The say we dance on Fridays

It's more moving to music than dancing, but yeah, they are kind of right. This epic Friday I managed to lure the extensive crowd of 9 peeps out for mischief on the town. What started as epic ended in something we mere humans don't even have a name for. Yes, it was THAT awesome.

And yes. Fireball was involved. You might even say it was the glue that held the entire mismatched group of geeks and Fat Sharks together. That and the love. The love for fun, dance, music and just simply each other. There is a lot of love. Fridays is the day of love. And as my genius brother put it, spring is kinda like a long Friday, where the best of the year is yet in front of us.

Ah. Soon. So. Very. Soon. Summer.

The Wednesday that kinda didn't happen

Everyone knows that what you can't remember didn't happen. It's a fact. Kinda like the cake that no one see you eating is no cake. It is known. So, technically last night didn't happen. Or half of it anyway. I actually recall ending the night trying to get cash for the taxi, failing, being really really upset to the point of screaming and hitting things, trying another machine, succeeding and getting way too much cash then finally giving almost all of it to the very rude driver. I think it came up to about double the normal cost. But then I also live comfortably in my world of denial, it works almost as good as actual memory loss. So yeah, that didn't happen. What also did not happen was half of the things I said to people I don't know. The words "No, I say horses are just cows with long legs!!!!!" didn't come from my mouth. No sir. Neither did my not so charming lie of being a heroin addict. So. I'm fine! Woke up with my alarm in my hands, two hours late for work. For some reason I had to eat painkillers for lunch.

There's classy, then there's me

Dear, dear fans/readers/friends/celebs.
Yes, yes. Easy now. There will be heads in bags yet again, but do try to contain your excitement for just a few moments and I will tell you about the amazing weekend-adventures of me and my bag.

In an almost religious manner I have carried The Bag around the town of Stockholm, just waiting for that moment. Oh that right and true moment when someone at a game-awards night, with an actual free bar(!), ask The Question. Those magical few words. Innocent as they might be when formed in the mind of the normal person, once spoken they ignite the very air like a smoldering cigarette in a cistern of glyceryltrinitrat, propyl-1,2,3-trinitrat, C₃H₅(NO₃)_3 . Ah, and then the look in their eye when it dawns on them that that question, that seemed so ordinary at first, is in fact like a tiny snow-ball growing into a life threatening and glorious avalanche.

"so... do you have a blog?"

A smug and slightly evil smile appeared then in my otherwise blank and expressionless face. And what followed is documented below, the way it is supposed to be.

Me and my bag also discovered what we now have come to call the "Fireball-effect". Apparently, when you carry a bottle of Fireball with you to a club and drink it shamelessly straight from the bottle on the dance floor for everyone to see, and the bouncer walks up to you and says "HEY, where'd ya get that bottle from.." the reply of  "it's OK" combined with a slightly cross-eyed look, an annoyed glance and absolutely no smiles is received with acceptance.

The underworld appeal

So, I know I have mentioned stealing before here on the blog. Yes, yes I completely admit to stealing things. "Things" almost always being flowers. I steal flowers. Sometimes it turns into a failed attempt of stealing flowers and I then end up stealing only leaves, grass och perhaps a branch of a tree. At the time, in the elevated state of too much rum, stealing flowers seems a challenging thing, exiting, living life on the edge. Clearly this is just all in my head, and I get no respect from anyone in my presence. You could argue that instead of respect I get the opposite. When suggesting a raid through peoples gardens people tend to look at me with narrowed eyes, slowly backing away from me, saying things along the lines of "ok, I.. ehm... got to go!?"

Last Friday the usual suspects at Fatshark ventured the far distance of 20m to Slakthuset. Actually, I just realized it has become the new "Legion". I find myself there, in the queue to the cash point inside the club, not even knowing how I got there in the first place, yet smiling and jumping, slightly cross-eyed. Just like any normal person would on a Friday night, I tell myself.

THIS Friday, something in my attitude changed. Instead of the usual smiles mixed with guttural noises, happy noises despite being unintelligible, I turned. I went evil! Sure it was a happy-evil but I actually went aggressive at a few points during the evening. The night ended in a mess of people gathered on the rug, smoking a broken-duck-taped-shisha tasting of fallout and glue, the usual way. But this time with an added layer of verbal abuse and foul-mouthing. BY ME! And on top of that, in the morning when we decide to make a glorious breakfast and ignore what happened the previous night, I pick up this thing lying on the floor. Its a shirt, knit-wear, dark blue. I ask who's it is, when it dawns on us that it belongs to no-one we know and we actually managed to steal it. I must add we didn't MEAN t steal it. I think. At least I have no memory of wanting to steal it. If anyone present at Slakthuset last Friday is missing clothing, you may contact me so I can return it and try move away from this dark path down the criminal drain. Next thing you know I might be forcing death pills and gun-barrels on people instead of bags.