A couple of weeks ago
I attended a teenage party at my friend's enormous house. I had things to do the next morning, so I went easy on the beer (though not too easy), and as such can remember how much of an idiot everyone else was.

Being more lads than girls there, and the lads being all around 16, there were inevitably hormone-fuelled fights. Most notable was when one guy tried to do a flying drop-kick to my friend, who was also for one reason or other relatively sober and also happens to be a black-belt in karate. Of course, my friend defended himself, but rather too emphatically, and the prospective drop-kicker went flying down the four stairs behind him onto a fat bloke who was sitting there feeling morose and minding his own business. Luckily both of them were fine, although the fat bloke was too drunk to know much about it, and the person who had done the attacking went round proudly telling everyone how he had fallen down loads of stairs. By the end of the evening, I understand, he claimed to have fallen down eight flights, which was no doubt very imptressive.

In addition to this was the bloke who turned up in a bad but expensive suit, got it drenched by standing outside in the driving rain, ignoring everyone advising him to come inside, and spent the entire night speaking in an appauling irish accent, despite having less than no irish heritage.

You get some classy people coming to our parties.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Sun 16 Apr 2006, 17:48, Reply)