Hot and stoned in the Dam
My vegetarian brother lived in Amsterdam for a few years and the first time I went to visit it was a very hot June weekend. I wasn't used to not eating meat. We decided that I would borrow his flatmate's bike and we'd go riding around, seeing the sights and checking out the cafés.

Now, what my bro's flatmate neglected to tell us was that his bike had a slow puncture which he had to keep pumping up with the pump he carried in his bag - i.e. not with the bike. We realized this after enjoying a few types of café and a few beers. My bro wasn't sure where to find a bike repair shop so we wandered around for what felt like hours, and might well have actually been hours, in the blistering sun.

With no luck, we went for a smoke. Then we were on our way to find some food when my bro saw one of his mates down the road. "Greg!" he shouted. He introduced me, said, "Fancy a smoke?" to which Greg replied, "Well, I've just had one. Go on then."

I don't know when to stop when I smoke, and this stuff was much much stronger than the shit I used to get in Wales. I remember being perched on a bar stool kind cos the comfy sofas were ocupied, thinking, "I think I'll rest my eyes for a few seconds." I then felt like I was retreating rapidly backwards through a dark tunnel. I awoke with my head between my knees and my bro looking very worried.

The café guy gave me an orange juice and a lecture. He was cool. He also called me out of the toilet where I'd been for some time wondering why nothing was coming out of my extremely relaxed sphincta.

When I'd recovered and my bro asked what I wanted for food, I said, "Chicken!"
(Wangle, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 0:50, Reply)