The festive season is a time for intoxication and tradition. As ever, at the new year turn of midnight I was drunkenly singing Ace of Spades, and I note now that new traditions are emerging.
Last new year the most memorable thing was one of my mates fucking an orange. My friend Ben was absent from that particular highlight as he'd hired a car to do an illegal urban minicab service and make some cash. He lost about 20 quid on it.
This new year the two factors - one man's sexual debauchery and Ben's foolish losing of money - combined.
The orange-fucker wondered if it'd do any real harm to put a party popper up your arse and set it off. Ben, fresh in from a night's work at a restaurant, foolishly bet me 50 quid - more than his night's wage - that Captain Orange wouldn't do it.
A deal was brokered (20 quid to me, 30 quid to the man himself), and an audience of a dozen stood in the gents in rapt amazement and admiration as the pooper-popper was set off.
What delights these traditions may bring us next new year, only the most squalid of minds could dare to imagine. Suggestions please.
4 comments:
excellent stuff, m.
sadly my new years eve wasn't as debauched (well, actually it might have been for other people, but i was asleep at that point), but definitely fun.
have a fucking fantastic 2006 x x x
You could write a big banner to Santa, and stick it up your chimney saying "Why don't you just fuck off"
So what happened to the arse?
Did it enjoy the new year bang?
Did the arse owner's face reflect the true joy that is the welcoming in of a new year?
Astonishingly, the owner of the arse declared himself disapointed with the explosion. Me, I'd have thought it would be alarming. And that's before you begin thinking about the possible ignition of methane burning all the way up your guts.
But no, despite the audible pop he barely felt a thing.
Next time, a proper bottle rocket.
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