Dungeons & Dudes

Chapter 2 (Continued)

I liked The Relic, it had this really cool 90's heavy metal theme, you know the kind with lots of chrome metal, gnarled and deformed but awesome looking skulls and everything (including the writing on the bathroom stalls) in the what I assume is called: Brütal font.

Granted the place did smell like old beer and the majority of people who went there were aging metal heads, even older bikers and that weird strain of hipster that doesn't like old school metal but listens to it ironically because they really support the the socio-political stance it takes against the bla bla *insert vegan comment here* bla bla.

That being said there were the odd group of guys like Mikey and I who genuinely enjoyed that shit, and the hot leather-pants-wearing ladies who frequent are a bonus too.

So we spent the rest of the day talking shit, playing some CoD and just generally doing what we always do to pass the time. We were in the midst of an epic Warcraft 3 match (yeah you know the one that you've tried to get some people into but they keep thinking of World of Warcraft and you sigh coz that's not the fucking one I mean and UUUGGGHHHH) when we realized it was time to head out.

The club had this awesome giant chrome metal hog's skull on the door, tusks jutting about 2 meters ahead and a snarl on its face. We stepped under to pay entrance and were met with the same smell as my carpet mixed with the sweat of bikers who hadn't showered in 3 weeks, yummy.

This wasn't so much a club as an unsuccessful attempt to make old school metal "cool" for the 21-30 demographic again, so in short it was a grumpy old man hang out.

That applies to hipsters too by the way, seriously it's like 40°C and you're wearing a fucking scarf‽ You know who does that? You and my temperature challenged 80 year old grandfather, seriously if you whip out a cane and start reminiscing about the war I'm gonna start calling you Baba.

I digress.

Mike trailed off to the bathroom and I went to get some drinks. At the bar I met this really cute bartender lady and laid some of the 'ol Littleman charm on her, suffice to say I walked away with a pair of beers in hand while I planned my suicide to the soundtrack of her laughter at the fact that I seemed to forget how to order drinks without my voice cracking like a 13 year old.

Mike and I took a seat at the cleanest table near the bar to drink our beers and have a smoke.

"So when do you think you're gonna get the balls to ask out B?" I asked casually.

He eyed me suspiciously "B? The fuck is that?"

With a grin I did my shirt boob impression again "Why little old Busty Bouncing Bubbly Barista Babe of course!"

I even put on the sultry voice for the unappreciative prick and you know what he did? He scoffed and laughed at me, that's the last time I put myself out there for anyone (bites fist and looks crushed.) I'll be in my dressing room when you deliver my Oscar, thanks.

We had a few smokes, some shots and a metric fuck-tonne of beers that night, all was going well and we were talking shit when the sickness hit me again.

It hit my sinuses first, in the back of my nostrils that horrible about-to-puke sensation form the previous night hit me in waves. I stood up and doubled over from nausea clutching with one weak hand onto the table. What must Mike be thinking of me? Oh goodie it's hit my jugular notch (that's that little hollow in your throat, writer powers activate!) and I can taste salt.

It's coming in three, two...

"Dude you ok?" then it was gone, Mike put his hand on my back and stopped me from retching all over my shoes.