#303: Remember The Alamo!

To all of your bastards who were wondering where I'd gotten to, let's just say I was busy having a gigantic shit.  

Browsing that evil ole Facebook this morning I saw this photo and had a chuckle.  I pointed out, in the comments section, that it reminded me of some graffiti that used to be in the men's growler of the upstairs nightclub in Rundle Street in the 1990s and the story that went with it.  The night in question I went with my then girlfriend and a pal for some quiet drinks - an anomaly at the time because I was well into my phase of drinking myself into oblivion and swallowing almost any happy pill that was offered (or not).  Loads of fun really.  On the night in question some peon thought it'd be a good idea to crack onto my then girlfriend, who also thought it'd be a good idea to flirt with the guy in front of me with the view of making me jealous.  Really, we were as bad as each other, and I could never understand that.  Oh well, such is life.  After I'd told the idiot that it'd be in his best interests to leave the place I went for a quiet slash.  That's when the fun broke out.

The clown followed me in and decided to pick a fight.  I wasn't in really in the mood for any shenanigans so, in one of my more violent moments, I grabbed the swine and I put his head through one of the cisterns, thus breaking both the cistern and presumably his head, leaving the floor awash with Royal Doulton, dirty water and some claret. He lay on the floor, covered in filth and blood, moaning and twitching, so I left. A few months later I went back for a night out and went for a slash to find that the cistern hadn't been replaced but someone had written, "Personal Jesus Wuz Here!" 

I fucking loved it.  And I hope that bastard still has a headache.  In my dreams I imagine that he has a Royal Doulton logo permanently etched onto his forehead.

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