Taxpayers money
I used to work away a lot as part of film crews. Once, I was staying in a rather nice hotel down by the waterfront in Bristol. All the rooms were very light and bright and airy with pale walls and tiled floors.

Film crews drink fairly heavily and this one friday evening we knew we had a rare saturday off the next day so we went out and got twatted. I ended up rocking into bed God knows what time still clutching a glass of whiskey and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night dying for a slash, hopped out of bad and with unnerring accuracy stood slap bang onto a now empty crystal tumbler lying next to the bedside table.

*crunch*

Aaaarrghh! Ow! Ow! Fuckitybuggercuntflaps! Oooooooooooooooow! Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh No!! Oooh Fuuuuuurrrghhhhhh!!!!!

I half hopped/half crawled to the bog where I sat on the crapper and, gently whimpering, pulled the shards of glass from the sole of my foot and deposited them in the sink. Once I'd calmed down a bit I wrapped my injured foot in toilet paper, had a piss, and hobbled back to bed.

Upon waking the next day I had completely forgotten about my nighttime excursions so imagine my surprise to open my eyes and be greeted by a scene straight out of A Nightmare on Elm Street.

There was fucking blood EVERYWHERE. Big angry smears all over the floor, bloody handprints on the walls, crispy, dried crinkles on the sheets.

As my eyes followed the horror that my room had become they were drawn inexorably to the en suite. I looked at the blood smeared doorhandle and all I could think was, "Oh God. What the fuck have I done this time?"

Recollection only came once I crept out of bed, whimpering for entirely different reasons this time, and put my weight on my knackered foot again. Fuck it hurt but with it came a whole jigsaw at once.

I have never been so happy to spend four hours in casualty in my life.
(Crowtyboy, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 14:43, Reply)