i've opened the flood gates
last story reminded me of other stupid antics and drink.

Halloween this year, a fucking doozy this one was.

I went out in my airsoft gear, kitted to the nines in my Vietnam kit, including combat boots, ammo pouches and real, heavy flak jacket. Strapped on some bloodied bandages and looked like an extra from Platoon. This will bear relevancy in a few minutes.*

After consuming much Appleton Estate Rum [the rum of GODS] i left the house party i had been attending on my own.

Stage one:

Stumbled into a kebab shop, mumbled something about 'schwarmi' and paid a lot of money for an awesome sarbeni. Schwarmi, i think, is an Arabic dish native to Morocco. I requested this, in a Turkish kebab shop. Never mind.

Stage two:

Find taxi queue. Is huge. I drunkenly yell 'Anyone for Monifieth?!' before being rescued by some acquaintances of mine. These being the people i know vaguely as sisters' of friends who are a lot younger than me. Anyhow. Get taxi, get food, get home.

Stage three:

Gate is locked, i vault the fence. 'Aha' says i, staring down at the ground some 6 feet away "I'm wearing full combat gear! I can drop onto my face and survive!"

*drops over wall*

Suffice to say, not a smooth move. I land on my arm. It's fairly sore, although i hope not broken.

Swaying toward the door, i reach for my keys. The keys... are already in the other side of the lock. This angers drunken wounded soldier. I swear lots, kick in the cat flap with my size nine combat boots and attempt to reach the lock from there. This does not work, i hammer the door with fists. I cut hands a little.

Brain says "Wait, the side entrance! You must reach the front door from the side entrance!".

Amble toward the side gate, a nice 6-7 foot high work of wooden art. I try to work the mechanism, but it is locked. 'Aha' says i, staring at the slats in the wood "I can use my boots to get through this!". I hoof down three slats, damaging my legs and splintering things into my body [bear in mind i was /drunk/ and trying to do a successful breach entry on the door with limbs that weren't quite kosher to movement].

This is where my night ends. Apparently, i make it into the house. Apparently, i make it to bed. I wake up feeling with a mouth like a badgers arse, and feeling as if i've been subject to bamboo beatings all night. My body is covered in welts, scrapes scratches and real blood. As is my kit.

Stage four:

"I can't believe you: you were hitting on H something awful. What will K [my girlfriend of the time] say? You lech"

"Dude, what happened?"

Text messages appear. A formal note also appears requesting that i pay for various damages to the house.

It was EPIC. Epically stupid.

*a picture is available for all to view.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Mon 24 Dec 2007, 7:59, 5 replies)

Pls...
Post pics! of the damage, the injury & the broads!
( the dalai farmer always likes tea, but especially on, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 10:07, closed)

I think you'll find
that Stroh is the rum of the Gods
(Rilux might be pregnant and has bum-aids, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 13:46, closed)

post pix pls
This was my kit for that evening, sans m16 obv.


(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Mon 24 Dec 2007, 16:11, closed)

.
Stroh is indeed the rum of the gods. Angry and sadistic gods mind, but gods none the less. 80% and fucking gorgeous.
(misanthrope is so adjective he's verbing nouns!, Thu 27 Dec 2007, 15:20, closed)

Stroh inlander rum
Great fun, watching the so-called "hardened" drinkers, take a shot-glass full in one, neat of course. Its fun watching a grown man weeping in pain whilst trying in vain to draw breath.
Can you get it in the UK now then? It never used to be able to get over here, only in the Tirol area.
( Duke Of Belmsford has got 99 records, but Jay-Z ain't one, Fri 28 Dec 2007, 10:03, closed)