Do you dislike the mainstream social scene?

The Thing! · 07-12-2009 04:31PM #1

I find myself revolted almost to the point of illness every time I venture into the city centre for the purposes of indulging in what is frequently termed a “night out”. At every turn I am forced to see sights I don’t wish to see, hear sounds I don’t wish to hear. All in all it constitutes a veritable barrage of unpleasant sensory stimuli.

To sift through the darkest recesses of my worst memories, in order to establish exactly what it is about this phenomenon that I find most distasteful, is a difficult and deleterious undertaking, however it is one which I have gone about with great zeal as the act of isolating an entity’s most vexatious aspects can be a fruitful one if it aids future understanding.

Nightclubs should have a place closest to the centre of the inferno reserved until Beelzebub’s muses grant him the inspiration to fashion a more repugnant setting to torture his conquests. In these vile centres of depravity, the infliction of agony is as ceaseless as it is furious:

One steps inside, and instantly the soul shivers in its crystalline shell, fearing what it knows will come. One’s aural faculties are rendered useless at the point of entrance, as the mindless souls of the damned howl from all corners, signing their mirthless hymns of lunacy, and prevent all else from visiting the auditory lobe. Even the death cries of one’s own progeny would be sweet relief compared to the songs of these succubae

Deeper still into the sickening sea one ventures, where upon the aural agonies are lessened, but only by the greater weight placed on the other senses; man can only endure so much, the greatest pain will always take priority. Your nostrils are filled with the inky weight of a miasma so foul that it causes you to curse the very moment you first drew breath. Your eyes are torn at by images so terrible that all you previously thought to be the greatest evil is now close to comfort in comparison. You are at the bar. It is the hideous beating heart of the beast, and it pumps the fetid libations to all parts of this place; nowhere is saved.

Turning away in horror, you flee with the indifference of a madman, not fearing, for the worst has been seen. The aural assault lessens none, if anything it is all the more vehement. The crowds of the damned thicken. Soon you realise they are moving in formation, swaying in rhythm with the cursed beat. Plucked from your retreat into insanity, you begin to take in your surrounds, and soon the dreadful realisation dawns; you are on the dance floor. No worse, there is none. Bodies all around you, moving over each other, sicken misshapen faces twist with corrupt joy, eyes so dull they scarcely seem to hold even the faintest indication of life, less the likelihood that their own possess a soul. The sounds grow louder, the bodies grow closer, the sweat dripping odours stick to you and crawls over your skin like jealous maggots. Each face holds new terrors, each sounds deepens the cracks in your mental constitution. Even the purest memories shall forever be stained by merely occupying the same organ which assimilated these horrors. You push past the beasts. Tight cords of gristly twisting flesh squirm beneath your palms. Out, you must leave this place!!!! Frantic now, you push harder and harder. The smell is thick, almost tangible. Acrid sweat creeps from every pore. Out!!! Out!!! To the air, I must!!!!

Outside you walk the streets towards home, a light rain in the air. Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again…..

Edit: This serves no purpose other than providing a reason for my opinion. Please feel free to ignore it.

banquo · 07-12-2009 04:34PM

Night in with friends > night out, spending all my money while doing ''The Cuckoo'' with a little whore on her Junior Cert night in some nightclub.

Death.

AnonoBoy · 07-12-2009 04:34PM

Your solution in 5 easy steps:

1. Find a decent quiet pub.
2. Have a few pints with your friends.
3. Chat about whatever you so wish.
4. Enjoy evening.
5. Head Home and go to bed (No need to stay up writing lengthy posts on boards)

This message has been brought to you by AnonoBoy's School Of It Happens To Everyone When They Get Older.

07-12-2009 04:34PM

I just hate people..

laugh · 07-12-2009 04:35PM

You are no fucking Joyce.

almostnever · 07-12-2009 04:35PM

tl;dr

Yeah,I hate going out too.

biko · 07-12-2009 04:37PM

Give me a nice pub any day over a club filled to the brim with "shirts and skirts", all tanked up on vodka and red bull.

