
5. The same problem hits you each time you reach the bathroom and has for a lifetime, “What gender am I? It doesn’t matter what gender you are as long as you’re only taking a piss. Or is that shit? Ohh a mirror, nice tribal tattoos!”
6. You enter the cubicle wading through 2 foot of piss and sick, “Who needs a toilet when you have a trusty pint glass left next to the toilet, I’ll just aim, oops missing, oh, I might as well have just pissed on the dancefloor”
7. You step out of the toilet and it hits you again, that sense that you hear with, unfamiliar sounds devoid of TOP40 hooks, you go back to the bar, “WHERE IS YOUR JUKEBOX!!?? Him!? He’s not a juke box, is he? A human jukebox… classy place.”
8. You locate what looks like a person not drinking or dancing high on a stage spinning what looks to be burnt pizzas, “Excuse me are you the jukebox? I said excuse me! How rude! CAN YOU TAKE YOUR HEADPHONES OFF PLEASE? I have an extremely important question I think you would like to hear!”
9. He politely rejects your offer, “Whatchoo mean, you don’t have any Oasis. Are you serious? Are you serious!!!?? Me, fuck off?? I’m not the one without any Oasis. Well I’ll nut you in the fookin’ face ye prick!!” If he has no Oasis then what’s he going to play as the last song of the night?
10. You’re ejected flying into the streets, usually the sign of a typical Saturday night for you, “Why did they kick me out… I’m never coming to this shit hole ever again. ‘Fabric’? … Shit name anyway, absolutely no fabric in that place and a rip-off.”
