I don’t want to appear like I’m being racist, or that I specifically watch out for the racial composition of a club, but seriously, if I had to come up with an adjective and premodifier to describe the club goers of The Bridge tonight, I am sorry but I’d have to use the words “Lame-ass” and “white”. That’s just the way I roll. I don’t really know why this was so noticeable; I mean it’s not like Oxford is renowned for its lack of lame-ass white folk. Maybe it was because the last time I went to The Bridge it was filled with lame-ass black people. Seriously, once again I don’t want to be racist but the last time I walked through The Bridge I felt like a serious Odd One Out; like the one jellybean in a coalmine, the lego brick in the Duplo, or the heterosexual in Panic! at the Disco. I was walking through with my mouth open thinking to myself “Is this some kind of rally? Have I missed posters and emails? Am I even allowed to be here?”… but then luckily I went upstairs that time and it was filled with jews and fat white girls and I was like phew, I fit right in.
Not so tonight; TONIGHT the club was filled with the ugly white girls and knobheads in suits (as well as, of course, the people who go to my college who fully deserve their denotation as ‘the beautiful people’). I think that once a week The Bridge has a remit that says “We have to let in all of the girls who look like their faces have been hollowed off and replaced with bark, fat people, and boys who give the general impression that they have fallen out of the dickhead tree… and Balliol students,” and that one day a week always happens to align with the one week that I happen to go.
Anyway; for once I was in a good mood going to a club because, before going to The Bridge, we’d visited this bar thing called Thirst, and when I was there the first song that they played was Debaser by The Pixies. Now, for all of the people who do not know me, Debaser by The Pixies is my favourite song ever in the history of humankind; seriously I am of the opinion that of all of the music that mankind has produced since that magical day when Ug the Cavemen first knocked a bone next to another bone and played a C sharp, Debaser by the Pixies is actually the best thing we have produced. Frank Black catawauling is the pinnacle; it’s all downhill from there. So anyway, they were playing that song which made me well happy and I was all dancing around the bar singing along with some other drunk dude and it was all happy; after that (and another two Mexican Sunrises) people were TOM YOU COMING TO THE BRIDGE and I thought to myself “I have some money in my pocket, I have some legs, I might as well go to The Bridge”, so I did.
This, I realised pretty much as soon as I set foot inside, was a mistake. The first thing was that it cost six pounds to get in. SIX POUNDS I said. That is a rip off; think of all the cheese I could buy for six pounds !!! nb: I actually did say that; as cheese is £1.99 from Sainsburys, I could have either purchased three cheese and had a party in my room, OR go into The Bridge. However, the deciding factor was that I was two cocktails, two doubles and a triple down at the time of purchase and thus sound ecumenical logic was not enough to sway my decision. So anyway, I pulled out a tenner from my wallet, folded it in two and slammed it on the desk with a little wink that I figured looked both wry and cool but now, I realise, most likely looked like a frog trying to swallow a particularly large Lego brick. Anyway, after that we moved onto the dancefloor.
Enter the lame-ass white folk. Seriously. It was like a huge sardine tin filled with lame-ass whiteness in their; wall to wall vanilla honkey cracker motherfuckers and like I said, I’m no racist, but my first ten second glance of the dancefloor was more than enough to show me why some people still are. There were fat girls dressed like witches ‘shaking their booties’ to the sound of Snoop Dogg (you know he’s cool because he spelt ‘dog’ with an extra ‘g’) and all these guys wearing suits with their bow ties strategically undone, laughing loudly, showing far too much gum, and slapping each other on the back while pretending to bounce. I was like, you fools, you can’t bounce, that is why I don’t even try.
We slowly pushed through the crowd towards the dancefloor. The four metre walk from the door to the dancefloor was torturous. Somebody elbowed me in the eye. I got hair flicked into my mouth. And then I was accidentally violated by a fat girl wearing a wig in ways that make me not really feel like a real man. Then the DJ (who, it must be said, had a good ear for irony) started playing “In The Club”, and everyone went WHOOO and started grinding and doing moves that should only really be seen either displayed on a street somewhere or in a music video for Jennifer Lopez (who is still Jenny from the block, y’hear? I’ll hear nothing against her). Like this ginger guy in a pastel shirt and slacks started doing that “I’m driving my car” move when you bend back and wave your arm in the air as though you are driving a fictional car. It was so unbelievably lame that I threw up a bit in the back of my mouth. Then something clicked in my head and I looked across the dancefloor at the non-Balliolites (who were of course awesomely dancing and showing up everyone else) and I thought “These people all look fucking stupid… and that guy looks like Brain off Thunderbirds” and then my next natural thought was “Fuck this”; so then I headed to the toilets.
Of course, this was impossible; the throng of Vanilla Ice wannabes that had flooded the club made movement quite impossible. Eventually I switched into what I like to think of as ‘Terminator Mode’ in which I just use a combination of breast stroke (the swimming thing, not a covert molestation manoeuvre, you perverts) and barging to reach my goal; in Terminator Mode, NOTHING IS SACRED YEAH, I split through couples in mid-pull, push people over and then step on their heads, karate-chop cripples and scare old people until the route in front of me is cleared. It was brilliant and everyone was too busy pretend drive-by shooting each other to get that annoyed; although one pink-faced chap in a blazer hissed “fuck off, nigga” at me as I went by, which pretty much summed up the evening.
Eventually I reached the toilet door. But look at the sight that greeted my eyes!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Unfortunately the way blocked by huge dark figure dressed in a full scale suit of armour. As I approached, I saw red eyes glowing like unholy coals within the confines of the iron helmet. He stopped me from going in, drew a mighty broadsword from his sheath and pointed it at my gizzard.
“HALT!” he cried, “THOU SHALT NOT PASS. FOR I AM CORNHOWEL, GUARDIAN OF THE TOILETS OF THIS BRIDGE.”
I was like, what.
“YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” he boomed again, somewhat redundantly, “UNTIL YOU ANSWER MY QUESTIONS THREE! QUESTION THE FIRST: WHAT HAS EYES, YET CANNOT SEE?”
I was like fuck this so I left the club.
On the walk back I listened to HEY by The Pixies on my iPod. I would say that that is probably my second favourite song ever (after Debaser by The Pixies). It was well good because I was drunk so I got to do a kind of cool DANCE WALKING where you sort of bounce from foot to foot as you go down the road, and occasionally you stop and bounce around in circles. A couple of guys driving past in cars started laughing at me but I didn’t care because I was, frankly, stylin’. It was also good because I saw all these Really Cool Dudes walk the other way wearing SHADES (EVEN THOUGH IT WAS NIGHT TIME AND THUS ALREADY DARK WHAT LARKS), and I just thought to myself “You fools, this song is far more awesome than you will ever be” and I think that they caught my vibes of pity because not one of them even tried to sell me any drugs, which made a nice change.
Then I bought a kebab, then I ate it, then I went to my room, then I watched some videos of John Cusack kickboxing on youtube, then I visited my friend Leila, then I went to bed, and then I fell asleep. The End of another thrilling night out at Oxford.
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