I now hereby bequeath our very first Tandem blog….
So Saturday night Buns and Alex went out after the Shiny’s “gegg” at The Gov in Adelaide. The show was good; we were asked if we knew any Pearl Jam by a guy in a Hawaiian shirt with flames on it so….joke’s on him I guess.
Anyhow, we ended up at a cocktail bar where there was talk of delicious and yet moderately priced drinks. We got out of the cab with a good friend of ours (for the sake of anonymity we’ll call him Bill Murray) and polished our drinks. Our efforts were nearly quashed when we were confronted by our mate Milosz. Now, Milosz was the most Russian bouncer we had ever seen. His accent was straight out of a movie. His tracksuit was definitely fast. The fastest. He would eat smoked herring on rye bread for breakfast, with black tea, whilst rubbing vodka into the wounds on his knuckles. He would let a sloooow groan as he did it too. “…..eeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…..” Then he would go and bash some ice-bergs.
клоунов метеорного decided we were “too keshool” for this particular establishment. He did that Russian azzzz thing, where you just offer a quick pan up and down, with a face like you have just smelt someone else’s shit – then flick your chin in the air whilst you attempt to mutter the English words “too casual”. We were like those two geezers in snatch that take ages to realize the pikie is saying “DOGS”. But sadly for Milosz/Borris-the-blade/Eristoff - I dwell with one of the bartenders, and he reluctantly granted the three most inebriated plonkers entry into the bar – effective immediately. He had a pooey face on him the rest of the night. Only until I was draining it in the toilet, half expecting the “Serbian strangle hold” from behind, and Milosz commended me on the African-American rap superstars on my t-shirt. Turns out he likes Eazy-E. He whispered it in my ear while I was weeing. I was shitting myself so badly I was just like “……..same”. But WHY does he listen to deceased, hard, hard gangster rapper Eazy-E? Anyone? Does Russia even allow rapping? Just in general? Appreciated, nonetheless.
The three of us went on to frolic shamelessly and enjoy a number of delicious cocktails at a three-for-one price. We discussed everything from Milosz’s punching ability, to our own lack of punching ability, to how deliciously priced and fundamentally intoxicating the cocktails were – when coupled with my (Buns’s) stellar wit. Eventually Bill met a nice young lady, Buns and Alex played wingman to the tune of a 100% success rate. YEAH.
I hope everyone likes the swinging from second-to-third-person writing style which this particular blog offers. Cheers.
We arrived at our next port-of-call where things started to get pretty Monica Lewinski, and by that I mean loose and hazy. Bill decided to leave with his newfound temporary lover. Buns and Alex wished him well, and hoped he had a really great time. Upon arriving at the David Floor (d-floor) we decided that it was time we did some rug tearing/shape-cutting/usher impersonating. We cut rug like a discount flooring depot. We were copping hard props from random dudes who all looked the same. We slashed prices. EVERYTHING MUST GO, we shouted. Eventually we went to the bathroom and realized that we would need to hang onto the wall if we were to get out in one piece, or at least dry and with some sort of dignity. Mission accomplished. Veterans. We kept slashing prices.
We both sort of lose track of the evening here. At some stage, and in some sort of vessel – we arrived home at our respective jay-o’s.
Buns: Forgetting that I had offered my abode to my two newly acquainted best buddies; Sam and Dale from Ben Salter’s band, I stumbled inside in a loud and obnoxious fashion. Only to be re-informed that the lads were asleep soundly on the living room couches. To Sam’s full credit – he got straight up and continued to pound beers with me until sunrise. A large evening. One of fruitful times. Tschus.
Rego: I am unable to recall, but it involved yelling at the toilet.
Many, many Thanks.
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Buns + Rego