Will you still love me tomorrow?
If nothing else, this story will prove to you just exactly why drugs are bad, m’kay?

2005 was a very strange year. I’d moved back to the Metropolis of London, my heart having been well and truly broken, and had got myself a job in that most vaunted and worthwhile of careers, recruitment consultancy.

(“A Recruitment Consultant?” one potential squeeze once said to me, “That’s just one step above being an Estate Agent!” – but I digress.)

Not only was I a recruitment consultant, I was an IT recruitment consultant. The scum that floats on top of the scum, if you will. And this, dear friends, was the time that I met the oft-talked about but never fully introduced Mad Saffa.

She’d managed to wangle a job in the same company as I by virtue of the fact that she knew my boss. She’d arrived in the UK four weeks previously, and had a year’s work permit. And the author was pretty well instantly smitten.

The only problem with her was that she was a massive cokehead. And I, being desperate (once again) to ingratiate myself with the cool kids, ended up with a nearly crippling addiction to the white stuff, something of which I am not proud and, after some counselling and a good old fashioned does of friend based intervention, I am now completely clean.

But that’s not the crux of my story. The Mad Saffa had now departed from my life, leaving me with a heart that was not only broken but now shattered in to a thousand lonely pieces, yet I was still shovelling drugs in to my face like there was no tomorrow. And that lead me to a windowsill in a side street off of Fleet Street at 11pm on a Thursday night with three other similar idiots, one of whom happened to be yet another girl that I was trying to charm the pants off.

I leaned over and breathed in sharply, taking the drug deep in to my nose. And then, seconds later, there was a rumbling deep in my bowels that indicated something was about to happen, and it wouldn’t be an innocent little fart. I attempted the ‘tester’, and tried to see if I could relieve some pressure without shitting myself.

I leaned against the wall, surreptitiously raised a leg (but the chances of anyone seeing me while the hoarded around the little bag of white powder like a pack of vultures were minimal anyway), and attempted a little release of gas.

What I actually released, however, was a small piece of poo.

Oh, if you’ll forgive the pun. shit. What to do? What to do?

There was only one thing for it. Find an alleyway, ditch the pants, get back to it. That sounds like a plan!

“Oh, guys!”

Sniff “Yeah?” Sniff.

“I’m just off to er... Well, I’ll be back in a minute, OK?”

Sniff “OK.” Sniff.
I waddled away, hoping against all hope that my precious cargo wouldn’t make a bid for freedom via my legs. I found an alleyway, pulled off my trousers and carefully, oh so carefully, removed my boxers. I thought it best, at that point, to use them to give myself a quick wipe to avoid staining.

Just as I pressed the fabric of boxer to the bare crack of my arse, the girl who I was trying to impress walked around the corner.

We froze in a grotesque tableau – her, mouth agog, staring at me. Me, naked from the waist down (save for a pair of socks), a balled up pair of boxer shorts stuffed up my bum, looking for all the world like I’d been caught with my knickers down. Which, of course, I had been.

“Er...” I muttered, flushing beetroot “I, er, um, had a small, um, accident. I’ll be back in a mo.”

She turned tail and fled. I did my best to clean up, dropped the boxers in a bin (something which I remain excruciatingly embarrassed about) and made my way back.

To her credit, she had told no-one. And, soon after, the incident was forgotten. As we walked back to the tube at the end of the evening, I walked with her, her arm in the crook of mine, and we looked upon London’s nocturnal beauty. We stopped. We faced each other. I looked in to her eyes and said:

“How about dinner next week?”

And she replied:

“Do you promise not to shit yourself?”

We were doomed from the start.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 10:57, 15 replies)

And they say
romance is dead.
( wanderlust, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 11:09, closed)

That's brilliantly funny
And has a moral to it. Perfect.
( Captain V, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 11:31, closed)

Splendid *tail*
Have an empathic click, for I too shat myself the night I met DG.

Eloquently told, as usual.
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:02, closed)

Ta ever so.That has made my afternoon.
Click.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:14, closed)

I'm glad you're drug-free now. You deserve a click for that.
I always find it so sad to hear about people who feel that they "need" to take drugs because it's "cool", and to be in with a certain crowd.

What I say is, if a certain crowd is only going to accept you if you take drugs, then they are the sort of crowd that can fuck off, because they're not worth knowing.

Well done. Anyway... are you still together, or was the relationship really doomed?
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:29, closed)

^Thanks!
No, the relationship really was doomed.

But that's for the best as I met someone better and I'm getting married to her next year, so woo anyway!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:34, closed)

It's always best not to make promises you can't keep...
.
( Fireflier La la la la, not listening on, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:40, closed)

Not you too!
I dunno, what with you , Tourette's and the volcanically-bowelled Pooflake, not to mention all the other loose-sphinctered B3TANs, I'm beginning to think I'd make a fortune selling spare undies and wet wipes at the next bash!

Good story though.

"Click"
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 13:31, closed)

Damn,
Captain Placid stole my idea. I was going to suggest scented nappy sacks as well, for disposal ...


Great story, DiT, have a clicky
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Mon 1 Sep 2008, 14:22, closed)

Haha
I hasten to add that this was the one and only time (touch wood) that it's happened to me in public, and thankfully it wasn't catastrophic!

I remain a mere student when compared to Pooflake.

*honoured to be mentioned in the same sentence*
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 15:14, closed)

I nearly
did a wee!
(Bazongaloid, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 16:12, closed)

Aw pickle
At least you've come a long way since th.......


never mind.

*clicks*
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 18:13, closed)

This post...

Just about sums up everything brilliant about B3ta...

you, sir...are truly great.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 1 Sep 2008, 22:47, closed)

good yarn!
so *click* but drugs aren't all bad, folks. Me and my brother have deepend our appreciation of one another over many's the gram or three. It just takes a little cop-on.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 14:57, closed)

That was brilliant
"we froze in a grotesque tableau"...

So few words yielding such an amusing scene in my mind. Deserves a great big click, so here it is:

*click*
( chart cat has an itch, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 14:58, closed)