Not everyone from the West Country drinks Cider...
...cos' nearly all of us got silaged on it when we were ickle and learnt the error of our ways. Some of us are never sick through booze at all (*pushes out chest*) But there are still a few who do, like my mate Pie.

We call him Pie, cos frankly, he ate them all. And being a big lad, he can hold a lot of volume. Precious little alcohol, mind, but a lot of volume.

Pie, over the years, has given us a lot of chunder stories to variously delight, appall or just plain scare us. Who can forget the time he vommed green sambuca all down his front on a busy DLR train whilst showing us how to do air guitar to Pink Floyd? Or the scientific demonstration of Bounty kitchen roll's absorbancy, compared to other inferior brands, through the medium of bile?

But the best one EVAH is the story of the Dirty Snowman. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

Young Mr Pie is at a Christmas eve party at a friends. Being a big ol' muso, he's on the decks thrilling us with the crispest cuts and phattest beats. (Well Bachmann Turner Overdrive, to be exact, but top marks for effort.)

So deep in his art is he that the drinks are fair sliding down his throat - cider, beer, wine and that strange green shit that always turns up at parties, but that no-one will own up to having brought. You know the stuff.

Eventually, tho, it's El Pie that is sliding... down the walls, nearly taking the decks and some speakers with him. Oh, and the people trying to hold him up as well. It was a fast, furious and almost fatal collapse. Think the World Trade Centre wearing an REM tshirt and you'll get the idea.

Now, being the kind, considerate RESPONSIBLE friends that we are, we chuck him outside to cool off, mainline water into him and promptly piss off back inside to continue getting ratted. Until of course we get bored.

Now, at this point, Pie is sitting on a chair, outside, in the middle of winter, and it's snowing. So we put a hat on him. With a bobble.

He looked quite cute.

So we put a scarf on him as well. By this point, he looked very festive as well as cute. At this point, someone said that he'd look like a snowman if he was wearing white. Being the ingenious (and thoroughly unoriginal) people that we are, the solution was right at hand - bog roll.

Quick as a flash, he's wrapped up like a fetish buddha, with a jaunty Andrex bow at his neck.

On reflection tho, putting the cigarette in his mouth was a mistake.

You know how on a clear day, sometimes you can hear thunder a way off, and you think "it'll miss us, no need to do anything sensible like take a coat out. We'll be fine." at which point you get absolutely fecking drenched?

Well, we heard thunder coming from Snowman Pie. We did not heed the warning.

We saw his bobble shake, his head dip, the neck bulge, the torrent of booze flow from his nose, explode from his mouth and frankly fountain from his nose. Everywhere. Down his shirt, onto his shoes, I swear UP under his glasses and collect in the turnups of his jeans.

Unfortunately there were several revellers around him who got caught in the splashback - happily yours truly was behind a window and thus protected.

Apart from the sight of the vom causing his carefully crafted bow to wilt, droop, soak up chunder and finally, like an aged cock, dangle sadly down.

So we all left him and went back indoors to carry on drinking.

Thank'ee.
( Grouch would quite like his clients to stop being numptys, Fri 20 Aug 2004, 17:04, Reply)