Two of my mates are brothers. In the familial sense.
Well, these lads are confirmed hard-core metal-heads. No womanly influence on their little plot of land for over three years. For sheer filth (dirt), and pornography, unbeatable. They keep snakes - non-poisonous ones, as a rule - as pets.

Right. Party. Get rat-arsed. I seem to recall whiskey, but I'm not a reliable witness, as you will find out.

At some stage I stagger around, making a vehement point, bottle in air, and sit down without looking. Miss the chair and sat down on a snake-tank. That broke into shards and cut a deep gash into my arse. I'm told I sat back even further and kept on ranting away, as if I'm on a comfy somfa and not sharded glass justing upwards.

To everyone's concerned 'Are you alright' I go, 'Yeah, of course, give me more beer', or something similar.

When I finally end up home three hours later, I jump into the shower, and notice the amount of blood gushing out of my back-side resembles the Niagare falls. And the cut is deep.

End up in emergency room, laying with me arse in the air. Additional fun was had when first a patch of arse-hair/fur had to be shaven off to get stitches and bandages on. This at three on a Sunday morning. Doctor looked fairly bemused. Pumped me full of all sorts of antibiotics and things.

Funnily enough, I didn't get bit by the tanks occupant.
(testingtestingtesting, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:56, Reply)