Turd Ferguson · 07-12-2009 04:37PM

The Thing! wrote: »

I find myself revolted almost to the point of illness every time I venture into the city centre for the purposes of indulging in what is frequently termed a “night out”. At every turn I am forced to see sights I don’t wish to see, hear sounds I don’t wish to hear. All in all it constitutes a veritable barrage of unpleasant sensory stimuli.

To sift through the darkest recesses of my worst memories, in order to establish exactly what it is about this phenomenon that I find most distasteful, is a difficult and deleterious undertaking, however it is one which I have gone about with great zeal as the act of isolating an entity’s most vexatious aspects can be a fruitful one if it aids future understanding.

Nightclubs should have a place closest to the centre of the inferno reserved until Beelzebub’s muses grant him the inspiration to fashion a more repugnant setting to torture his conquests. In these vile centres of depravity, the infliction of agony is as ceaseless as it is furious:

One steps inside, and instantly the soul shivers in its crystalline shell, fearing what it knows will come. One’s aural faculties are rendered useless at the point of entrance, as the mindless souls of the damned howl from all corners, signing their mirthless hymns of lunacy, and prevent all else from visiting the auditory lobe. Even the death cries of one’s own progeny would be sweet relief compared to the songs of these succubae

Deeper still into the sickening sea one ventures, where upon the aural agonies are lessened, but only by the greater weight placed on the other senses; man can only endure so much, the greatest pain will always take priority. Your nostrils are filled with the inky weight of a miasma so foul that it causes you to curse the very moment you first drew breath. Your eyes are torn at by images so terrible that all you previously thought to be the greatest evil is now close to comfort in comparison. You are at the bar. It is the hideous beating heart of the beast, and it pumps the fetid libations to all parts of this place; nowhere is saved.

Turning away in horror, you flee with the indifference of a madman, not fearing, for the worst has been seen. The aural assault lessens none, if anything it is all the more vehement. The crowds of the damned thicken. Soon you realise they are moving in formation, swaying in rhythm with the cursed beat. Plucked from your retreat into insanity, you being to take in your surrounds, and soon the dreadful realisation dawns; you are on the dance floor. No worse, there is none. Bodies all around you, moving over each other, sicken misshapen faces twist with corrupt joy, eyes so dull they scarcely seem to hold even the faintest indication of life, less the likelihood that their own possess a soul. The sounds grow louder, the bodies grow closer, the sweat dripping odours stick to you and crawls over your skin like jealous maggots. Each face holds new terrors, each sounds deepens the cracks in your mental constitution. Even the purest memories shall forever be stained by merely occupying the same organ which assimilated these horrors. You push past the beasts. Tight cords of gristly twisting flesh squirm beneath your palms. Out, you must leave this place!!!! Frantic now, you push harder and harder. The smell is thick, almost tangible. Acrid sweat creeps from every pore. Out!!! Out!!! To the air, I must!!!!

Outside you walk the streets towards home, a light rain in the air. Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again…..

Would I be correct in the assumption that you are a virgin?

thomond2006 · 07-12-2009 04:41PM

Rugby at Thomond Park FTW!

Kiera · 07-12-2009 04:43PM

Turd Ferguson wrote: »

Would I be correct in the assumption that you are a virgin?

How is that your business?

That's like you starting a thread for a serious discussion and me popping in and asking you "do you like an aul sneaky finger".

muppetkiller · 07-12-2009 04:44PM

Christ that was painful to read.

Turd Ferguson · 07-12-2009 04:45PM

Kiera wrote: »

How is that your business?

That's like you starting a thread for a serious discussion and me popping in and asking you "do you like an aul sneaky finger".

Is that an offer?

Jesus Wept · 07-12-2009 04:45PM

I can confirm that Turd Ferguson loves a cheeky finger.

xzanti · 07-12-2009 04:45PM

Somebody had a thesaurus for breakfast :pac:

Kiera · 07-12-2009 04:46PM

Turd Ferguson wrote: »

Is that an offer?

