Bailing on the cab
It had been a long and boozy day. Watching the playoffs in the afternoon I found myself slightly worse for wear with two pints and a double whisky in front of me at 5 in the afternoon.
This would have been fine if I didn't need to go to an awards ceremony, where I was part of the comittee, for 7pm. As often happens in these kind of situations, narcotics seem the sensible option for propping myself up and "sobering" myself up for more drinking.
By 10.30, I've got a lot more energy, but am far from sober. The awards has turned into a farce, with the comedian storming of stage (justifiably) at the level of ignorance in the audience. This turns into my excuse to leave, as I need to get the cash to pay her and can get her to drop me off back to the pub.
This is where things turn hazy, I know I chatted bullshit at her all the way back, I know I got to the pub, I don't know how I then went out clubbing, but I do have the memory of the journey back.
At the club I hijack some poor punters pre-booked taxi, which is luckily going back to my home town. Some part of my brain thinks, "you could bunk the fare", something I've never done before, so I take him down a bit of a dead end road, where he pulls over and I run away, like a drunken loon, not stopping until I get home.
It's from here that the night goes banzai. I stumble in, muttering to my wife that I've been bad. Totter upstairs, where I fall over, twat my head and a claret fountain kicks of from my scalp.
The wife finds me, hunched over the sink, mumbling that I have to clean the blood from it. She kindly points out that it would be a better idea to stop the blood pissing from my head and dirtying up the sink first. It's about this point that I pass out and my terrified wife stays awake all night, making sure that I don't choke on my own vomit.
The next day I wake, feeling like death warmed up. And now Karma starts to take an interest in my life.
I go to the mirror to inspect the damage from the previous night, and find that I have a nice deep cut in a horizontal line in the middle of my hair line. I realise, with no humour, that from now on, as my hair recedes, I will look like I've got a giant jap's eye on my head.
It doesn't end there. Later I bump into an old friend, who I haven't seen for ages. He reminds me that I saw him in the club last night.
I was too drunk to remember, I inform him and tell him of my exploits, to which he replies "You cunt!" He'd ordered that taxi and the firm had his phone number, called him and told him he'd have to pay or the police would be called. He felt obliged to pay, as his extra curricular activites were far from legal and he wanted no sign of the police. So I end up paying him back for the taxi.
All in all, a dreadful night out resulting in injury and money loss, serves me right for being a cunt to the poor fellow trying to earn a living.
Appologies for length, etc.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:48, 1 reply)

Ha ha ha
My mate has scalped himself a couple of times now, messy business that..
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 21:44, closed)