New Year’s Resolutions January 8, 2006Posted by Dan in Uncategorized.
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So as we head further into 2006, are you managing to keep your resolutions? It’s easy to say things on the spur of the moment. Yeah, I know, I tried it before as well. “I promise not to drink.” “I promise not to swear.” “I promise not to have sex with loose women.” The thing is, most people make their resolutions on New Year’s Eve, when people like me are leglessly drunk and have passed out in a pool of their own spit and vomit (I haven’t done that yet by the way). Whe nthe next morning comes, they don’t remember them.
I don’t bother making resolutions anymore. Why would I want to change a personality that is, by my own standards, completely perfect? Why would I want to stop drinking? I love drinking (not to be rebellious like a lot of teenagers, just because I enjoy it). Why would I want to stop swearing when the swear words are a part of who I am?
If anything, I resolve to drink more (to within a milimetre of death if I can wangle it), swear more (because let’s face it, swears are funny shit) and have more sex with loose women (like your mum. Boom. Sorry, had to get that one in).
Dumb Cashiers January 6, 2006Posted by Dan in Uncategorized.
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Cashiers in stores annoy me no end. Take earlier for instance. I was in an “Everything For Â£1” shop because I saw they had boxes of 50 pens (people have a habit of stealing mine). So I went in, bought three boxes and went to the checkout.
The dim-witted guy with spots behind the till put each box through individually (as opposed to putting one through then multiplying by three) and took his own sweet time doing it. I was just pondering whether to slap him when he said “that’ll be four pounds please”.
I nearly asked him to repeat it. I’m in a store where everything is a pound. I have three items. He’s saying it comes to four pounds. Anybody else see the problem here? There was a five year old kid behind me in the line, I nearly turned round and asked him. “Hey kid, what’s one pound multiplied by three?”.
The cashier noticed his mistake after I stared at him for a few moments. “Oh, sorry, that’s three pounds”. The guy didn’t look phased at all. Dear Lord, at least look a little embarassed when you realise you’re a dim-witted moron who can’t do basic mathematical calculations. I paid, and left, wondering if that whole thing had really happened or not.
I’m considering complaining to their head office. There’s clearly something wrong with their selection process if people so brazenly stupid are employed as staff. The only way I could see that guy getting a job was if the other applicants happened to be garden gnomes and kitchen utensils. Thinking about it, it seems likely.
What is wrong with the world today?
New Year’s Eve – The Complete Story January 2, 2006Posted by Dan in Uncategorized.
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Well now I’ve had a day and a half to recover from the events of New Years Eve, I think I can piece together what happened. Thanks to videos of me in various states of drunkeness on my friend’s phones, and the microphone I was wearing the whole night I have a pretty good idea of what happened.
My friend Matt turned up at my house at 7pm. We had a glass of wine with the family (he’s a family friend, he could almost be my brother if he didn’t come from another family), which seemed to hit Matt pretty hard. I’d already had another beforehand and thought it was pretty crappy wine. It did nothing for me.
But I digress. We left my house at 7.20 in high spirits but not “shithoused drunk”. We called for Gemma and Trish and set off for the first party (a mere street away from where I live).
What you must remember is that where I live, New Years Eve parties are all over the place. You can generally go out and find four or five parties in close proximity. So we set up a little “party crawl”, ending back at my house (because it was closest to the last party). The plan was everybody was going to crash out at my place because after the mandatory glass of wine, my folks were going out of town for a party and staying the night in a hotel.
So we got to the first party and the booze was flowing freely (sounds poetic. What I really mean was somebody had kicked over the beer barrel). My friends and I quickly grabbed a drink each and wandered around looking for people we knew. After twenty minutes of wandering, we noted that we didn’t know anybody and had quite possibly ended up at the wrong party. We quickly left, but not without taking a couple of beers each.
On the way to the second party, we ran into a fat girl and her boyfriend who we didn’t know. When writing one’s journal, one must be totally honest. This girl was fat with a capital J. And her boyfriend was fugly. And I’ll also be honest and say that it was not me who started the argument. She called us “lousy stumbling drunks” and I retorted by comparing her to Godzilla and Chewbacca.