Nope.

The-Rigger wrote: »

I can confirm that Turd Ferguson loves a cheeky finger.

Oh, there you go, Turd.

Melange · 07-12-2009 04:47PM

The Thing! wrote: »

I find myself revolted almost to the point of illness every time I venture into the city centre for the purposes of indulging in what is frequently termed a “night out”. At every turn I am forced to see sights I don’t wish to see, hear sounds I don’t wish to hear. All in all it constitutes a veritable barrage of unpleasant sensory stimuli.

To sift through the darkest recesses of my worst memories, in order to establish exactly what it is about this phenomenon that I find most distasteful, is a difficult and deleterious undertaking, however it is one which I have gone about with great zeal as the act of isolating an entity’s most vexatious aspects can be a fruitful one if it aids future understanding.

Nightclubs should have a place closest to the centre of the inferno reserved until Beelzebub’s muses grant him the inspiration to fashion a more repugnant setting to torture his conquests. In these vile centres of depravity, the infliction of agony is as ceaseless as it is furious:

One steps inside, and instantly the soul shivers in its crystalline shell, fearing what it knows will come. One’s aural faculties are rendered useless at the point of entrance, as the mindless souls of the damned howl from all corners, signing their mirthless hymns of lunacy, and prevent all else from visiting the auditory lobe. Even the death cries of one’s own progeny would be sweet relief compared to the songs of these succubae

Deeper still into the sickening sea one ventures, where upon the aural agonies are lessened, but only by the greater weight placed on the other senses; man can only endure so much, the greatest pain will always take priority. Your nostrils are filled with the inky weight of a miasma so foul that it causes you to curse the very moment you first drew breath. Your eyes are torn at by images so terrible that all you previously thought to be the greatest evil is now close to comfort in comparison. You are at the bar. It is the hideous beating heart of the beast, and it pumps the fetid libations to all parts of this place; nowhere is saved.

Turning away in horror, you flee with the indifference of a madman, not fearing, for the worst has been seen. The aural assault lessens none, if anything it is all the more vehement. The crowds of the damned thicken. Soon you realise they are moving in formation, swaying in rhythm with the cursed beat. Plucked from your retreat into insanity, you being to take in your surrounds, and soon the dreadful realisation dawns; you are on the dance floor. No worse, there is none. Bodies all around you, moving over each other, sicken misshapen faces twist with corrupt joy, eyes so dull they scarcely seem to hold even the faintest indication of life, less the likelihood that their own possess a soul. The sounds grow louder, the bodies grow closer, the sweat dripping odours stick to you and crawls over your skin like jealous maggots. Each face holds new terrors, each sounds deepens the cracks in your mental constitution. Even the purest memories shall forever be stained by merely occupying the same organ which assimilated these horrors. You push past the beasts. Tight cords of gristly twisting flesh squirm beneath your palms. Out, you must leave this place!!!! Frantic now, you push harder and harder. The smell is thick, almost tangible. Acrid sweat creeps from every pore. Out!!! Out!!! To the air, I must!!!!

Outside you walk the streets towards home, a light rain in the air. Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again…..

TL;DR. That was fcuking strange.

Just go to a quiet, old-mannish pub for a few pints of stout with some friends. Hey, works for me.

Jet Black · 07-12-2009 04:47PM

Sick of night clubs now. Just head the local couple of pint's and a way better atmosphere.

Calibos · 07-12-2009 04:48PM

Another young man overcome by the exuberance of his own verbosity. :rolleyes:

HUNK · 07-12-2009 04:51PM

A1. This is an English essay right? :pac:

mikom · 07-12-2009 04:55PM

The Thing! wrote: »

I find myself revolted almost to the point of illness every time I venture into the city centre for the purposes of indulging in what is frequently termed a “night out”. At every turn I am forced to see sights I don’t wish to see, hear sounds I don’t wish to hear. All in all it constitutes a veritable barrage of unpleasant sensory stimuli.

