Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
Phew, what a weekend.
After a marvellous days drinking in Amsterdam on Saturday during my stag, I decided to partake in some Space Cake from one of the "coffee shops" over there. So after scoffing down a fairly generous slice of dubious looking stodge, me and my 13 colleagues continued on our merry way around the bars of the Dam, and taking in the wondrous sights in those windows. Not a munter in sight I swear, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the beer goggles either. I was fairly merry, but in control, or so I thought. Until about 2 hours later, one of my mates started giggling uncontrollably at the bar and swaying on his stool, so I accompanied him outside for some air. Then it hit me - everything seemed absolutely feckin' hilarious. Some bloke walked past wearing a blue hat, and we were in tears of laughter at this, literally doubled-over. Another caked-up mate said that my eyes had gone "all chinese", and had to cling on to a rail to stop himself collapsing in fits of laughter on the street. My head was swimming, and my stomach was hurting at laughing so much at basically bugger all. I've been pissed on one or two occasions (ahem), but this was unlike anything else...whatever was in that cake (marijuanah ?), it knocked me sideways and left my mind in a confusing fog for the rest of the night. My legs felt like they were made of clay, it was like wading through treacle. Really odd. (I'm a complete amateur when it comes to drugs, believe it or not).
Anyway, at this point we all decided to go and see a sex show in the Red Light district. I shambled along with the crowd, and as we were queuing outside this seedy club, I became absolutely convinced that I was wearing one of those paper hats from a christmas cracker. I could "feel" it on my head, and kept trying to take it off, but much to my confusion, nothing was there. The feeling persisted though, and I had to ask several colleagues if I was wearing this hat, but all I got back was blank looks. Arrived in the club and took our seats while an old-ish bloke porked a fairly average bird on a small stage with a pleasantly rural backdrop. Having arrived late I'd obviously missed the intricacies of the plot, but I wasn't too disappointed when the curtains closed on them, as they seemed to be going through the motions somewhat. The next act was interesting though. A nubile young lady paraded around the stage in an increasing state of undress, until all she had left on were her stockings and suspenders. She then produced a large cigar from her stocking, laid on her back, inserted it into her vagina, and smoked it. I had absolutely NO idea a woman could suck air through her clam, but careful examination revealed that she was indeed "drawing air" through her nether regions, as you could see the end of the cigar glowing as she sucked. She then removed the cigar and blew SMOKE RINGS out of her hairy axe-wound. Needless to say, this brought the house down. With a final flourish, she tossed the cigar into the crowd. One of my mates caught it and took a couple of puffs. Not sure I'd have done that.
Anyway, things began deterioriating for me at this point. My paper hat seemed to have returned with avengence, christ knows what I must have looked like as I repeatedly brushed my head irritably trying to remove it. In the heat and smoke of the club I suddenly came over very nauseus, left the premises in a hurry, found a back alley and said hello again to my sweet and sour pork with egg fried rice as it spilled gracefully down some steps towards a drain. Nice. I then spent the next I-don't-know-how-long wandering the streets and canals of the Red Light district in a bewildering search for the hotel. Finally found it more through luck than judgement, and can remember a confusing conversation with two blokes standing outside the hotel entrance. They could barely speak english. For some reason I thought they were security, and asked for the key to room 4, or 5, I wasn't sure. To my dismay they declined and said I'd have to take it up with their mate who was in the toilet. I couldn't see a toilet, or their mate, so asked again for my key "cos all my stuffs up there and everything". They ignored me and walked off. Then I realised they wern't even standing outside my hotel, they were just hanging around in front of a door NEXT to the hotel. So I trudged up the steps, repeated my question in Reception, got back to my room, and crashed out. Woke up the next morning to the sound of my mate being sick everywhere.
Bloody BRILLIANT weekend
(although in hindsight, the space cake was not such a good idea)
After a marvellous days drinking in Amsterdam on Saturday during my stag, I decided to partake in some Space Cake from one of the "coffee shops" over there. So after scoffing down a fairly generous slice of dubious looking stodge, me and my 13 colleagues continued on our merry way around the bars of the Dam, and taking in the wondrous sights in those windows. Not a munter in sight I swear, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the beer goggles either. I was fairly merry, but in control, or so I thought. Until about 2 hours later, one of my mates started giggling uncontrollably at the bar and swaying on his stool, so I accompanied him outside for some air. Then it hit me - everything seemed absolutely feckin' hilarious. Some bloke walked past wearing a blue hat, and we were in tears of laughter at this, literally doubled-over. Another caked-up mate said that my eyes had gone "all chinese", and had to cling on to a rail to stop himself collapsing in fits of laughter on the street. My head was swimming, and my stomach was hurting at laughing so much at basically bugger all. I've been pissed on one or two occasions (ahem), but this was unlike anything else...whatever was in that cake (marijuanah ?), it knocked me sideways and left my mind in a confusing fog for the rest of the night. My legs felt like they were made of clay, it was like wading through treacle. Really odd. (I'm a complete amateur when it comes to drugs, believe it or not).
Anyway, at this point we all decided to go and see a sex show in the Red Light district. I shambled along with the crowd, and as we were queuing outside this seedy club, I became absolutely convinced that I was wearing one of those paper hats from a christmas cracker. I could "feel" it on my head, and kept trying to take it off, but much to my confusion, nothing was there. The feeling persisted though, and I had to ask several colleagues if I was wearing this hat, but all I got back was blank looks. Arrived in the club and took our seats while an old-ish bloke porked a fairly average bird on a small stage with a pleasantly rural backdrop. Having arrived late I'd obviously missed the intricacies of the plot, but I wasn't too disappointed when the curtains closed on them, as they seemed to be going through the motions somewhat. The next act was interesting though. A nubile young lady paraded around the stage in an increasing state of undress, until all she had left on were her stockings and suspenders. She then produced a large cigar from her stocking, laid on her back, inserted it into her vagina, and smoked it. I had absolutely NO idea a woman could suck air through her clam, but careful examination revealed that she was indeed "drawing air" through her nether regions, as you could see the end of the cigar glowing as she sucked. She then removed the cigar and blew SMOKE RINGS out of her hairy axe-wound. Needless to say, this brought the house down. With a final flourish, she tossed the cigar into the crowd. One of my mates caught it and took a couple of puffs. Not sure I'd have done that.
Anyway, things began deterioriating for me at this point. My paper hat seemed to have returned with avengence, christ knows what I must have looked like as I repeatedly brushed my head irritably trying to remove it. In the heat and smoke of the club I suddenly came over very nauseus, left the premises in a hurry, found a back alley and said hello again to my sweet and sour pork with egg fried rice as it spilled gracefully down some steps towards a drain. Nice. I then spent the next I-don't-know-how-long wandering the streets and canals of the Red Light district in a bewildering search for the hotel. Finally found it more through luck than judgement, and can remember a confusing conversation with two blokes standing outside the hotel entrance. They could barely speak english. For some reason I thought they were security, and asked for the key to room 4, or 5, I wasn't sure. To my dismay they declined and said I'd have to take it up with their mate who was in the toilet. I couldn't see a toilet, or their mate, so asked again for my key "cos all my stuffs up there and everything". They ignored me and walked off. Then I realised they wern't even standing outside my hotel, they were just hanging around in front of a door NEXT to the hotel. So I trudged up the steps, repeated my question in Reception, got back to my room, and crashed out. Woke up the next morning to the sound of my mate being sick everywhere.
Bloody BRILLIANT weekend
(although in hindsight, the space cake was not such a good idea)
