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.
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.
Comments:
<< Home
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?
What about the hideous Red Hot Chili Peppers poster I put up to annoy Dawn? Any sign of that?
Elaboration:
There was a jolt of recognition, followed by a strange ambivalence...
I haven't seen you in a while. Are we still friends?
Post a Comment
There was a jolt of recognition, followed by a strange ambivalence...
I haven't seen you in a while. Are we still friends?
<< Home