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» When I met the parents

keeping it in the family...
Just after going through the post-coming out 'shag anything that moves' phase, I started seeing this lad fairly regularly. His parents were away one night, getting back the next morning, so i went over. No worries, we were both out, his parents were fine with it.

After a very pleasant evening, next morning his parents arrive, his mum was lovely, we chatted for ages about this and that. "X's dad will be in in a minute, he's just unpacking the car". So he walks in, and he fumbles the camping stuff he's loaded with. It did look awkward to carry, but might have been more to do with the fact I'd shagged him about 3 months previously after chatting to him for all of 5 minutes on gaydar.

And he was waaaay dirtier than his son.
(Mon 23rd May 2005, 17:03, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

Fried fookin breakfasts...
I didn't regret going to glastonbury in 1997. I certainly didn't regret taking the biggest stash i'd ever owned up to that point: a hefty bag of grass, a sheet of 20 nice acid, 20 or so pills, few grams of whizz, a little chunk of opium, and in true Fear and Loathing style, about a pint of ether purloined from college...the only downer was a lack of mushies, but we managed to score those within 5 minutes of sitting down and asking a chicken and mushroom pastie i'd brought to give us a hand and sort out a meeting with its more hallucinogenic brethren.

So we ate, and drank, and snorted...and came up smiling on Friday night, where we decided to pick up the pace. Mushies, pills, fat spliff with a bit of opium, good huff of ether...was all going swimmingly but i started to come up, hard. I needed to come down a little, and toking as hard as i could on the j wasn't helping. I was letting it get a bit flaky, but i'd just managed to reel it in, calmed down a bit and maaged to convince myself the sky was still attached to the groud, my mates hadn't actually turned into piles of bones. That's when the Tofu Love Frogs (quality festival regulars), decided to bring out their 'dancing vegetable squad'. Here was I, 17, with a head full of narcotics, being confronted by 4 blokes on stage dressed as, mainly, carrots and broccoli.

Bit much.

So I ran. Far, up to the green fields, clutching nothing but a bottle of ether and a couple of spliffs. After an interlude of tryign to stop myself lifting off by holding on HARD to the ground, i managed to calm down and passed out for a little while. What i didnt noticed was i'd spilt ether all over my legs. Someone must have dropped a fag end near me, because as i awoke, peaking furiously, I seemed to be on fire, and trying to put me out was some performance art troupe dressed as a full english breakfast.

The last thing i remember was kicking a bloke dressed as a fried egg in the nads, and hightailing it from the stone circle with my trousers on fire, screaming about brunch.

Top fun. Did it all again the following year, without the ether.
(Thu 15th Dec 2005, 21:58, More)

» Mugged

Ouch
Walking back home from the 192 stop in Stockport (avoiding getting mugged on the 192 is a result in itself...) I notice some no-neck mouthbreather was weaving his way towards me, muttering. I cross the road, he crosses as well. I was going to run but i was a little bit toasted and couldn't guarantee my legs would work in the right order.

I keep walking fast, hoping i can get past him before it gets edgy. He walks up to me, cracks the beer bottle he was carying on a wall and staggers a bit "need your money for a cab - give it me..."

So i pull myself up to my full height, and in my best and clearest voice say 'you better watch yourself'. "Why's that you student ponce, i'm going to fucking sl*.?"

That was the sound of him being winged by the taxi i was trying to warn him about, as he'd staggered into the road whilst trying to relieve me of my cash.

So I made sure he was ok, called an ambulance, and helped myself to his wallet as he was lying by the side of the road. And you know what? He didn't need my money for a cab, he had 50 on him, cnut. Paid for mine though.
(Tue 20th Jun 2006, 10:43, More)

» Fancy Dress

highway to hull...
A few years back, one of my housemates returns from the pub with the news that there's a fancy dress party going on that night.

Back to the house we go to find outfits. After scrabbling around for half a hour with no success, i sit down with a spliff and the paper to get some inspiration.

Eu-fucking-reka. I spot juanita...the high quality blow-up doll we brought back from Berlin as a souvenir the previous year (unused, settle). I leggit to the charity shop and purchase a cardigan and tweed skirt. I dress the doll and we head out, housemates absolutely perplexed as to what i'm going as.

The headline? "Harold Shipman charged for 20-odd more counts of murder" Me? I fuck grannies.

1 blow-up doll - free
one granny outfit - 5
the fact that best mate of the party host is Harold Shipman's son - priceless
(Thu 12th Jan 2006, 21:57, More)