Morning After Souvenirs
I once woke up in a tent after a particularly drunken holiday pub crawl, clutching a tap. There's a drowned, sunken village somewhere in Wales because of my act of petty theft, but I cannot remember. Tell us what - or who - you've brought back from nights out.
(Suggested by Bicycle Repairman)
( , Thu 26 Apr 2012, 13:44)
I once woke up in a tent after a particularly drunken holiday pub crawl, clutching a tap. There's a drowned, sunken village somewhere in Wales because of my act of petty theft, but I cannot remember. Tell us what - or who - you've brought back from nights out.
(Suggested by Bicycle Repairman)
( , Thu 26 Apr 2012, 13:44)
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Marked for a crushing headache
I woke up to a room in chaos. As the sunlight streamed in through my window, I took in the scene in front of me. The duvet was in the sink, and I appeared to have gained a blanket. In the form of my curtains. Ah. So it was that kind of night. As my memories started to stream back, flashes of what I'd got up to the night before came fitfully back. I remembered a chair, clippers, and marker pens. Rubbing my head in an attempt to get rid of the by now crushing hangover, I was surprised to find my hair a lot shorter than it was before. Well that explained the clippers. Staggering past the detritus on the floor, including a traffic cone, belisha beacon from the motorway and a giant iron spike, I got to the mirror to notice an even more unusual scene. On my face, scalp, arms and most of my torso, in fact. For some reason the night before, I'd drunkenly agreed to be shaved, and used as a leaving book. Bloody uni.
It took hours to scrub it all off. I looked like a graffitied cancer patient. Thankfully, there are no photos.
( , Thu 26 Apr 2012, 14:32, Reply)
I woke up to a room in chaos. As the sunlight streamed in through my window, I took in the scene in front of me. The duvet was in the sink, and I appeared to have gained a blanket. In the form of my curtains. Ah. So it was that kind of night. As my memories started to stream back, flashes of what I'd got up to the night before came fitfully back. I remembered a chair, clippers, and marker pens. Rubbing my head in an attempt to get rid of the by now crushing hangover, I was surprised to find my hair a lot shorter than it was before. Well that explained the clippers. Staggering past the detritus on the floor, including a traffic cone, belisha beacon from the motorway and a giant iron spike, I got to the mirror to notice an even more unusual scene. On my face, scalp, arms and most of my torso, in fact. For some reason the night before, I'd drunkenly agreed to be shaved, and used as a leaving book. Bloody uni.
It took hours to scrub it all off. I looked like a graffitied cancer patient. Thankfully, there are no photos.
( , Thu 26 Apr 2012, 14:32, Reply)
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