Souvenirs…
C’en Scail…motherfucker?
The best souvenirs to bring back from a stay in Ireland are the stories. Even on holiday, one may accumulate tales of crazy escapades, the mishaps, the waning, still anxious crowds outside the clubs at 3 in the AM, while the city makes its exodus home from the after-hours bars. These gifts are a fuck load better than an over-priced Guinness poster or mock Aaron sweater knit by machines in Honduras (although the tags may tell you otherwise).
I was recently reminded of one such story by way of a conversation about drugs. I can recall very few, really only three times in memory where I purchased drugs from a stranger. The first instance ever, was in Dublin in the Winter of 2000. It’s a moment that will be seared into my mind till the day I lie in my grave hugging an empty bottle of Schnapps.
Susie, our good friend Jasmine and I made out for an evening at the Temple Bar Music Center. We couldn’t’ have expected much goings on- I think it was a late Tuesday night and the crowds were scarce. There was an unknown DJ on the deck and not a load of regulars to name, like Dez the Scooter Man or pretty boy Gary. It was just we girls, suiting up cocktails and minding our own.
After a round of the usual giggles we were approached by an older woman– a knacker looking Dublin northy with long dark hair and fringe who sported gold earrings the size of hub-caps, a fitted button down shirt and a pair of tight pocket less black slacks. She sat beside us and muttered what sounded to me like one long hurried sneeze.
“Eh, youse on fer craic? Ay ga loads. Sellin’ five fer tree.”
I coyly amended the conversation with a “God Bless you” and she laughed. She immediately resolved that I was American and slowed down her speech out of consideration. Louise, as she introduced herself, explained that she was selling hits of Extacy, five pills for the cost of three, £15 if we had it on us. She introduced “her man” from across the way who was staring peripherally in our direction, and about as sketchy a character as a stick figure looming on a blackboard.
Without hesitation, Susie and Jasmine lifted bills from their pockets like they were about to purchase water after a long haul in the desert. Louise warned us to not appear too obvious about our transaction. Guardi were about, which is why she had to hastily dispose of the goods in the first place.
Louise and I descended to the depths of the venue- retreating to the ladies room downstairs. Gaggles of women, all chirping with typical girl talk conversation amassed pounds of make up on their faces while fine-tuning their hair and cleavage. Habitual slappers…
I grazed past a mirror and caught a last glimpse of my innocent self before Louise jerked me into one of the stalls. My newfound dealer friend coached me in the ways of how to remain mildly innocuous. “Keep up the chat wit me. Pretend likes we’ve known each other for ages.”
With all the poor acting skills of an Atlantic Theater freshman I babbled on about some stupid son of a bitch that didn’t call—the most vapid conversation I could think of, and Louise delighted in my “accent”.
“I’se doi-in’ to visit Naw YAIRK!”
Suddenly, with no foresight whatsoever, Louise removed her thigh hugging pocket less Capri’s. Seconds later, down came her underwear wherein her hand disappeared somewhere amidst her vulva. I hastened to keep my chatter going. My voice became progressively louder as I was more and more confused by how the situation was transpiring.
“Yeah… but New York is like… fuckin’ WHACK!”
Was this the norm? Are most Dublin drug lords ladies with Stoogie beau’s who sequester young college girls for deals — and then fiddle with their privates in front of them in public restrooms? Despite my general naiveté I knew something strange was a foot.
From the vortex that was her seedy love whole, Louise produced a slime covered latex condom. Ta. Fuckin. Da. Inside this make-shift placentic sack was a pill bottle. An actual pill bottle—like the kind you get from a pharmacy, amber in color, with a faultless cap and a prescription label adorning its sides. The bottle was an average size about an inch and a half.. and this bitch had it rammed up her pussy All. Night. Long.
I stuttered to alleviate my disbelief.
“Wha- wha- woah… what time you meeting Dan?”
. I had no idea who the fuck Dan was. There was no ‘Dan’. But Dan became the focus of our conversation. We talked about how this figment Dan was a “right bastard and always late for the party” while Louise poured the pills into the palm of my hand. It was as if I was trailing from a nasty acid trip, staring down at a poisonous tarantula nettling on my extremities.
Holy shit. That came from her pussy. ABRA-CA-VULVA!
With what I imagine was a huge relief for Louise, she disposed of the pill bottle in the sanitary tin on the stall wall. She made for a courtesy flush to mask the deliberation of our meeting. Up with her trousers, I tried to smack the stupid off my face and we returned upstairs. We determined that (figment) Dan wasn’t worth the trouble of texting after all. Let him miss the craic if he couldn’t be bothered!
