Thai me down
I once had the severe displeasure of visiting a "Full Moon" party on some crusty riddled beach in Thailand. As the sensual 150 bpm Goa Trance attacked my brain like a bag of rusty nails, I drank several buckets of "Joy", a foul mix of industrial strength red bull, coke and rum (which apparently contains a kilo of speed, or something). After the third bucket of poison slipped down my gullet I had a brainwave! I would buy a guitar and serenade the fire juggling scum with my repetoire of "More than Words" by Extreme and "Everybody Hurts" by REM, both of which I can play behind my head, like Jimi Hendrix. I headed for the town and found a guitar shop nestled between a McDonalds and a brothel. The "joy" was coursing through my veins as I handed over about £70 for a quite decent guitar (this was all the money I had at the time). Running back to beach I was dribbling with excitment, right down to my socks.
I set up a nice spot by a fire and began to tune up. Unfortunately, as my ears had been savagely raped all night by the music, and the fact that I've never tuned a guitar before, I ended up tuning every string so high that they broke, one after the other. With each snapping string another tear rolled down my face. Even the so called "loved up" ravers turned on me, their crazy eyes shooting dilated daggers of scorn into my weeping heart. It all got a bit hazy then. Apparently I ran the length of the beach crying, my broken guitar dragging in the sand behind me. I woke up the next day on the steps of our hut, thankfully without the cursed guitar.
It could of been worse. My mate ended up with a prossie who stole his wallet the next morning. She did leave him genital warts though.

Sorry about the length, but the width's not bad.
(Smell eep!, Thu 9 Jun 2005, 15:49, Reply)