Monday, February 27, 2006


Dan plays his trump card

Went to a party in #702 last night. It's amazing how little it's changed; when I saw the kettle it was like seeing an old friend.

Alcohol was consumed and insipid gossip circulated. I knocked down a few beers and entertained myself by mortifying workmates and similar vermin.

Eventually, one of the hostesses decided that it was time to bring out the twister board. I won one game by default when a Northern rose collapsed rather heavily on top of the other two competitors.

Under the "winner stays on rule" I found myself pitched into a three-way deathmatch with two fairly spry guys. The fatigue of football and painful contortions was beginning to get to me and I decided it was time to take the gloves off and fight dirty. I waited until there was a suitable lull in the cat-calling and commentary from the assembled party-goers, then I let rip with a high-calibre fart.

It was magnificent: it came out as dry as a bone, with a noise like a young boy running a stick along a wooden fence at high speed. There were screams of horror from all present, while I accused the guy who was wobbling precariously next to me.

Best of all, it fucking well stank.

Amazingly, I managed not to get myself tarred and feathered, although I'll be pretty surprised if I'm invited back.

Seeing the kettle was like seeing an old friend? Please elaborate.

What about the hideous Red Hot Chili Peppers poster I put up to annoy Dawn? Any sign of that?

There was a jolt of recognition, followed by a strange ambivalence...

I haven't seen you in a while. Are we still friends?
I haven't seen you for years and yup, we're not friends.

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