New Years Eve
Don't say you weren't warned: this isn't short. Like me.

New years eve, straight out of high school. We had the use of a friend's place, sans parents for the night. We were all warned not to do any damage to the glass-topped coffee table (it was the 80s).
My best mate, who still trusts me to this day, was there with his looooong term girlfriend, who had him very much under the thumb, and ruled with an iron fist. She left to go find food, as none of us had planned for that in the slightest.
Right, thinks he, it's time to get the drinking done while she's gone.
Bacardi and Coke. The drink straight from Satan's bottom, is the tipple of choice that night. He downs one, two, 6, whatever.
"Gimme another" he demands of me, who was acting as barman. Problem: No Bacardi. Solution: Fresh bottle of Bundy instead. Sorted. As I was quite pissed myself, I poured a "nip" which would have been about a quadruple. Another problem: No Coke. Solution: check the bar fridge. So I go under the bar, and by the time I return with Coke, my mate's standing there, holding the bar for dear life, shocked look on his face, as he'd just downed the lot in one gulp.
The girlfriend returns with the only food they could find - dodgy hot dogs, which everyone eats lots of because it's food and we're drunk and stupid.
Cue music, and midnight mayhem, which was relatively civilised, until one friend thought it would be great to make very pissed mate dance, which was hilarious to watch, and another mate thought it was an even better idea to tackle him, and throw him, rag-doll like into the ground (leaving a face imprint, I swear).
Then the vomiting starts. Chunks of part-eaten, part-digested hot dog are sprayed all and sundry.
Vomiting mate goes round the front, then a larger friend decided it would be better to take him out the back, so he doesn't get run over by traffic. Carries him, fireman's-lift style through the house. Part way through, mate starts to make ill noises and is going to spew. Quick thinking friend behind him dives forward and catches copious handful of spew, to selflessly save the cream pile carpet.
We put the sick one out back on the verandah, on a banana chair, after hosing him down, and cleaning as much sick off him as possible. It's Sydney, NYE is usually warm-ish. We didn't take into account it rarely is at 5am.
6am, he wakes up, we're barely conscious on the floor of the lounge room comes inside, freezing, wet, and covered in his own vom, and says, totally seriously "Hey, some bastard threw up on my shirt"

The coffee table was untouched, until the next day, when after all the cleaning up had been done, someone leaned on the corner of it, and it snapped off.

I copped off with a girl, and spent a long time playing tonsil hockey. Then some well meaning friends took her into a bedroom and made her sleep, and stood guard outside so I didn't get in, despite her demands that she wanted me to keep her warm. Bastards.
(David CopAFeel Used to be The_Elcat - Spouting crap since 1970., Tue 18 Apr 2006, 12:05, Reply)