This is definately not one of my proudest moments. Actually, fuck that, it was an adventure and it's a fucking good story, so I guess I am kind of proud. It's not a story I'll tell my grandkids sober, but anyway. I am also acutely aware that the fact I am so willing to share these things that happen to me so readily is probably one of the major reasons I still find myself single. However, I can't really not put this story up on the blog when I quite happily made a facebook status about it the other day.
No doubt anyone that happened to be in the bar for the full duration of Wednesday night will attest to what a night of utter carnage it was. (Drinking and otherwise.) Obviously, staggering back to Kev's, I was well away. I remember crawling into my sleeping bag and passing out.
Next thing I know, I'm stood in my boxers and t-shirt in a pitch black room, with no idea where the fuck I am or how the fuck I got there. All I know is that there may or may not be someone in here with me, I'm adamant someone put me in here, and I really, really need to pee. I reckon I was in this room for about an hour frantically searching for a way out, to no avail. At this point my bladder is beyond bursting point, and so I start to try and work out what the fuck I'm going to do. Drunk logic decides that my best course of action is to try and catch my piss and put it.....somewhere, back maybe? Fuck knows. But in a stroke of genius my rational brain pipes up: 'You can't catch a stream of piss you fucking moron!'
'But if you do it in short controlled bursts, then the world's your fucking oyster!'
'How is this not the best idea ever?'
I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say, I then proceed to piss all over my hand in a vain attempt to not urinate all over the floor of what I was still fairly convinced was a dungeon. Fade to black. Next thing I know, I walk directly to the door which I somehow now magically know is there, open the fucker and stride out into Kev's downstairs corridor. I breath a sigh of relief as my prison is revealed to be nothing more sinister than Kev's utility room. I go to bed.
I wake up in the afternoon with only a t-shirt on and a vague memory of being trapped somewhere the night before. As it all slowly comes back to me I rush into the utility room to try and clean up the mess, only to find that drunk me had been kind enough to deal with the problem the night before. By mopping it up with my boxers and socks.
Joy.
Obviously I own up to Kev, and as we disect what must have happened, we realise that if I had actually been staggering around the room, I would have knocked over a load of shit, as the room is full of ironing boards and baskets. So we have come to the conclusion that after staggering into the room and walking to the far back corner, I then stood there for an hour, imagining that I was wandering around the room banging on the walls, before pissing all over my hand and staggering back to bed.
I imagine you all now have one burning question:
Is this walking advert for teetotality single?
As I stated at the beginning of this post, yes I am. Ladies, form an orderly queue. Blokes, I don't swing that way, apologies.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Shit You've Probably Heard Before: And you thought my chat up lines were bad.
Apologies for the lack of updates on here, I've had shit going on and struggled to find the motivation to write anything.
(I apologise to anyone that was with me when this particular story happened, as I think I may get some of the details of who was were at what time wrong, but hey ho, it's my blog fuck you.)
I was on a night out in St Andrews, it might actually have been the same one where I threatened to cut that bitch. After kicking out time, Laurence and I decided to hit up Dervish for reasons I cannot remember. (Corfu is my mother fucking jam yo.)
I was stood in what was meant to be a queue but was much more like a scrum when I looked to my right and recognised the bouncer from The Vic. I can't remember the exact conversation we had, but I'm going to assume it was all about the 'cut you bitch' thing, and then we stared at some chicks tits for a while, and then I got served and went outside. Laurence and I waited outside as we had bumped into Miles at some point.
As we sat there a bloke staggered up to us, and in an Australian accent asked 'Hey mates, can I sit with guys for a while? My brother's gone off to do drugs, and I'm not really into that sort of thing.' 'No worries bud, pull up some kerb.' So we shot the shit with this guy for a while. He told us his name, which escapes me, and that he was visiting his brother who was a student at the uni. He also told us he'd broken his driving license the night before, because he had it in his hand when he was climbing a wall which he subsequently fell off. He seemed nice enough. Then, mid sentence, his head snaps up and he focuses intently on two young ladies stood waiting for a taxi across the street. 'Excuse me mates, I'll be right back.' He then strides purposefully across the road, looks them both in the eye and says ridicuously loudly (and you know that mother fucker was loud when I have an issue with his volume.) 'So, which one of you two cunts is going to suck my dick?' We were expecting him to come back, if at all, with a stilletto stuck in his eye, but the lassies were bizarrely polite. 'We're alright, thanks.' and walked off. He walks back over to us and with a dejected sigh says 'Bugger, that normally works.'
