Ooops, Goth fucked up again.
People tell Goth their problems - again. Which is ok, as Goth does that listening thing really well - apart from sounds that Goth does not like. Because Goth is trying to fucking sleep.
Alarms, that Goth didn't set, waking Goth up in the middle of the night are not good - in fact, they're bloody irritating. There are a lot of bad things which shouldn't affect Goth ... but they just do, like ....
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
What the fuck is that?
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
Goth reacts and thus becomes angry. Probably not the wisest move ever - but Goth isn't feeling particularly wise.
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
So as the alarm is going off - Goth tries to ignore it - but Goth can't - Goth has to react, somehow.
It might be someone truly in distress, or anything. Goth can't just sit there - he must become a super... something or other.
Thus, having no guns, Goth picks a 7-iron from the set of Goth Clubs he has never used, ever. He wished he had a gun, again or something but realises that guns are for amateurs.
"Pick up the biggest and hardest thing you can" - says his ego, or ID or brain or macho bullshit. But, the artistic side of Goth says "No, not a driver - show some finesse".
Goth hates golf but Goth likes the hard metal that is a golf club. 'Ha, this shit will work' - he thinks.
Goth walks out into the street with a club intending to smash the windows of whatever car is making the noise or, destroy the nose of whoever is....
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
Except, the situation is not as Goth thought. The police are there, but they have guns - and an iron golf club doesn't really work as a foil or shield against a 9mm Glock.
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
(Laying the golf club on the ground) Goth says - "Sorry, officer, I was just really angry at this shit noise and....." (realising the stupid situation he's in, Goth shuts the fuck up)
"Step away from the club, son"
"But I'm older than you" - says Goth trying to appear big and clever until his phone rings again. Goth reaches for his side holster to answer the phone therein.
"Put it down, Sir" - *pulling out gun*
"No, Dickhead - it's a phone and.... (realising he's in deeper shit than he thought and trying to improvise) she wants to talk to you" - Goth says, passing the mobile phone across to the slightly bewildered police person.
*Confused cop with gun* "Bonsoir? Vous habitez le quartier ?" blah, blah, blah
- all in French
Goth stands there, hands still in the air whilst the policeman finishes his conversation, puts his gun away and hands back the Goth Phone.
Thus, Goth is still alive, has a full set of golf clubs and has not been shot.
Hooray for mobile phones - and Goth still hasen't twatted anyone with these golf clubs.
Stupid bloody things...