Hi BLers... I've been lurking for a few weeks... too shy to post... but I've discovered something recently and this is the topic... so it's time to come out... from under my cover!
I've noticed several hoplessly lame, dorkish, and obviously undercover cops in recent weeks/months... but as long as they play by the rules and can't dance, can't speak dribble and they maintain a dishevelled existence on the un-fashionable fringe of fashion oblivion, then everyone will pick them straight away and we'll never have any problems, right?
Hmmm... but a piece of jig-saw fell into place at Pleazure, one I didn't need. I'll start from the begining...
I was running around, cheesey grin on my face, ears full of that acidic-magic from Gizelle... when I saw a chick with a shaggy fur coat on. I ran up and asked if she got many hugs with a coat like that on. She replied "no". Huh? I said surely all the blokes want to hug you!
Anyway, I danced in a wide arc, taken away on a magic carpet ride of techno rythmns... and about half an hour later I came by again... and asked if she'd had many hugs yet... she said, falteringly and not fcuking (fcuk, cold fnigers can't type) convincingly "err, yeah, a few..." Huh? Poor baby I thought, I'll give ya one later...
Which I duly did. A big bear hug, from behind... BIG fcuking mistake. Her service revolver slipped snuggly into my hand. Nope, she wasn't happy to see me.
I danced aside, danced some spins and thought, fcuk, I think I felt a pistol.
I looked aside and she said to her male chum, "Fcuk, I think he felt my gun"
I thought, rubbery-me, what should I do?
And her chum looked at her and said: "Rubbery-us, what should we do?"
So, with Claude "my main man" Young pumping like a, err, strong pumping thing, I did what any other doofer would have done... I danced like a sirry iriot, I ran in circles with my hands in the air, I spoke hopeless tons of random dribble, cracked jokes only a baby would find funny and studied those bastards more keenly than they'd ever think possible someone in my head-state would be capable of...
And I drew a graph. Fuggly chick in shaggy coat speaks to male chum, speaks to bloke with bandana, speaks to bloke with beany, speaks to tall dorky bloke, seen with chick in blue and orange, walks with other blond chick, seen smiling at bloke who's at his first rave, who came with friends he can't see just now, who's other friend reckons he's done "Heaps of Es", yet wears jeans and doesn't like the music and doesn't know who Claude Young is... and so on...
I followed them, I let them follow me, I accepted then rejected an offer for some lui, I got Russell, my main main Ambulance main to help one who pretended to be sick (you fcuking dork, even if I think you're an undercover pretending to be sick, if there's a chance you really are sick, then I'm going to have to get help for you...), I stared, I danced around them in circles and kept joing nodes with arcs... I've even got several photos...
Now, dear reader, you're probably thinking: you're a seriously paranoid induhvidual suffering from some form of drug-induced psychosis... yeah, well the thought cross my mind... but then, I got the confirmation I needed.
I had followd 2 chicks outside and coming back in, following 2 of their friends, they couldn't get past the door person. No tickets, duh! They fumbled, stumbled and stuttered and then tried to flash a police badge without me seeing. But I did.
The loop was complete -- the evidence begins with something cold hard and made of steel and in my hand... and ends with a flash of fog-filtered morning sunlight shimmering in my overly dilated pupils.
I would never have followed or picked those chicks... unless I'd started from the shaggy dog and kept making connections.
Now here's the rub... In my travels, I discovered friends of friends of friends of my hug-less shaggy gun-owner are normal ravers, accepted by our community and, well they can dance, and they wear cool clothes... and they talk random dribble (frequently). Presumably their friends sometimes help them out scoring an E or two... or maybe even more sometimes if they're trying to save money...
Seriously. You work it out, but's it's farily fcuking scary.
Now, pray dear reader, prey on my delusion... reply, flame, provide opinion, fact or fantasy. Dispell my concerns or confirm them. What am I supposed to do having found this out? FCUK you retarded UCs. You gave your covers up to me like a cheap whores.
And I didn't want to know...
