Sleeping Beauty

This is a recent story involving a fellow inmate of mine, who had recently found himself a new girlfriend, or at least, what could have been.
It was a humid September evening, and the gentlemen in question was sat at his rented shanty town abode, watching England's dismal performance against South Africa in the rugby world cup. He had the remote in one hand, and Readers Wives in the other. His flat was convoluted with mirrors, as the man in question is the self proclaimed 'Handsome One'. A true gift to the world from the lord above. Self praise is no praise. I have not heard anyone else call him this, but for the story, he is, 'The Handsome One'.
Just as he was turning to the last few ads in the magazine he was 'reading', his phone bleeped like R2D2, and he received a text from his latest squeeze. Did I mention that he had over achieved massively? Anyway. She had been out with friends and they had gone home, but she was not far from her new fixture, so she thought they could meet up. She was only four stops away on the underground after all. 'The Handsome One' was up like a shot, looking in mirrors like Narcissus, and preparing himself for the meeting. Perhaps feeling a bit shy, he thought he needed some assistance, so he called on a fine bottle of corner shop rocket fuel, which doubled as red wine. Grabbing his trusty tankard, which he won for swimming a metre at primary school, he proceeded to guzzle the entire bottle at awesome pace, and was feeling the effects shortly after leaving the flat.
With a bounce in his stride 'The Handsome One' was looking forward to the evening ahead. "I might get lucky" he thought. If not, at least England got stuffed. 'The Handsome One' is not from these shores by the way, which is his excuse for what happened from here on.
At the station he reviewed the rolling boards through blurry wine vision, and made an executive decision on his planned route to meet 'the squeeze'. The day had gone so well so far, and it could surely only get better. He boarded the train, sat next to the window, got very comfortable, and went on his merry way....................... About two hours later he woke from a deep slumber to find himself in a decent mess. He had not only fallen asleep on the train, (he has a history of public transport narcolepsy), but he was informed by the guard, who saw he required assistance, that he had in fact originally caught completely the wrong train anyway, and was never on target to meet 'the squeeze'. As the guard chuckled to himself, 'The Handsome One' reached into his pocket to find he had 6 missed calls and 2 messages. The last has since gone undisclosed, but I believe this was the clincher in sealing the demise of the relationship. He left the station, found he was miles away, and the area looked like a scene from Fight Club, with gangland boundaries, he decided to seek refuge in the tube station, sleep some more, and worry about everything the next morning. I think this story has two morals. 1. Don't down a bottle of wine. 2. Ask at the station if you are not quite sure which train to catch.

Superhuman Fencing

At the turn of the century, two friends of mine set out in their local town for a fix of millenium blues. They headed out after tea, and were ordering their third pint by 5pm. Yes, they took an early tea, like a poor cricket team who have been bowled out early. By 9pm they were dancing on tables, struggling to hammer a sentence together and oozing vodka sweat. Somehow, they were let into the local nightclub by 10pm, but if you knew the club, this would not suprise you. It's one where you have to wipe your feet on the way out.

By the time they were formally ejected from this premises at about 1am, they had managed to collect two friends, who in fact did know these two people quite well, which is fortunate, as one has managed to pass on this story.

Now allow me to explain the build of these two 'heroes'. One, who I will call 'Doogie' is in his 20's and a fairly standard build. The other, whom I will call 'Guns' is not standard. He could give Arnold Schwarzenegger a bench off, and have a good shout. He is calm of nature, but could lift you off the ground, whilst you were sat in your living room, including the living room. He is a unit, enough said. Anyway........Doogie and Guns were amazingly drunk on their journey home. They lost one of their collected friends before long, but the other remained loyal to his two mates, who constantly told him they loved him, and that he was the best bloke ever etc etc.

On the route home, they passed a school. Ideal place for them to stop and have a slash, they thought. Doogie went into a bush, but Guns went out of sight round by the science block, worringly for the third party friend. After a couple of minutes, the friend went to check up on Guns and found him pulling his trousers up, after he had just layed an almighty cable on the school turf, and used leaves as finishing paper. Amazed and disgusted, the friend brought Guns back to the front of the school, where Doogie was swaying in front of two police officers. They informed the now hideously drunk pair that urinating on the school grounds was illegal. Just as Guns was butting in to say that he had in fact manufactured a large brown cookie, the friend sweet talked the police, and they got away unscathed.

Now for the crux. After the police had gone, Guns thought it would be a brilliant idea to steal something from somebody's garden. Now this would normally entail something lightweight, like a 'for sale' sign, or a pot of some sort. "Not today", thought Guns. Today he could move something impossible. Feeling like a superhero, he proceeded to rip out somebody's entire front fencing. Now, this was not like boards of timber, oh no, this was five concrete posts connected by hefty metal chain links. Anyway, Guns got to work, ripped it all up, wrapped himself in it, and carried / dragged it home, amazingly not getting pulled up by anybody between there and Doogie's home, where he was staying. The third party friend left them, and Guns dumped his new found gift on the front drive.

