She was not amused
It had been a cold and wet evening. Undeterred by the elements we had made our way to a nearby park and huddled under the brightly coloured hut from which a garish slide protruded.

Bottles of budget vodka and cans of cheap pissy beer were brought forth and quaffed. Banter was brought into play and eloquent repartee sizzled through the dour evening air. At some point an individual's sexual preference may have been questioned, and assertations of masculinity and boob touching exploits may have been fired back by the accused.

All in all everyone had a great time and as the last of the booze ran out we stumbled off to our respective abodes. I was, to put it bluntly, completely wankered. Seen from above I'd imagine my perambulations would bear more resemblance to a sinusoidal waveform than a line. However, with the words of Tony Wright echoing in my inebriated skull, I persevered and made it back to my parent's home.

Handily my father was at work and my mother was already abed so I didn't have any explaining to do about my obvious state of intoxication. Not that they minded me getting drunk but I was DRUNK. Sniggering away to myself over inane thoughts I smoked a spliff in the kitchen, burned some toast to cover the smell and made my way to bed. A perfect night. And sleep...

...and wake to shouts of fury and disgust. "What's happening?" thinks I, "Why is my mother in my room shouting at me?" "Hang on this isn't my room" "Wait a minute I'm standing in my mother's room" "Holy shitting Christ I'm pissing all over my mother"

That's right. I'd had a moment of drunken somnambulation and, in my search for a toilet, wandered into my mother's boudoir and unloaded my booze distended bladder across her slumbering form.

I'd imagine my mother considered this a SURPRISE TODGER moment.

Once the realisation of what I was doing and the content of my mother's words filtered into my consciousness, my proud stream of urine cut off instantly. I turned, I ran, I dived back into bed with my face contorting into a gestalt expression of abject terror and uncontrollable mirth.

I hid under the covers like a brave responsible man while my mother barged in and shouted obscenities at me before leaving to deal with her piss soaked bed clothes. I managed to control my horror and hilarity and get myself back to sleep. In the morning my father could barely contain his grin as he gave me a half hearted scolding and told me I'd have to pay for a new duvet and bed sheets.

Luckily over the years my mother has come to view this as funny rather than rage inducing, which is handy as it gets brought up at nearly every family gathering.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:11, 4 replies)

I would have no reason to disbelieve this story
Except that if you were that pissed, and enjoyed a spliff in the kitchen, vomit would surely have been on the very immediate agenda?
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 14:00, closed)

I can assure you 'tis true...
...but alas I can do no more to convince you.

I do however take umbrage at the fact you appear to be implying I possess a weak consitution :P

A skinful of booze and a goodly number of spliffs very rarely causes me to jump on the chunder train. It often makes me feel like my brain is being squeezed viciously the next day but I rarely vomit.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:06, closed)

I demand I buy you a beverage...

And all I ask in return is that whilst we share a pint, that you speak to me in the same tone with which you write.

For 'tis cocking awsomely brillo.

*clicks with hammers*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 2 Jun 2009, 14:01, closed)

Cheers fella...
... and if there's the possibility of a free pint, I'd talk to you in whatever manner you choose.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 11:19, closed)