To sift through the darkest recesses of my worst memories, in order to establish exactly what it is about this phenomenon that I find most distasteful, is a difficult and deleterious undertaking, however it is one which I have gone about with great zeal as the act of isolating an entity’s most vexatious aspects can be a fruitful one if it aids future understanding.

Nightclubs should have a place closest to the centre of the inferno reserved until Beelzebub’s muses grant him the inspiration to fashion a more repugnant setting to torture his conquests. In these vile centres of depravity, the infliction of agony is as ceaseless as it is furious:

One steps inside, and instantly the soul shivers in its crystalline shell, fearing what it knows will come. One’s aural faculties are rendered useless at the point of entrance, as the mindless souls of the damned howl from all corners, signing their mirthless hymns of lunacy, and prevent all else from visiting the auditory lobe. Even the death cries of one’s own progeny would be sweet relief compared to the songs of these succubae

Deeper still into the sickening sea one ventures, where upon the aural agonies are lessened, but only by the greater weight placed on the other senses; man can only endure so much, the greatest pain will always take priority. Your nostrils are filled with the inky weight of a miasma so foul that it causes you to curse the very moment you first drew breath. Your eyes are torn at by images so terrible that all you previously thought to be the greatest evil is now close to comfort in comparison. You are at the bar. It is the hideous beating heart of the beast, and it pumps the fetid libations to all parts of this place; nowhere is saved.

Turning away in horror, you flee with the indifference of a madman, not fearing, for the worst has been seen. The aural assault lessens none, if anything it is all the more vehement. The crowds of the damned thicken. Soon you realise they are moving in formation, swaying in rhythm with the cursed beat. Plucked from your retreat into insanity, you being to take in your surrounds, and soon the dreadful realisation dawns; you are on the dance floor. No worse, there is none. Bodies all around you, moving over each other, sicken misshapen faces twist with corrupt joy, eyes so dull they scarcely seem to hold even the faintest indication of life, less the likelihood that their own possess a soul. The sounds grow louder, the bodies grow closer, the sweat dripping odours stick to you and crawls over your skin like jealous maggots. Each face holds new terrors, each sounds deepens the cracks in your mental constitution. Even the purest memories shall forever be stained by merely occupying the same organ which assimilated these horrors. You push past the beasts. Tight cords of gristly twisting flesh squirm beneath your palms. Out, you must leave this place!!!! Frantic now, you push harder and harder. The smell is thick, almost tangible. Acrid sweat creeps from every pore. Out!!! Out!!! To the air, I must!!!!

Outside you walk the streets towards home, a light rain in the air. Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again…..

Are you Russell Brands love child?

stovelid · 07-12-2009 04:57PM

The Thing! wrote: »

I find myself revolted almost to the point of illness every time I venture into the city centre for the purposes of indulging in what is frequently termed a “night out”. At every turn I am forced to see sights I don’t wish to see, hear sounds I don’t wish to hear. All in all it constitutes a veritable barrage of unpleasant sensory stimuli.

To sift through the darkest recesses of my worst memories, in order to establish exactly what it is about this phenomenon that I find most distasteful, is a difficult and deleterious undertaking, however it is one which I have gone about with great zeal as the act of isolating an entity’s most vexatious aspects can be a fruitful one if it aids future understanding.

Nightclubs should have a place closest to the centre of the inferno reserved until Beelzebub’s muses grant him the inspiration to fashion a more repugnant setting to torture his conquests. In these vile centres of depravity, the infliction of agony is as ceaseless as it is furious:

One steps inside, and instantly the soul shivers in its crystalline shell, fearing what it knows will come. One’s aural faculties are rendered useless at the point of entrance, as the mindless souls of the damned howl from all corners, signing their mirthless hymns of lunacy, and prevent all else from visiting the auditory lobe. Even the death cries of one’s own progeny would be sweet relief compared to the songs of these succubae

Deeper still into the sickening sea one ventures, where upon the aural agonies are lessened, but only by the greater weight placed on the other senses; man can only endure so much, the greatest pain will always take priority. Your nostrils are filled with the inky weight of a miasma so foul that it causes you to curse the very moment you first drew breath. Your eyes are torn at by images so terrible that all you previously thought to be the greatest evil is now close to comfort in comparison. You are at the bar. It is the hideous beating heart of the beast, and it pumps the fetid libations to all parts of this place; nowhere is saved.