I resumed my place amongst my girls Susie and Jasmine and handed off the pills in exchange for my whiskey and coke. I didn’t dare tell them about the exchange with Louise and where the pills were birthed from. Eyes in paranoid rotation we each swallowed one pill and the two spare went into Susie’s purse. Then we waited.
About five minutes went by before Louise approached us again asking if we could buy her man a drink. *wink*nudge*wink* I collected the pot of cash and made my way to the bar to meet Roddy. Again, with a performance let to make any senior thespian cringe I near shouted “Hey Man! What are you drinking? Red Bull and vodka? Those are expensive, eh? Here’s a ten and fiver for you. Enjoy!” Roddy pulled me back into close range and explained that I came off like a closeted gay in a church function. Nonetheless, the deal was done and I left his company for my friends, to wait for the roll.
The initial wave came quick and hit Susie first. She was talking about our friend ‘Little Paul’ and how much she adored him. Within the snap of twig, the whites of her eyes blossomed like an anime character’s and her speech dribbled into nonsense. “He’s sooooo tiny. Teeny teeny tiny! I want to put him on a keychain and take him with me everywhere! Like a Tomagochi toy! And I could feeeeeed him….”
Jasmine, the Bible-belt fly girl form Kanasas, was next. Jasmine has all the wiles of caged up cheetah in heat on any night out– and while on drugs you’d fear she’d rape a wound on your leg out of lust. Her eyes narrowed barely shut like feeding venus fly traps, closing over the prey of men caught between her lashes. “Looky that one! Oooooh… bet he’s not tiny.”
I however, the inevitable retard of the yankee crew, fastened my metaphorical helmet and knee pads and yelled over to Louise and Roddy. “Hey! Thank You! Thanks a bunch! This is great!” I brandished my whiskey at them so in case anyone who didn’t give a fuck could easily figure out whom I was shouting out to. The dealer couple exchange fearsome glances at each other and turned their backs to avoid acknowledgement.
“Louise is so cool! I love the way she talks- so squeaky- with her nose!”
Jasmine raised her glass in a toast. “To Dublin!”
Susie as well, “To sweet people!”
I chimed in with soulful refrain “TO LOUISE’S PUSSY!”
Every loaded man in the joint snapped their head towards me as though I lifted my gams in the air and waited for a caravan of sailors to pile in. Cricket nosies flushed over the frozen turntables.
“Rosie…What the… Fuck?”
“Be grateful bitches! Louise was smuggling this shit in her man trap!”
Susie and Jasmine’s jaws dropped as I divulged the details of the transaction- like any flagrantly stupid student abroad would do. I was loud obnoxious and unaware of the interest Charlie the bouncer (who was standing nearby) had taken in my story. [Charlie loved us. We coudl have raped a baby and cooked it on an open fire next to the sound booth and he woudlnt' make a fuss. We always managed to put on a good show for him.] Louise motioned with the wave of her hand for me to lower my voice. Roddy peered at me, face like a bleeding gasket pipe, shooting fiery air from every visible orifice.
Mind you that by this point, I was rolling harder than a pram full of bricks down a San Francisco side street…
“Well, like, I didn’t notice if she was shaved or not- I didn’t want to be rude and stare. But man, she had to squat to queef that shit out and I was like… Wow. Pussy pocket! Right? Like I always think about people shoving shit up their asses—or well, I don’t always think about shit up peoples asses… but I think about drugs up peoples asses but never in the cooch. Never. Ever. Ever. In the Motherfucking Cooch! Damn. Pussy pocket! What if lil’ Paul was a little Tomagachi… and you could stick him in your pussy pocket? That would be awesome!..”
Near the fainale of my chemically aggrivated anecdote, I noticed that Roddy and Louise had virtually vanished. Charlie hovered dubiously, flashing warm almost fatherly looks at us. We chomped at the insides our mouths and molested the velour couches beneath us. Smiling like Cheshire cats we were completely oblivious to the Guardi racking our dealer friends outside.
It’s all fun and games until one bitch opens her legs- and some other bitch opens her mouth about the affair. Oh well.
I’m certain we caused more havoc than that, but damn fear it if I could remember. Something about money for “a shift” and a trip to a hostel… and cause for someone’s girlfriend to lunge at Jasmine with a broken ash-tray? No idea. I know that I fell down a few times on the dance floor, and was never once winded or aware of the gi-normous black bruises that would cover my legs the next day.
For a measly £15 and the slight setback of having our knacker friends incarcerated on drug charges – we girls literally owned the place. After leaving the club, we permeated a coup over whatever tangible graft of Dublin town was scared in our wake. It was a seriously small price to pay for such a frivolous takeover.
Thanks to the warmth and hospitality of that city– and its immediate social remedies, I find myself once more fiending for a good dose of its craic.
Yeah, Susie, I’m pretty fuckin’ excited.
