Tales From The Pissed
.
When I was a wee nipper, about 10, I was personally introduced to the idea of a Vengeful God. Let me explain.

My dad had made an enormous batch of home-brew beer and I decided that I just had to sample some of that hoppy goodness. So I stole two bottles (big old Tizer bottles, about a litre as I recall) but I needed somewhere safe to drink it so I set off, on my bike, to the local graveyard. It was always dead quiet there (snarrf) and I knew some out of the way spots where I wouldn't be disturbed.

So there I was, holed up underneath a tree, swigging away on this home brew.It was bloody awful. Kind of like pop - but not nice.Fizzy but no sweet taste. But I was Geordie and this was my heritage so I carried on drinking until I'd finished both bottles.

I didn't feel very well. I think the homebrew was off. I felt sick and my head was spinning. This was instant-illness-in-a-bottle.

Head for home. That's what I had to do. Get home.

The sky was darkening now as a summer storm was moving in and being in the middle of a graveyard where it goes from sunny to dark with thunder muttering in the distance didn't do much for my head.

Oh God. I was in a graveyard drinking. Sacrilege. And I was drinking stolen beer. Another deadly sin. God was sure to strike me down.

I was starting to panic now and jumped on my bike and started for home as fast as my little legs could pedal. The storm broke and the rain was hammering down. Lightening was cracking through the air and the thunder rolled. I was cacking it - God was coming to get me.

Then, God reached down from heaven and zapped me. The fucking front wheel of my bike came off.

The forks dug into the tarmac and I was catapulted through the air, turning a somersault as I did. I landed on the tarmac and rolled a few times before fetching up against a gravestone where I cracked my head. I bounced to my feet, abandoned my bike, and legged it for home crying my eyes out. At any second I was expecting a lightening bolt to fry me on the spot.

Well I made it safely but spent the next few hours curled on my bed sobbing my heart out.

Biggest fright of my life.

Don't mess with the big guy.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 6:08, 3 replies)

It's ok.
I don't think even God would mess with a Geordie.
( girlinthehole, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 8:38, closed)

^what BGB said^
I heard that Geordies never go to Hell because even Satan himself is afraid of them ...*


*May also apply to Scots
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Sun 6 Jul 2008, 11:12, closed)

You'd think
Mr Omnipotent would have had better things to do than persecute a drunk Geordie.

He can be such a twat sometimes.
( chart cat has an itch, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 11:54, closed)