» Mini Cabs From Hell

Rotten cabbage
Getting a cab home in Dublin one night after a solid drinking sesion. Its about 6am and the only cabbies left on the road are pure deviants and drunkards.

I recieved the latter. It was quite obvious he was drunk, because he told me so and, needlessly, pointed to the an empty bottle of gin to emphasize the point.

Being as late as it was I knew my chances of getting another cab were slim, so I buckled up and remained in the "brace for impact" position.

About a mile from my house there was a terrible noise, the car veered across the road and sparks began to fly around the car. I saw the front left wheel bouncing merrily down the road in front off us. Cabbie seemed perfectly unfazed or unaware of events and attempted to drive on. I was struck dumb with shock/fear. The car, sparks flying and screaming like a banshee,lurched into a ditch on the side of the road. Eventually, having a moment of clarity, cabbie gets out to see whats wrong. He studies the mangled wreckage of the front of his car, scratching his head and furrowing his brow, in a vain attept to comprehend the situation. Then he has a master stroke! He whips his cock out and pisses on the damaged area. Probably believing his unrine contained some form of magical tonic.

I got out of the car a feigned concern for a minute, stroking my chin and kicking the axle in a knowledgable way. Then he started to cry. Sensing my opportunity, I began to back away slowly, then sprited like the wind all the way home.

Lying in bed that night I swear I could still hear his gentle sobbing.
(Thu 27th May 2004, 11:30, More)

» Too much information

A drunken night out with new workmates...
We're all sat around the table, gradually teasing more and more information out of each other, the stories getting increasingly rambunctious as the booze flowed.

It was all very jovial and the high spirits convinced me that telling them of a shameful, but to me hilarious, story from my past would be a fantastic idea.

I had a few false starts, the sober side of my brain kept trying to stop me telling the story. By this only increased their desire to hear it. They we're practically salivating at the mouth by the time that I decided that giving them what they want would be a fabulous way to ingratiate myself with my colleagues.

So I told the story of how on graduation night from college I got steaming drunk and a classmate dropped a couple of pills in my pint, unbeknownst to me. I attacked the booze with an unusual verocity - pints in a couple of gulps, endless and increasingly preposterous shots and cocktails, when suddenly I began to feel a little queer.

I went to the toilets with the intention of throwing up, but found myself falling unconcious instead. I was roused a couple of hours later by a fellow classmate, who dragged me out of the pub and put me in a cab, giving the driver money and an address to take me home to.
The same driver who kicked me out the cab as soon as he was out of sight of the pub. (I may have thrown up, I'm not sure)

I crawled, literally, home. The mile long journey taking about 4 hours.

Somehow I managed to struggle into bed, thinking the ordeal was over...

...it wasn't.

I awoke sometime later, it was dark outside and something was wrong. Wet and wrong. A quick rummage under the sheets revealed what I feared. I'd shat myself, spectacularly.

I went into the toilet and stared in the mirror in amazement as one of the turds slid slowly down my back - how did it get there, I wondered in amazment.
I showered, ripped the sheets of my bed and threw them out the window in a haze of bewildered confusion. Fresh sheets on and clean I collapsed into the bed gain, tears welling up in my eyes - the misery was overwhelming, but at least the ordeal was over...

...or was it...

...no...it wasn't.

I awoke some time later, it was bright out and something was wrong.

"Christ, no" I thought.

Not to worry though, I hadn't shat myself again, I'd only pissed myself. The sheets were soaking wet.

I went throught the same miserable process as before and finally slept without losing conrol of myself again, only to be woken by the sound of my furious neighbour demanding from my parents an explaination for the pile shitty and pissy sheets strewn over the roof of his shed.

The gales of laughter I expected from my workmates never appeared. Some got up and left the table, others simply shook their heads in a strange mix of disbelief and disgust, all ignored me for the rest of the evening.

I'm still with the company.
(Mon 10th Sep 2007, 12:02, More)

» Fire!