Turning away in horror, you flee with the indifference of a madman, not fearing, for the worst has been seen. The aural assault lessens none, if anything it is all the more vehement. The crowds of the damned thicken. Soon you realise they are moving in formation, swaying in rhythm with the cursed beat. Plucked from your retreat into insanity, you begin to take in your surrounds, and soon the dreadful realisation dawns; you are on the dance floor. No worse, there is none. Bodies all around you, moving over each other, sicken misshapen faces twist with corrupt joy, eyes so dull they scarcely seem to hold even the faintest indication of life, less the likelihood that their own possess a soul. The sounds grow louder, the bodies grow closer, the sweat dripping odours stick to you and crawls over your skin like jealous maggots. Each face holds new terrors, each sounds deepens the cracks in your mental constitution. Even the purest memories shall forever be stained by merely occupying the same organ which assimilated these horrors. You push past the beasts. Tight cords of gristly twisting flesh squirm beneath your palms. Out, you must leave this place!!!! Frantic now, you push harder and harder. The smell is thick, almost tangible. Acrid sweat creeps from every pore. Out!!! Out!!! To the air, I must!!!!

Outside you walk the streets towards home, a light rain in the air. Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again…..

Edit: This serves no purpose other than providing a reason for my opinion. Please feel free to ignore it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INgXzChwipY

The Thing and SarahChambers, sitting in a tree...

KevArno · 07-12-2009 04:57PM

What the hell was that... How could anyone enjoy themselves while sitting in the corner taking notes, and preparing for that visual assault!
You're in the wrong Pub, or with the wrong friends Thing. Like we don't all enjoy every bar or club in town.

Turd Ferguson · 07-12-2009 04:59PM

Calibos wrote: »

Another young man overcome by the exuberance of his own verbosity. :rolleyes:

Indeed

AnonoBoy · 07-12-2009 05:01PM

Calibos wrote: »

Another young man overcome by the exuberance of his own verbosity. :rolleyes:

Verily it is so.

OP - perhaps magic mushrooms and crowded nightclubs aren't a good mix, no?

mikom · 07-12-2009 05:05PM

The Thing! wrote: »

Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again….. unless you are wanked drunk

...

CrazyRabbit · 07-12-2009 05:12PM

I'll play devil's advocate and take the OP's side in this.

I don't drink alcohol myself and have a rather serious dislike of drunk people, or moreso, their behaviour.

I really dislike clubs for all their noise, chaos and hubris. Pubs can be just as bad but are generally more tolerable.

I'd much rather have a chat with some mates in an place where we don't have to shout at each other. A quiet pub is fine, but I'd prefer somewhere more comfortable that didn't stink of alcohol.

Maybe I'm just old...

opinion guy · 07-12-2009 05:18PM

Kiera wrote: »

How is that your business?
That's like you starting a thread for a serious discussion and me popping in and asking you "do you like an aul sneaky finger".

This is AH, what else should one expect ?
Doesn't Thing usually say It's Clobberin time rather than writing an essay ? Just try toning back the emo...

Turd Ferguson · 07-12-2009 05:21PM

CrazyRabbit wrote: »

I'll play devil's advocate and take the OP's side in this.

I don't drink alcohol myself and have a rather serious dislike of drunk people, or moreso, their behaviour.

I really dislike clubs for all their noise, chaos and hubris. Pubs can be just as bad but are generally more tolerable.

I'd much rather have a chat with some mates in an place where we don't have to shout at each other. A quiet pub is fine, but I'd prefer somewhere more comfortable that didn't stink of alcohol.

