One More Night.

We at Yep, Geddon! love degeneracy, debauchery and engaging in devious activities on a regular basis, so we decided to coin a phrase for our viciously squalid lifestyle; 'One More Night', literally meaning, well, one more night. It would be pretty vice to consider this activity as a game, but we do, and there are strict rules. Normally, one would start mid-week, and 'roll through' for as long as humanly possible, there are negative repercussions for those who:

• Wash.
• Leave the group. / Sleep outside the designated house.
• Stop drinking when others are still drinking.
• Stop smoking when others are still smoking.
• Stop taking drugs when others are still taking drugs.
• Sleep when others are still awake.

The rules are not to be broken at any time as the winner of One More Night is decided on the basis of who broke the least rules. For example, hypothetically speaking, 'Justin' decided to play One More Night with a few others, but he only lasts one night. In such an instance, Justin is the loser of the game. However, there are bonus points available for those who:

• Vomit/Fall ill and carry on.
• Dabble in sexual activities, the rawer the partner, the more points.
• Pass out and continue after.
• Get in a fight.

As you can imagine this 'game' is scathing and only the strongest, most repugnant people will survive.

So, last week we decided to play One More Night starting on Thursday night, we started off by downing a bottle of rum each and attempting to go clubbing. Our first stop was Brighton's latest hipster cesspit, the Green Door Store. We don't remember much, but we do remember the fact that there were only two people in the venue, so we decided to head down to Oxygen on West Street instead. As expected of any West Street venue, the sheer stench of testosterone and Sambuca was overpowering and the calibre of cunt was dangerously low, so we settled with a few shots and decided to take a trip to Shameless at Life, arguably the worst 'student' night in Brighton. We arrived just after midnight, there was no que and the music was far from eclectic, so the fact that they refused us entry was probably for the best. After arguing with bouncers for no reason for a couple of minutes we headed home, a couple of the lads passed out on the walk but a couple of slaps round the face and they were back on it for One More Night.

The Green Door Store, taken with a vintage feel (of-fucking-course).

The second night was almost as base as the first. Again, we had a couple beers and necked a bottle of spirits, this time Vodka, and again we went to the Green Door Store. This time however, the place was packed to the point of one in one out. The musky smell of vintage attire and Red Stripe polluted the air and the lack of what anyone would consider music made this venue rather undesirable, so we decided to head to a party we'd heard of through the grape vine. We say party, we lied, it was a room of ten fifteen year old guys and a couple eighteen year old girls listening to JLS. We've never seen anything like it, it was horrendous, the only thing we could do was hijack the music and smoke weed, which we did, much to our dismay. After a couple of hours, we realised that we were in shitsville and the last train to civilisation was departing, so we dipset. A few kebabs and a couple of beers later, we'd passed out yet again, but this time at home, unfortunately.

Wahoo, no the girls don't look like that, and take it from us, this place ain't West Beach.

The final night was the best. Our friends twenty-first birthday. Again, we had a couple of beers and some Vodka. But, this time, the soldiers were out, which ment, it was time to hit West Street with full force. We decided to go to perhaps the shittest bar/club we've ever set foot in, called Wahoo (or something shit). The clientele were rowdy as fuck, the music was cheesy as fuck and the girls were raw as fuck, so what better way to end One More Night. Ten Jaeger bombs and some yayo later, a fight was on the brew, bonus points were looming. Unfortunately, some of our militia were too scary for these sorry prats, so a grovelling apology was all we got.

The next morning we understood that One More Night had to come to an end. We'd had about ten hours sleep, a hundred grams of tabaco and one meal the whole weekend. The only liquids had been alcoholic, the only food had been high in fat'n'shit and our hygiene levels were quite frankly unacceptable. Saying that, as soon as we got up we cracked another beer for the road, One More Night? Yep, Geddon!