'So it's bingo?'
'Yes.'Yes. Yes it is. Invited I was, and so I went. And boy, is it ever underground. And rebellious. And though all signs might point to an evening promoted to learning correct social etiquette, trust me, that is just a ruse to keep secret the fact that bingo is indeed played. With a rude, fucked up vengeance.
Underground Rebel Fucking Bingo.
The rules are simple:
No old people.
No boring people.
No office parties.
No hen parties.
No stag parties.
No work suits.
No customer service.
Dress Code: Undercover on your way there, dangerous once you’re inside
The premise is generally that hot, young, depraved bingo players will gather in secret to play the glorious game in between chugging beer out of plastic cups, drawing on each other's faces, and dancing like motherflippers on crack. The prizes included a KIGU for God's sakes (I think he got the chicken. Well jelly) and BEER (cases of it) and a PARTY PANDA (Party. Panda.) that is a giant panda who wants to be your friend and help you party. Who doesn't want a party panda?
It's sweaty and pushy. The bingo calls are rude and obscene, made by babes of ladies dressed in burlesque. I don't want to quote some of their choicer morsels because I think sometimes my mum reads my blog, and I'm still scarred from having to hold a tablespoon of mustard in my mouth when I was five, probably for saying 'shit' or something. My mamma be feisty.
For a much funnier history of the URBC than I could invent, see here courtesy of the ever bangin' Sabotage Times. Also here you can read some of the rude words, don't tell my mum I told you.
Underground Rebel Bingo Club - You won't see us but we're everywhere. You won't hear us but we're right behind you. We're everywhere and nowhere, but wherever we are we're playing dirty secret hardcore Rebel Bingo on the down low.
And not that you can really see, but I wore jeans from French Connection, a Sass & Bide top, vintage shearling jacket, and vintage hat (that was continuously stolen). And my new hair (This self indulgent pic is for you Tracey!)
Sorry for the quality of pictures, I am still mourning my camera. Anyone want to buy me a replacement? Damn tumbleweeds...