Maybe I'm just old...

You dont drink alcohol, so why go to a pub or club at all? This is what doesnt make sense to me. I dont like Chinese food so I dont go to Chinese restaurants....its pretty simple.

event · 07-12-2009 05:21PM

The Thing! wrote: »

I find myself revolted almost to the point of illness every time I venture into the city centre for the purposes of indulging in what is frequently termed a “night out”. At every turn I am forced to see sights I don’t wish to see, hear sounds I don’t wish to hear. All in all it constitutes a veritable barrage of unpleasant sensory stimuli.

To sift through the darkest recesses of my worst memories, in order to establish exactly what it is about this phenomenon that I find most distasteful, is a difficult and deleterious undertaking, however it is one which I have gone about with great zeal as the act of isolating an entity’s most vexatious aspects can be a fruitful one if it aids future understanding.

Nightclubs should have a place closest to the centre of the inferno reserved until Beelzebub’s muses grant him the inspiration to fashion a more repugnant setting to torture his conquests. In these vile centres of depravity, the infliction of agony is as ceaseless as it is furious:

One steps inside, and instantly the soul shivers in its crystalline shell, fearing what it knows will come. One’s aural faculties are rendered useless at the point of entrance, as the mindless souls of the damned howl from all corners, signing their mirthless hymns of lunacy, and prevent all else from visiting the auditory lobe. Even the death cries of one’s own progeny would be sweet relief compared to the songs of these succubae

Deeper still into the sickening sea one ventures, where upon the aural agonies are lessened, but only by the greater weight placed on the other senses; man can only endure so much, the greatest pain will always take priority. Your nostrils are filled with the inky weight of a miasma so foul that it causes you to curse the very moment you first drew breath. Your eyes are torn at by images so terrible that all you previously thought to be the greatest evil is now close to comfort in comparison. You are at the bar. It is the hideous beating heart of the beast, and it pumps the fetid libations to all parts of this place; nowhere is saved.

Turning away in horror, you flee with the indifference of a madman, not fearing, for the worst has been seen. The aural assault lessens none, if anything it is all the more vehement. The crowds of the damned thicken. Soon you realise they are moving in formation, swaying in rhythm with the cursed beat. Plucked from your retreat into insanity, you begin to take in your surrounds, and soon the dreadful realisation dawns; you are on the dance floor. No worse, there is none. Bodies all around you, moving over each other, sicken misshapen faces twist with corrupt joy, eyes so dull they scarcely seem to hold even the faintest indication of life, less the likelihood that their own possess a soul. The sounds grow louder, the bodies grow closer, the sweat dripping odours stick to you and crawls over your skin like jealous maggots. Each face holds new terrors, each sounds deepens the cracks in your mental constitution. Even the purest memories shall forever be stained by merely occupying the same organ which assimilated these horrors. You push past the beasts. Tight cords of gristly twisting flesh squirm beneath your palms. Out, you must leave this place!!!! Frantic now, you push harder and harder. The smell is thick, almost tangible. Acrid sweat creeps from every pore. Out!!! Out!!! To the air, I must!!!!

Outside you walk the streets towards home, a light rain in the air. Those things which visited the very core of your being this night will never be forgotten, but at least you have learned one valuable lesson; never cross that threshold again…..

Edit: This serves no purpose other than providing a reason for my opinion. Please feel free to ignore it.

christ thats embarrassing

Mossy Monk · 07-12-2009 05:24PM

laugh wrote: »

You are no fucking Joyce.

Isn't that the truth.

Kiera · 07-12-2009 05:29PM

Turd Ferguson wrote: »

You dont drink alcohol, so why go to a pub or club at all? This is what doesnt make sense to me. I dont like Chinese food so I dont go to Chinese restaurants....its pretty simple.

Would you go if all your mates hung out there a few times a week?

Do you dislike the mainstream social scene?

Do you dislike the mainstream social scene? 152 votes

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