when curry attacks
On a date, hella drunk, stopped off for a kebab, natch, but decided to get a lovely Indian veggie curry too because I had the evil munchies. I couldn't even finish the kebab and I had to get a cab, so I shoved the sealed curry in my handbag and went home with the intentions of watching a bit of tv and eating in bed. Of course, I passed out as soon as I could smell pillow.

A week later was the day of my driving test, so I went searching for my bag to fetch my provisional licence. I pulled it out from under my bed, to find a rancid exploded curry all over the contents. My licence was now a lovely shade of orange and bits of broccoli were stuck to my pic and it smelled like Bombay.

I passed, because I rule. Not because I wore a minikilt, oh no.
(posthumous mince is tiptoeing through the tulips, Sun 12 Jun 2005, 1:10, Reply)