It happened last night actually...
FC is going out with his work colleagues (work bashes never go well, and thus doomed himself before it began).

Our idea of a 'works bash' wasn't the usual whole office at a pre-booked posh dressed party, oh no. It was just everyone meet up at place x a couple hours after work.


Place x ended up being the chum bucket known as Varsity. And in the West Midlands, they're especially dire. Chavvy, cheap drinks only on the sheep's piss like VK etc - and the smallest member of barstaff constantly roaming round the dancefloor either carrying, or balancing on their head, a tray of those rank tasting "Corkys shots". Thus is entertainment in the lower reaches of the Midlands.

FC is trying to make best of a bad situation and is happy whe he finds Guinness is only £2 a pint. Thus he has had four of the fuckers in an hour and a half and is starting to be happy. Where's the catch?

FC goes to the gents. As many of you will know, in late-night establishments will be a little man offering deodorants, perfumes and soforth to "help the lads pull". And it's here FC sows the seeds of his own destruction...

Random bottle grabbed, sprayed several times under armpits and on chest. Liberally applied, ahh, that smells nice...

Back to the dancefloor, and FC is "well getting in there", dancing it out, arms raised and soforth. Until oddly, his armpits start to sting. The sensation worsens until finally, it's red hot burning and agonizing pain. One that would drive a lesser (or soberer) man to tears.

"ARGH WANK"
"MY ARMS ARE ON BLOODY FIRE!"
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!"
"MY ARMPITS, THEY'RE BURNING, SERIOUSLY, LIKE A DWARF'S SNUCK IN AND PUT TINDER TO MY HAIRS!"

And all that yelled above the insanely loud sound system pumping out Kid C's Day and Night, arms held high in the air, looking like FC is dancing with all limbs and geting in 'the groove'.

Cue a mad dash to the toilets and stripping off tshirt, starting to grab kitchen roll and wash off with boiling hot water whatever chemical cocktail Satan himself had prepared to curry armpit skin with.

It turns out, according to the nice man who lives in the toilets, that FC had sprayed himself with Blue Jeans mens perfume in his semi-wasted state...not deoderant.

Ouch.

Surrounded by several drunk neanderthals wondering what the hell is going on. And one of them being the work colleague who sits next to FC at work.

Double ouch.

Even worse, said workchum goes and tells his gobby girlfriend, who in turn goes and blurts it out to a)the birthday girl (woman - hub and two kids in tow), and b)the one person in the office I would class as my nemesis, or profess to hate bigtime.

Double double ouch.

And thus was FC's experience in one of the lower Layers of Hell. Thanks guys.
(FightingComet got Boost Power on, Fri 10 Apr 2009, 11:48, Reply)