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This is a question Stags and Hens

Mictoboy asks: Everybody knows that stag and hen parties are a veritable gateway to Hell, and quite the worst thing to happen to anybody full stop. So, tell us what happened.

(, Thu 30 Jan 2014, 16:00)
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Peak District Stag Weekend
Last summer I attended a stag weekend in the Peak District. This was a bit of a magic mystery tour for all except the two best men. We were all asked to arrive at a pub a few miles from Buxton, for a weekend varying activities.

The stag, Jim, had arrived much earlier in the day, along with the two hi-vis jacketed best men (the jackets an attempt at whackiness). Throughout the afternoon and evening the rest of the 16 strong group arrived, each in turn buying Jim a pint and a chaser. By the time I reached the venue (about 9pm) Jim was very merry indeed. The last of the group to arrive was Rolly, a portly young man with a fondness for port. Indeed this fondness for said fortified wine led him to bring a bottle that had been laid down in 1978, to share amongst us, Jim included. Rolly’s arrival gave the crap raver versions of the Chuckle Brothers to announce that our night’s accommodation was in fact the very pub we were drinking in. We then scrambled to bag ourselves good rooms. Wisely the best men chose not to share a room with Jim; instead that honour was left to his young chum Dan.

Before actually going to bed Rolly insisted on sharing his wonderful, rare bottle of port, giving the lion’s share, rather generously to Jim. The port was rather ripe, with a strong aroma of mildew and fear. Jim wasn’t put off by this and downed it, on top of the variety of ales, lagers, spirits, liqueurs and malevolent little shooter drinks that he’d been consuming throughout the afternoon and evening. We all retired to our respective beds.

We were all woken at 8am on the Saturday, breakfasted and dressed, to await the ‘party bus’ (a minibus with a loud stereo and strobe lights). This arrived, we boarded, but there was no sign of either Jim or Dan. The DayGlo Duo ventured up to the stag’s room, before rushing down to announce a delay. Half an hour later Jim and Dan toddled out, green faced and whimpering in the light. Dan apologised for the delay and explained what had transpired in the night.

He was woken up by the sound of Jim being violently sick in his bed. Dan went to help and make sure that Jim wasn’t going to choke. He turned on the light and was confronted by the sight of Jim’s vomit marinated top half and a rich brown aroma emanating from his bottom half, which upon further inspection was found to be accompanied by a rich, brown, semi-solid sludge. This was too much for young Dan, which led him to in turn vomit his share of port, ale and miscellaneous drinks on to the mixture currently embalming Jim.

Jim blames Rolly’s port. He would have been fine aside from that.

TL/DR: My friend shat the bed and sicked up in it. His chum then sicked up on top of him too.
(, Wed 5 Feb 2014, 13:56, 4 replies)
You know this whole tl;dr thing was an effort to get prattling dullards to realise how dull they are?
So ... you know ... when you find yourself typing it at the end of a post that's probably a good indication that you should delete the unnecessary 80% of your dreary bilge and just tell us the fucking story.

No offence, like. Xxx.
(, Wed 5 Feb 2014, 17:40, closed)
Lol. Scathing.

(, Wed 5 Feb 2014, 17:49, closed)
I signed off with kisses so that's OK.

(, Wed 5 Feb 2014, 18:00, closed)
kisses on the bottom

(, Thu 6 Feb 2014, 12:37, closed)

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