Smokin' Mirrors

By Travis Lyle a.k.a DJ Hedmekanik
(ahem)Went to a cigarette party last night, and I had the piercing needles of death in my eyeballs to show for it when I woke up. Still mildly surprised that tobacco companies can get away with giving us free booze and smokes, without any interference from the Dept of Health. Maybe not for much longer, though, what with the new laws about smoking in public spaces and what-what. I wonder when it'll end? In the great halls of Tobacco Splurge, the Lucky Strike parties will always have pride of place, and more's the pity - they at least had a sense of occasion and man, did they lay on a fine spread. Anyway, back to last night.
A new brand was being launched. No, I'm not gonna mention the name, because, in my inestimable opinion as a dedicated professional smoker, they suck. Anyway, no more distractions, on with the rant.

For the uninitiated, cigarette parties consist of:

1)compulsory house music of dire and indiscriminate quality,
2)a bar that's understaffed, over-subscribed and features a milling and frantic crowd of people desperate to use their coupons before the guillotine comes down on the 'free' part in 'free bar'
3)a throng of preppy labelslaves and their attendant molls.
4) Me & my mates (usually hanging in a peripheral position, with a clutch of beer at our feet. Classy, I know.

That's about it, really. Why do my friends and I go? Hmmm, well, that is, in fact, the same question we occasionally ask ourselves. Suckers for a free bar and laugh, I guess. The free bar takes care of the laugh part. We were lucky - we made friends with Sarah, a barmaid with heart. Whilst everyone was fighting the scrum, we charmed Sarah (who was manning an outside bar away from the main mania) into busting out some of her hidden stash of Jagermeister. The results were predictably enjoyable. Hic. Mind you, we had to bail out quite quickly once we had, more than was advisable, because the great unwashed had cottoned on, and mob mentality was in the air.

Anyway - while basking in the post-Jager glow I asked a few people if they'd been listening to the new Radiohead album. Might as well have asked if the moon had farted. But then house music is king here, and most people are willing bling labelslaves, which kinda precludes them from knowing anything of substance. Fair enough. Did get a few funny looks while wailing 'you're all I need....all I need...I'm in the middle of your picture...' to thumping balaeric beats. But the Jager kept my spirits up, and I actually had a good time.

Home by 2. Hic.

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