Right now this post is really to mind myself that I need to develop it with some awesome content regarding my 90s Clubland Alma Mater: Birmingham’s wonderful techno veteran night House of God.
Nocturnal Sex Fiend is already so excited about their unlikely 25th birthday party this year that it’s really touch and go whether he has a stroke of some kind either due to the build up or the enormous quantities of drugs he plans to neck at what has always been a great getaway for Gen Xers who don’t like fishing, sport, mainstream media, shallowness in people or music or having to go to work on Comedown Tuesday.
This was all a great lark twenty years ago, of course, then I left the West Midlands for good in 1998. My membership number is either #23 or #24, I forget which.
Nocturnal Sex Fiend has continued attending their ever more seldom nights ever since and has witnessed the terrible toll this has extracted from the regulars for still partying like it never went out of fashion (even though it did years ago due to joyless Millennials and their terrible fear of expressing any kind of opinion lest it offend someone somewhere somehow).
Let’s hope young people wake up and realise soon enough that there’s always someone somewhere somehow playing the victim for the narcissistic supply it gives them. You can never fill the endlessly gaping Sarlac pit of their victimhood. It grows bigger and toothier the more you feed it.
Give em heroin or something heavy to shut them up. Gaffer tape and chloroform works in a pinch, too; as does laughing in their face and telling them to get OVER THEMSELVES.
Nocturnal Sex Fiend writes: