Things we do to fit in"When I was fifteen," writes No3L, "I curled up in a Budgens trolley while someone pushed it through the supermarket doors to nick vodka and Benny Hedgehogs, just to hang out with my brother and his mates."
What have you done to fit in?
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chthonic, Thu 15 Jan 2009, 12:30)
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Plastic Surgery - too much?Axel was one of the nicest guys on my landing at University. He was on a secondment from the University of Gothenburg, where he was taking something terribly cosmopolitan like 'EEC Studies' or somesuch, and - unlike most Scandinavians - he was terribly, painfully shy.
Still, after he'd understood why we sung the theme tune from Beverly Hills Cop everytime he walked down the corridor, he became one of the lads, joined in the all-night sessions of Championship Manager and necked beers with the best of us. He spoke better English than anyone on the corridor (especially because fate had lumped us with three Sports Scientists, and...well, let's say I'm glad I don't have a qualification in Games)
He was still very self-conscious, no more so than about his figure. Axel was comfortably six-foot-eight in his stockinged feet and rangy as a beanpole, and no amount of Worthingtons Creamflow and late-night curries seemed to do anything to change that. Plus, he had a rather unfortunate facial feature. His nose. It was - to put it mildly - fucking freakishly horrible. And Axel, I'm sorry if you're reading this, but I think those were your words after the infamous February 20th tequila session. More on that another time...
Anyway, this nose. Well, imagine a cock. Make it a MSPaint magenta cock with thick black hairs if you like. Imagine somebody had broken it. Twice. Once each way. And then imagine somebody else had stuck a bicycle pump up the end and inflated it (laterally) to about twice its original size. That was Axel's nose, bless him.
We did our best to help him out and find him a quiet gentle young girl who would give him a proper welcome to Blighty, but he always used get jittery and claim his height, his skinniness and his nose were just making him stand out from the crowd, and retreat back home. We felt genuinely sorry for the chap; it wasn't his fault, after all, and we were making a concerted effort to boost his self-confidence.
Anyway, after several failed attempts in all the tackiest parts of Birmingham (and it takes a while to find them all, let me assure you), Axel came down the corridor one morning in unusually high spirits. 'Whooping' might be a touch melodramatic for this staid Northern European; let's just say he was a bit boistrous. It was about 10:30am and naturally we were all still in bed.
"Lads! Lads!" he was hollering. "Come and look at this!"
Bleary-eyed and tucking willies back in where they should not be seen, we staggered out onto the landing to see Axel brandishing an A5 flyer. The sort that you see literally by the million wherever students congregate.
This flyer was advertising cut-rate aesthetic surgery. In Longbridge.
In FUCKING LONGBRIDGE?
I'm sure many of you know that Longbridge is scarcely the well-heeled suburb in which to have a discreet tummy-tuck.
Like some awful unfunny comedy act, we all stood there in our pants and looked in slow-motion at the flyer, then at Axel's great conk, then back at the flyer again....
"Don't be ridiculous..."
"Where'll you get the money...?"
"It's dangerous...."
"....fucking LONGBRIDGE?..."
Well, we knew money wasn't an issue. Axel had come loaded with Gothenburg's equivalent of Bond's expense account. But did he really want to go to these drastic lengths to be one of the guys?
"I do, and I will!" he stated triumphantly. An then, ominously but even more triumphantly: "And I want all you guys to be there when it happens..."
It was getting fucking cold standing around in this corridor in our boxers, so we all turned round and slammed our doors, leaving him standing there alone like a pathetic and dejected Peter Crouch.
Thankfully, it turned out that we didn't have to watch the operation, but we did accompany Axel down to a dodgy little back-alley behind KFC (note to self - don't eat there until their supply certificate is renewed), and watch a huge butch doctor, with the muscles of Larry Fishburne and the voice of Julian Clary, guide Axel through what I can only describe as a nose catalogue. We cringed as he took the measurements - height, breadth, depth, the whole works. We frowned as Axel tried on this horrific nasal guide and the Doc held up all sorts of pathetic looking prostheses. And we yelped as the big man waved a scalpel and a felt tip about simultaneously with one hand, barely millimetres away from our friend's eyeball.
Two weeks later, he went back, was put to sleep and woke up shortly afterwards with a brand new facial appendage. No fuss; no bother. He claimed we were over-reacting.
A bit too much, even for a 'One Time Only! Less-Than-A-Grand Offer!', was still our considered opinion, but it didn't stop Axel picking up a sweet young student nurse a couple of months later and spending lots of jolly time with her and her uniform. So, I suppose it was worth it.
But that's the last time I go to a Thin Swede Hooter Fitting.
(For fuck's sake! What's wrong with me? Haven't I got anything else to do with my time?)
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ousgg is not seeking approval, Mon 19 Jan 2009, 8:16,
8 replies)
I can't decideIf this deserves a click, or if I should hunt you down and force-feed you broken glass...
*flips coin*
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Cawl, Mon 19 Jan 2009, 9:45,
closed)
I'll bring the glass if you do the feeding..(
bluemeat has been best of all the animals since, Mon 19 Jan 2009, 14:21,
closed)
Excuse me sir...I want my fucking 5 minutes back.
shit... click for effort though.
(, Mon 19 Jan 2009, 10:31, closed)
AIEEE!!!*click*
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The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Mon 19 Jan 2009, 10:48,
closed)
Brilliant!You absolute bastard, I didn't see that coming.
*click*
(, Mon 19 Jan 2009, 11:34, closed)
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