Shit You've Probably Heard Before: Thomas Hazell and the dungeon of Doom: Your in trouble!

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.