» The Soundtrack of your Life

Courtney Love Juice
Only my second post.... So please be nice...

Well, as a 17 year old metaller oik I had been out on the lash with a mate, his girlfriend and her not too attractive friend. After the pub shut we retired to their house and continued boozing, by which point we were all in the realms of Oliver Reed like drunkenness. After a while her behemoth like friend suggested I go back to hers for some sexy time. With my beer goggles bearing the strength of rum fuelled Hubble Telescopes I keenly agreed and couldnt wait to discover the joys of not being a virgin anymore.

We got to her place via a dingy rubbish strewn stairwell and proceeded to kiss and went straight to the bedroom and got naked. However, the soundtrack to our drunken fumbling was Hole's Kurt plagiarising album Live Through This. On repeat. Whether I would live through it or even want to was firly on my mind at the time as we got down to it. 'I'm renowned for my blowjobs' said the jellified shape before me. 'Oh good' Thought I. I guess she was renowned becuase the whole experience was very similar (I'd imagine) to having my nethers gobbled by a toothless labrador. All while the harpy Courtney Love warbled tunelessly in the background. Needless to say I did what I had to do and promptly passed out to wake the following morning to the same album on repeat.

This was fourteen years ago and I've never been able to listen to Hole until last week when I Spotify'd it and reminisced to a time in my life where I was sexually abused by an albino orungutang.

The follwing week, talk of my deeds were the topic of conversation and it transpired that out of the 12 guys around the table 11 had all experienced the very same thing. The one remaining guy sat smug in his difference until the following week when he joined the ranks of our flump shagging Apostles.
(Thu 28th Jan 2010, 14:24, More)

» Darwin Awards

'Gangsters', Morrison Hotel and The Most Pointless Extortion ever.
Ok, first post, long time lurker, please dont be cruel....

Right, 10 years ago I was a naive 20 year old blissfully unawares of the dangers of the outside world when myself and 2 equally daft mates went to Goa for a 6 month cultural experience (i.e to get utterly wrecked, tanned, and laid). Several months passed in a cheerful psychedelic haze until Christmas Eve came - Intending to celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus, myself and one accomplice went to the beach and got suitably inebriated, so much so I had to carry him back to our rented bungalow and hope he'd survive the night.

Upon departing the house to continue the festivities the kindly Indian gentlemen that had rented the adjacent bungalow thought I'd be nice to wish me a happy Xmas. 'Thats nice of them' thought I so I returned the good wishes. It was then that several of them decided to bundle me into their house and state that they wanted me to deliver a parcel of very fake looking gems from Delhi to Geneva. Obviously a scam, I thought why not just rob me of all my money? But no, this charade continued and it was eventually decided that I would get a bus to Bombay the following morning, then a train to Delhi and fly onwards to Geneva where I would pick up the package and give it to one of their mates up there. All for the pricely sum of $10,000.00. Ridiculous thought I, but I'll see what happens - what choice do I have?!

The next 9 hours elapsed and consisted of me sitting in a room with 6 burly gentlemen feeling rather threatened and disappointed that I was being fucked over in such a ridiculous fashion.

Their methods of trying to instil further fear into me consisted of making me smoke huge amounts of particularly good weed, teaching them card games (be very careful of Indian 'jewel thieves with an expert knowledge of Shithead') and listening to their one tape on repeat (Morrison Hotel by the Doors) incidentally my fave album at the time and still a regular spinner in the stereo.

After these horrendous torture tactics didnt work I was threatened with having drugs planted in my house and then spending the following decade in an Indian prison, carrying out the task like a good little tourist, or being shot by the antique pistol now pressed against my forehead. The choice was now sadly obvious....

Morning came so off we went to the money changer to give them '$300.00 which would cover my travel fees' before I arrived in Geneva and was rewarded with the $10k (sure....) - and then onwards to the bus station with a pocketful of phone numbers for nonexistant cohorts. Having had no sleep, hungover and more stoned than Keith Richards I was chucked on the bus to Bombay with a less than festive cheer for the worst Xmas day ever. If I got off the bus before Bombay and returned my blissfully unconcious friend would be hacked with machetes til he was dead. Brilliant.

To cut a terribly long story short, I got to Bombay after about 15 hours on a 'bus' that eclipsed the previous horrors and eventually arrived in Bombay. I called the contact numbers they gave me which obviously led to nothing, so I spent the remainder of the day trying to find a much needed beer in Bombay in the middle of Ramadan before getting the next bus back to Bombay to face the consequences or to scoop my macheted chum off of the floor.

Having arrived back in Goa, I prepared myself for any fallout at the market with a rather awesome machete, sturdy padlock, and a bit of petrol. The idea was to padlock them in, burn down their house and hack their burning bodies as they lept out of the windows. After all it was them or me right?

So, I arrived back to the house, they had left soon after me no doubt, gleefully celebrating their ingenious extortion of $300.00 with a totally pointless plan when all they couldve done was point the gun and say 'Give us $300.00'. Arseholes.

So, I went back to our house, skinned up and had to explain to my now more lucid friend why I had missed Xmas day, and why I was looking rather pissed off, tired and no longer wanted to listen to Morrison Hotel.

I'll never know whether this was an actual threat to my life or not, but its not pretty having a gun pointed at you when your toasted off your nuts on Xmas day thousands of miles from home confronted by so many sneering moustachiod and badly tailored 'gangsters'.

Happy days!

Length - like the Bollywood film constantly repeated on the bus journey to hell and back.

Maybe not Darwinesque - but defintely a very stupid way to almost have ones life snuffed out.
(Sun 15th Feb 2009, 9:28, More)