For the next half hour he spends his time talking to us whilst intermittently shouting at random passing women. 'Hey Whore! Want to suck my dick!?' 'Hey Bitch! Wanna suck me off!?' etc. At one point he leaves us to speak to a lassie across the street, and walks off round the corner with her. Laurence Miles and I sat there in stunned disbelief, assuming the line had actually worked.
We were wrong. He returned moments later and in reply to our queries of what had happened somberly replied 'Stupid bitch didn't want to suck my dick.'
Eventually Laurence and I grew tired, and headed for a taxi. As we said goodbye to our Ozzie hero, he looked up the street, to where an ambiguous silhouette was making it's way away from us. 'Hey mates, do you reckon that's a man or a woman?' 'No idea bud.' 'Well, there's only one way to find out,' he said over his shoulder as he ran off after his target, 'HEY WHORE! WANNA SUCK MY DICK!?'
(I apologise to anyone that was with me when this particular story happened, as I think I may get some of the details of who was were at what time wrong, but hey ho, it's my blog fuck you.)
I was on a night out in St Andrews, it might actually have been the same one where I threatened to cut that bitch. After kicking out time, Laurence and I decided to hit up Dervish for reasons I cannot remember. (Corfu is my mother fucking jam yo.)
I was stood in what was meant to be a queue but was much more like a scrum when I looked to my right and recognised the bouncer from The Vic. I can't remember the exact conversation we had, but I'm going to assume it was all about the 'cut you bitch' thing, and then we stared at some chicks tits for a while, and then I got served and went outside. Laurence and I waited outside as we had bumped into Miles at some point.
As we sat there a bloke staggered up to us, and in an Australian accent asked 'Hey mates, can I sit with guys for a while? My brother's gone off to do drugs, and I'm not really into that sort of thing.' 'No worries bud, pull up some kerb.' So we shot the shit with this guy for a while. He told us his name, which escapes me, and that he was visiting his brother who was a student at the uni. He also told us he'd broken his driving license the night before, because he had it in his hand when he was climbing a wall which he subsequently fell off. He seemed nice enough. Then, mid sentence, his head snaps up and he focuses intently on two young ladies stood waiting for a taxi across the street. 'Excuse me mates, I'll be right back.' He then strides purposefully across the road, looks them both in the eye and says ridicuously loudly (and you know that mother fucker was loud when I have an issue with his volume.) 'So, which one of you two cunts is going to suck my dick?' We were expecting him to come back, if at all, with a stilletto stuck in his eye, but the lassies were bizarrely polite. 'We're alright, thanks.' and walked off. He walks back over to us and with a dejected sigh says 'Bugger, that normally works.'
For the next half hour he spends his time talking to us whilst intermittently shouting at random passing women. 'Hey Whore! Want to suck my dick!?' 'Hey Bitch! Wanna suck me off!?' etc. At one point he leaves us to speak to a lassie across the street, and walks off round the corner with her. Laurence Miles and I sat there in stunned disbelief, assuming the line had actually worked.
We were wrong. He returned moments later and in reply to our queries of what had happened somberly replied 'Stupid bitch didn't want to suck my dick.'
Eventually Laurence and I grew tired, and headed for a taxi. As we said goodbye to our Ozzie hero, he looked up the street, to where an ambiguous silhouette was making it's way away from us. 'Hey mates, do you reckon that's a man or a woman?' 'No idea bud.' 'Well, there's only one way to find out,' he said over his shoulder as he ran off after his target, 'HEY WHORE! WANNA SUCK MY DICK!?'
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