Fat boy
Wound up inexplicably in Gibraltar on a Saturday night. A few of us headed off after a curry to sample the local nightlife. A karaoke bar exerted its strange fascination, followed by a very grotty nightclub.

The lights got lower (or the beer was working its magical effect), and a rather pretty Scandinavian blonde (whose charms I had not been oblivious to) came up to me.

"You look just like Fatboy Slim", she says. I gurned, and managed to utter some trite denial (possibly to do with my possession of hair, lack of wealth, and presence in a distinctly crap nightclub). "You're him, aren't you?", she insists. The gurning continued.

Then she launched herself on me, mouth first, to give me a go on her dentures. Could I resist? No. Did I want to? Negative. Tasted said dentures (and very tasty they were too).

She pulled away, and, at the sight of a seven-foot Viking lumbering towards us, said "Oh, look, there's my husband", and flew into his arms.

So, if there's a Swedish girl out there who dines out on having got off with Norman Cook, I am most terribly, terribly sorry...
(groover j lazerus, Thu 31 May 2007, 21:23, Reply)