In the morning, Doogie's mum came in with two scolding cups of tea. Doogie in his bed, and Guns in a coma on the floor. She woke up Doogie and said, "Can you please move whatever you have left on the drive, as I need to get the car out?" "What is she talking about?", thought Doogie. She led him to the window and showed him their new fencing, posts and chain, all in tact, piled up. Doogie racked his brain, which did not take long, and he had absolutely no idea what it was, or how it got there. He came up with a dreadful excuse, like a football agent on a bung trial. He said, "Oh, that's um.....um.....part of Guns' fancy dress costume". His mother did not contest this fact, nor did she implode with rage, but merely asked again if it could be moved, so she could go out. Doogie held a scolding cup of tea against Guns for a good 20 seconds before he flinched. Doogie explained to Guns about the fence, and he had no memory of the whole thing either, except he wondered why his back felt like it was in a vice. They went down to move the fencing, but could not shift it an inch. Their superhuman powers of 30 alcoholic drinks had departed them. They had to get no less than 4 mates to help them shift the fence off the driveway, due to its immense weight. The third party friend was one they called. When Doogie phoned him he said, "I know I haven't seen you for ages, but"....etc etc. The friend then explained how he had walked them home, the school and police business, everything. It took six bodies to transport the fence back to its owner at 3 am the following night. It was not hard to see where it had come from, and there was a soil trail on the pavement between there and Doogie's house.

Crocodile Dundee

After spending a year downunder, a mate of mine had his leaving bash at a nice restaurant, where the food was good, but the drink was better. After some time the 'hardcore drinkers' were ready to move on, and let the family faithful make their way home. The crew moved onto a late night bar called Joes Garage. The interior looked about as good as a garage, with bits missing, but they had beer on tap and a dance floor, complete with podiums, which is important for later.
At about 1am the joint was rockin, although not particularly busy. The leaving do crowd were the main attraction, and the 'leaver' had been fed free drinks all night, and was suitably a little bit wrecked. The dance floor was not especially crowded, although the crowd, (especially the male members) had noticed that a girl was up and dancing to DJ Sammy's version of Heaven. This information is pointless, but it exists, deal with it. There was much consultation however about the sexual orientation of the 'girl', and people were in fact questioning that it may actually be a well turned out fella. She appeared to have big hands.
What to do? Well, the guy that was leaving the country the next day knew exactly what to do. He abandoned the group with the words, "Have you lot seen Crocodile Dundee?" He swivelled round towards the podium, the rest of the group still trying to decide the sex of the dancer. He placed himself in front of the 'girl', he smiled, and 'she' smiled back. He then lent delicately forward, placed his beer on the podium and stood in front of her. "What's he doing?"....we all thought. Then he swung his arm back and brought it down, crunching her nether regions in his sweaty beer festing claw, Mick Dundee style. He clung on for a good 2 seconds before being slapped by the 'girl', on his cheek. He turned to the group, looking ever more drunk, and shouted, "It's ok fellas, it's a chick!!"
Absolute raucous laughter broke out as he descended the podium to the most shocked girl in the bar. He came back to the group, but was quickly tapped on the shoulder by the bouncer. Fearing an early exit, he turned to confront the darkly attired gentleman. The bouncer leaned in and said......."I'm glad you cleared that up, we've been wondering for ages", and he went on his merry way. Genius.

The Fake Accent

A few years ago I went into town with an Australian mate, who looked and sounded 100% authentic Aussie. G'day, and all that cackle. Anyway, we hit some bars, had a few drinks and thought it was time we tried our luck with some women. Before we embarked, I decided to put on an Irish accent, as I was feeling just drunk enough to try something both new, and completely random. I was backing my Irish, which by all accounts is passable, although I have only tried it on people the wrong side of alcohol.
We nicked our way into their conversation, two women, two men, it was as if it had been written by Moses. Things were going along fine for some time, they were believing the accent, or at least playing along, and it didn't bother them. Drinks were flowing, everything rosy, until about an hour later, when the aussie went to the toilet. When he was out of sight, the girl he was talking to grabbed me and said, "You are obviously Irish, but why is that bumbling idiot pretending to be Australian??"
I thought this was brilliant, told my mate when he came back and he got annoyed, more with them than with me. The Irish has made many appearances since and only been shot down once, upon approaching a girl from Ireland. It was always gonna happen........

Weight Loss

During the good ole summer of 05, an annonymous colleague excelled himself with a cavalcade of well nurtured abuse aimed at a member of the opposite sex.
Twas a bleak morning at 2am, and the nightclub was kicking out the local pond life onto the esplanade. Our group of lads was minding their own business, which is quite rare, and the air was still. Suddenly, our peace was broken by a herd of clatty beasts, who descended upon our concrete turf, and their leader, who can only be described as 'Mel Smith in a wig', plundered her way forward. My colleague at this point had parked his highway on a wall for some much needed post club rest.
She crept subtely nearer, the concrete writhing in pain beneath her kankles. "Oi", she cried......"You lot know where the nearest chinese is?" We all stood like statues, nobody wanting to converse with this minatour. A voice from the wall behind me slithered out as he stood to confront the unamed species. "My dear, I do believe that a chinese is in fact the last thing that your body requires right now". With this, there was no comeback, no launch of verbals and no help from her mates, who watched like grazing wilderbeast. Instead, she planted a haymaker slap on the side of his face which echoed around the entire esplanade. People within 500 metres were wincing. It was bellyaches all round for the group of lads, which made it worse for the poor girl. The slap hurt, yes, of course.......but the moral of the story is the truth hurts, and that fat people can really hit hard when cornered about their weight.

The Armchair Kebab

After a local beer festival, it was safe to say that a mate of mine was coming off second best courtesy of a brew named 'skull splitter'. Anyway, whilst festering in an armchair, he decided he needed a kebab, but would not leave the chair. Nobody was keen to go for him, so another highly sober person suggested we take him to the kebab shop..........in the armchair. Thus ensued a crew of four pushing him to the local kebab joint. We got the chair in and he ordered, much to the amusement of onlookers. It was a monumental effort by all, and just before we got him back to the front door he dropped his kebab on the pavement beyond repair. Then followed one of those amazing drinking feats. There was simply no way the chair could fit through the doorway. How we got it out the first time was a miracle of modern science.