Repaint.
No more venue.
So sad. So sad.
Hollow of atmosfear be The Marquee.
Oh, whatever happened. It used to be such a fine place. An alternative venue that looked alternative, sounded alternative, and stank of piss.
In fact, the only thing that marred The Maquee was the aroma of ammonia.
But since the revamp... nasty!
Ok, the reek of stale urine is gone, and that's nice. But that's the only improvement.
Painted up like a wine bar, poor service, a lack of drinks, and the clientele...
...no more the goths, punks, EMOs, alternatives. In with the Chavscum and their Chavettes, who get in early and shove many a £2 into the jukebox to play ear blisteringly loud tunage of the Fisty Scent, Awful 69 bobbins.
"I'm blue, da ba dee dab a gag gag gag urgh!"
Yeah, you're blue coz my strangulatory fingers be putting you out of my misery...
...Oi! You! Take your fingers away from that One Direction button. And don't you even think about that Bieber option!
I hate this place.
And I'm on me own. For 20-odd minutes being defeaned by music of the Busted variety - why not stick bloody Stephanie from Lazytown on?
"Bing bang biddy biddy bong!" - fit right in with this craptacular cacophony!
Lucky - finally, here comes my saviour Sister - a brace of brethren to inject some alternativeness into an alleged alternative pub.
Alternative pub my arse.
You won't find me in dis pub,
Drinkin' lots o' Schlöer
Come give me a hug
Coz it gettin' on me nerves
Drinkin' lots o' Schlöer
Come give me a hug
Coz it gettin' on me nerves
And we hateses it, doesn't we Precious?