Great Balls on Fire
A "friend" of mine, who was minding his little brother and sister whilst the parents holidayed in Corfu, noticed a small ember remaining on the wick of a candle he'd just blown out before going to bed. Too tired to extinguish it he figured it would burn itself out anyway.
He awakes a while later to find the entire opposite wall of his room engulfed in flame. He makes a pathetic attempt to put it out with the cup of cold tea on his bedside table, but to no effect. He ran in to his siblings room and ushered them outside, calling on a neighbour to mind them and alert the fire brigade. Against all advice he ran back inside to see if he could salvage anything/heroically put the fire out. Alas, he found the entire upper level of the house succumbing to the firey wrath.
Crestfallen and slightly delerious from smoke inhalation, he stumbled outside to discover his entire street had congregated outside, watching the flames turn a lifetime to dust.
Life could not get any worse for my sorry friend. Or so he thought. He felt a tap on his shoulder, it was his neighbour. A word of consolation perhaps? Not quite.
He asked my mate if he'd like a pair of trousers. Only then did he realise he was standing in a crowd of 35 people watching his parents house burn down with nowt but a small, cropped style t-shirt on, barely covering his belly button, his singed scrotal sack swaying slowly in the breeze.
(Mon 7th Nov 2005, 14:24, More)

» I was drunk when I bought this

Thai me down
I once had the severe displeasure of visiting a "Full Moon" party on some crusty riddled beach in Thailand. As the sensual 150 bpm Goa Trance attacked my brain like a bag of rusty nails, I drank several buckets of "Joy", a foul mix of industrial strength red bull, coke and rum (which apparently contains a kilo of speed, or something). After the third bucket of poison slipped down my gullet I had a brainwave! I would buy a guitar and serenade the fire juggling scum with my repetoire of "More than Words" by Extreme and "Everybody Hurts" by REM, both of which I can play behind my head, like Jimi Hendrix. I headed for the town and found a guitar shop nestled between a McDonalds and a brothel. The "joy" was coursing through my veins as I handed over about £70 for a quite decent guitar (this was all the money I had at the time). Running back to beach I was dribbling with excitment, right down to my socks.
I set up a nice spot by a fire and began to tune up. Unfortunately, as my ears had been savagely raped all night by the music, and the fact that I've never tuned a guitar before, I ended up tuning every string so high that they broke, one after the other. With each snapping string another tear rolled down my face. Even the so called "loved up" ravers turned on me, their crazy eyes shooting dilated daggers of scorn into my weeping heart. It all got a bit hazy then. Apparently I ran the length of the beach crying, my broken guitar dragging in the sand behind me. I woke up the next day on the steps of our hut, thankfully without the cursed guitar.
It could of been worse. My mate ended up with a prossie who stole his wallet the next morning. She did leave him genital warts though.

Sorry about the length, but the width's not bad.
(Thu 9th Jun 2005, 15:49, More)

» My Wanking Disasters

semi-concious wank
Whilst on holidays in Spain a combination of cheap cava and sunstroke left me paralytic on the floor of our apartment one night.

Coming to in the early hours, I discovered I was naked and, more disturbingly, was looking after matters in hand.
Now I don't wake up self-flagellating all that often, so I decided to let nature take its course and proceeded to knock one out.

As I was approaching the vinegar strokes I heard a noise in the apartment, a sloth-like shuffle that could only belong to a surly spanish chambermaid.
I was beyond the point of return, so I quickend pace and released an arc of baby gravy over the cold terracota tiles.
The cleaning lady came into the room and found me, sweating and naked on the floor, thankfully with a fairly impressive semi.

She failed to notice the pool of steaming man muck on the floor beside me.

I fell asleep again and awoke mid-afternoon with a stinking hangover, unsure whether the previous nights events had actually happened. My suspicions were confirmed when I was greeted by several maids in the hotel lobby, cackling like witches at the sight of me. My cleaning lady in the centre, leading the pack.

Through their howls of derision though, I could detect and underlying desire within each of them to shag me.
(Wed 2nd Jun 2004, 13:01, More)