June 25, 2019, 11:42:11 AM

------------------------------------------

If you have Login Problems Use the Login in Top Menu Bar


------------------------------------------
If you have a problem registering here, Leave a msg at our FB Page >> Here.

Plz Don't use Hotmail to Register. You might not receive Activation mail. Use Other free mail provider like Gmail or Yahoo.






Author Topic: A Collection Of Stories Told Under The Influence Of Alcohol by MSL  (Read 558 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline MisterSherbetLemon

  • The MangaRaiders Political Correctness Enforcer...Ha!
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 682
  • Gender: Male
    • View Profile
Warning: These Stories Contain Strong Language and Bad Grammar, The Majority Of Which is Intentional!

Synopsis:

So this is going to be a collection of very dumb yet hopefully amusing stories. They are not actually (all) going to be written while under the influence of alcohol but I find that they are the kind of stories that can't be read aloud in the same way without a drunk voice.

They are very nonsensical and some of them are actually true. There is no canon to them, no link between them and in most cases, no underlying theme. I aim for them to be no longer than 1200 words but we'll see how far they ramble on.

I hope you enjoy!

Idiot.
So I went to a festival last summer , not last summer but a few summers back. Well, I say a few summers it was the year two thousand and nine so I guess that’s more than a few isn’t it? ANYWAY, they moved the main stage down to the bottom of a hill for some reason and there were lots of rocks kicking around – as rocks tend to do around the bottom of a hill, you know?
So I’m dancing around and having a laugh and singing songs that I don’t even f***in’ know when some guy falls into me and sends me flying to the ground.
I smash my knee off a rock, screaming “f***in’ bastard!” but not at the guy, these things happen at festivals, don’t they? I’m not even sure if I’m shouting at the rock, sometimes it’s just nice tae swear I think.
But then I look at my jeans and there’s this big bastardin’ rip in it about the size of my hand and I decide “No! You are a f***in’ bastard ya bastardin’ rock!”
But then I think “Right. Medical tent, now son.” And I hobble off to get myself stitched up.

ANYWAY, fire forward a couple weeks and I’m back home, bed bound. The f***in’ thing got infected after they stitched it so they had to cut it open all over again. Was quite funny actually once I got past the “everything hurts like f**k” part ‘cause they gave me a gas that dulls the pain but works like the opposite of helium. I went there screamin’ about my knee like Freddy Mercury and spent the operation talkin’ like f***in’ Barry White.
Pissed off the doctors a fair bit going on about it too ‘cause I kept taking the mask off to talk s**t like “Luke, I am your father” and all that.
But aye, few weeks on I’m back home, stuck in my bed playing Guitar Hero 2 – THAT’S how long ago it was! – and a couple of my pals have come to visit me, right?
I’m bored out my tits ‘cause I can’t go out and I’ve played ‘Free Bird’ about thirty times and I swear tae f**k the ghost of Johnny Van Zant – Lead singer of Lynyrd Skynyrd in case you didn’t know, knowledge is power and all that – is screamin’ for mercy when I sing along.
That’s when my pal Gary finds something in my bedroom cupboard that’s stacked up with all this old s**t from when I was wee.
A Furby.
Now if you don’t know what a Furby is, it’s a really old toy that’s furry with big creepy eyes and it talks. Except nothing it says makes sense you know?
In fact, just f***in’ Google it! This isn’t a tough story to follow, you can do a bit of homework for f**k sake!
So my pal asks me; “What are you doing with this thing?”
I stop my Free Bird yodelling and look at it. I’ve not seen it for years and I’m telling you, they’re even creepier when you’re an adult. The kind of thing you don’t want to find starin’ at you when you wake up in the mornin’ right?
So I tell him “I don’t know!”
He asks “Does it still work?”
I’ve not a clue so I tell him “Not a clue.”
That’s when I get a wee stroke of genius, at least I thought it was at the time.
“You want to burn it?” I ask him.
Him and my other pal Stacy, they just laugh ‘cause they don’t know if I’m serious. Then they see I am.
And they say “Aye, okay.”

Now we’ve all surely burnt something pointless at some point and you can’t get more pointless than a f***in’ Furby so I’m wanting to do a good job. I get out of my wee bed nest and go to the kitchen and start rifling through the cupboards until I find a cooking pot.
I stick the Furby in the pot and take it to the bathroom. I stick the pot in the bathtub under the showerhead just in case there’s a problem – not that there’s gonna be a problem but better safe than sorry, you know? - and I pass Gary a can of deodorant.
“Right, spray this on the bottom half of the Furby so it’s all in the pot” I tell him. “When I shout ‘Stop’ you stop and get out of the bathroom, alright?”
“Alright, no bother.” He says and starts spraying.
Me and Stacy go to the kitchen and spark some newspaper on the gas cooker. Once it’s caught fire I shout to my pal. “Right! Stop now!” and start walking to the bathroom.
When I see him he’s still spraying, he didn’t hear me.
I start shouting “Out! Get out now!” and he moves but he’s still spraying the f***in’ can!
Even though I see that, for some reason I keep walkin’.
And the whole bathroom lights up for a second in what’s called a ‘Flash Explosion.’
With me standing holding this burning newspaper at the edge of it.

To sum it up, I lost my eyebrows and about 2 inches of hair that day. My face and hands got burnt but they weren’t too bad.
I still had to get them fixed up at the hospital a couple of times though. Had blisters that stretched all the way up my fingers.
I didn’t want to admit I was that daft so I tried blaming Gary for a bit but I couldn’t.
I tried blaming the Furby, f***in’ evil wee creature that it was.
For a bit I even thought it was that Johnny Van Zant gettin’ his own back for my singing, f***in’ arsehole that he is.
But I knew it was mine.
I didn’t have to tell anyone that though.
So when I was paying a visit to the hospital I got a taxi down and the driver asks me...
“What happened there then?”
So I tell him,
“Aw, my pal decided it was a good idea to burn a Furby and set off a flash explosion with me in it.”
Driver goes quiet for a second. Then he finally says;
“That sounds like a f***in’ stupid idea.”
I lean back on the chair and nod into the rearview mirror back at him.
“Aye I know, f***in’ idiot...”
« Last Edit: January 16, 2016, 01:18:43 PM by MisterSherbetLemon »