Another thing you must remember is that when I get drunk, my friends know how to push my buttons. They take great delight in me when I’m drunk (and from listening to the clips saved on the microphone, I have to say I am pretty damn funny when I’m hammered). They saw the chance for fun with Dan vs. Fat Girl, so they spurred the argument on. Her boyfriend (who was paralyeticly drunk and couldn’t even stand up alone) threatened to kick my arse, to which I responded he couldn’t kick his girlfriend’s arse in his state, and that was fucking saying something. My friends seemed to think I had won, so we continued to the second party.
At the second party I thought we had again gone to the wrong house. There must have been some mistake. We had walked into a children’s tea party, but the children were all teenagers our own age. There was no booze. There was no hot, hot sex going on in the living room. There was J20 and everyone had their clothes on. Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against people that don’t drink (people that tell me I’m wrong for drinking I do have something for. That thing is called my middle finger), but you at least have to have a glass of wine or something on New Years Eve. We knew a few people at this party, so we sat and chatted for a while and sipped J20 (which tastes like juice brewed in the fiery depths of Satan’s arse crack). At 11.30pm we decided it was time to be leaving, so we waved goodbye, took another J20 for the road and took our leave.
Now Gemma’s J20 really did end up on the road. She took one swig, looked at me and said (and I have this on the microphone, the funniest part of the night) “Dan, I love you, but I’m going to be sick”. On the microphone, this was followed by horrendous sounds of retching. I am glad that I managed to get my feet out of the way. As intoxicated as I was, I still remember the stench. Imagine beer, a watermelon spirit thing, J20 and breath mints all rolled into one. When I say the smell was overpowering, I’m being a fucking gentleman and not saying it smelled like a gorilla had taken a dump in the street.
We decided to take Gemma back to my place, where she curled up in my bed, went to sleep and didn’t wake again until 9 the next morning. I’m happy she didn’t throw up again (or if she did, she hid it well).
We arrived at the third party to find a police squad car parked outside. Needless to say, we gave that one a miss.
The fourth party was at a friend of Trish’s house. Matt and I had never met this girl before, but she was cool. We walked through the door, she pointed out the table with drinks on (and I swear she also said “my bedroom’s upstairs. Use my bed if you want”), but Matt said she didn’t. So we grabbed a drink each (we needed to get that bloody J20 out of our system), we sat and spoke to Trish’s friend (her name was Laura I think, if it wasn’t my microphone caught me talking and making rude comments to someone named Laura). It was at that moment I reliased: I needed to pee.
At this point in the night, I had had quite a few drinks. Laura hadn’t pointed out where the toilet was, and by this time I was incapable of speech without slurring it horribly. So I did what anybody who has ever been faced with that predicament did. I made my own toilet and went in a plant pot.
Now that’s all very well and good, but I may not have mentioned the plant pot belonged to Laura’s mother. The plant pot had a plant in it. The plant happened to be Laura’s mother’s favourite plant. Thankfully her parents were also out, and when I went back and was asked where I’d been, the gang found my story hilarious and I was a legend for the remainder of the evening.
At 2am, we went home. Gemma was in my bed, and as lovely as she is I have a girlfriend so I didn’t get into my bed. I crashed out on the floor with Trish next to me. Matt apparently spent the night in my bathtub (that’s where we found him next morning anyway).
I suppose you’re expecting me to tell you the moral of this story is not to drink. Hell no, go out and drink. Just remember to take a microphone and some sort of video-ing equipment so you don’t miss anything.
Christmas Greetings and… Stuff December 24, 2005Posted by Dan in Uncategorized.
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Well I’ll be away for a few days (oh yea, doing the whole “family” thing. I hate Christmas. If Jesus wasn’t already dead I’d kick the shit out of him for inventing it). No doubt this Christmas will be a cavalcade of merry making and family harmony (or as close to that as my family can achieve – getting legless and sitting around together watching the TV) , just like the last.
Anyway, happy holidays (notice the way I said holidays instead of Christmas so I didn’t offend all you non-Christmas believers. Be thankful, I’m not usually this politically correct. It’s seasonal). If I’m not back blogging about my adventures when New Years Eve rolls around, call the police, my family have got me.