Fuck it. I'll start a new one.
A couple of years back I was in Liverpool with the missus. Got an unreal deal on flights and hotel for 5 nights. Coincided with the Manic Street Preachers playing there. First night, no gig so out on the lash - happy days.
Second day –Manics gig. My wife isn't into them so I went on my tod. I've seen them over 30 times so this is not an uncommon experience. We had a few drinks and dinner before she headed back to the hotel to relax. It was on in Mountford Hall, part of Liverpool University. I got to the venue and ambled inside, the place was filling up nicely. Tipped over to the bar. They had a few decent beers on. Ordered one.
"That's £1.10 please, my mate"
"What?"
"Student yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah" (I was about 30 at the time)
Sent my wife a text "Coming Home In A Bodybag" – then had to follow that text up to explain the joke because she had never seen the movie "True Romance".
Great gig. Ian McCulloch had guested on the MSP record that they were touring, he joined them onstage to sing the track "Some Kind Of Nothingness" and then did "The Killing Moon" with Bradfield.
I digress...
Gig done. Several cheap pints later I'm on my way down the hill from the venue and heading back to the hotel. End up getting side-tracked and going to a craft beer place, where I started chatting to a few American lads who are in town for a trip of a lifetime to Beatle-land. They're all dressed in that American tourist uniform - chinos with a band t-shirt tucked tightly into it and whiter-than-white sneakers. The t-shirts are obviously The Beatles in this case. All offset by a ridiculously expensive watch.
Of the 6 of them 3 or 4 are taking it fairly handy on the booze. I am in that not-so-sweet-spot of coming down off of skating past a hangover unscathed and now topping up from the night before. That dangerous spot where you've been boozing but it feels like it's having zero effect on you. I decide that I'm going to stop drinking for the evening, I've gotten away with it this far. And there's still three days to go. The lads mention that they're going to The Cavern for some late-night John Lennon thing. I'm a massive fan of The Beatles and Lennon in particular but this sounds like tourist shit to me. I go to Liverpool a few times a year, I know my way around - the craft beer place is a decent walk (not far but you could get lost) from The Cavern. End up strolling to the venue with them – my hotel is two or three streets away from it.
One of them, a middle-aged lad called Tony is DEMENTED. Definitely on a train to Blackout City. I ask him if he's alright.
He replies in that usual super-polite American accent "I sure am, buddy".
He sure isn't.
"Lads, would you not call it quits?" I ask "There's more Beatles stuff tomorrow."
No dice. They insist on buying me a drink. I refuse but then curiosity gets the better of me and I want to see this John Lennon thing.
Down into The Cavern. Much like John Lennon, it's dead. So dead that the guy with the Hummingbird acoustic onstage says hello to us as we walk in. And then "Just warming up this set. Any requests? John solo or with the Fab Four?"
"Blackbird" says American Tony.
"That's more a Paul track, mate".
"BLACKBIRD!" roars American Tony and then chucks a perfect horizontal stream of puke across the bar. It lands with an impressive splash about 5 feet away after hanging mid-air for 10 seconds like Wile E. Coyote in the Roadrunner cartoons.
"Jeeee-susss!" roars one of the other Yanks, about 60 years old. And decides to take a swing at Tony who know looks like a kitten in a Korean restaurant kitchen. The punch barely lands. I get in between them.
"For fuck sake, grow up" says I.
Your man then decides to take a swing at me for good measure. I have sobered up sufficiently to see this coming, defend myself and forcefully shove a thin, balding sexagenarian out of my way. Unfortunately I shove him out of my way and into the puddle of sick on the ground which he skids in and has to balance himself against a high top table.
He looks like he wants another shot at me. I don't like shit like this but I know how to take care of myself so I brace for another go. That's when I feel an arm come from behind and grab me across my chest.
"Not him!" shouts John Lennon. "Them!"
I am released and the mystery arm reveals itself to belong to a rather large chap in a bomber jacket. Clearly a bouncer. And one who really enjoys his job. Unfortunately "them" is not specific and he grabs the first Beatlemaniac that he sees – one who was trying to calm things down. This is obviously a sign to exit and go back to my hotel. I dunno if any of you have been to The Cavern but it's down a set of stairs. I bound up said stairs and get out onto Matthew St. where a dazed tourist is working out what happened while Bomber Jacket was going back down for seconds. I can hear a lot of shouting downstairs and Liverpudlian accent saying "Come 'head, I'll fuuuuuccccchhhhhin do yeh!".
My legs have decided that my brain is no longer in charge of keeping us safe and we get the fuck out of there. Back to the hotel and my missus is still awake.
"How was the gig?" she asks.
"Ah brilliant" says I, taking off my boots.
"You'll always say the Manics are brilliant. I meant the John Lennon thing"
"Huh?"
"You texted me to say you might go to a John Lennon thing"
"Couldn't be bothered in the end".
Next morning I wake up and, again, I'm not too bad. I grab a shower and find myself laughing out loud when I think about American Tony and the rest of the lads.
We decide to grab breakfast. Strolling through the lobby, I'm looking at the Beatles-themed stuff on the walls. I hear my better-half say "Someone had a good night. Look at the state of him".
I look to see a dishevelled man in a "Revolver" t-shirt and stained chinos sitting on one of the lovely Chesterfield couches in the lobby nursing a coffee. He puts his hand up and starts to wave sadly as I get nearer the door.
"Is he waving at you? Do you know him?"
"Him?! He's probably steamed to the gills still"
"I think he said your name while he was waving at us"
"Nah".
Superb!
Hahaha, brilliant :laugh:
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
I wish we could access the thread on MI. The two times I slept rough in Barcelona have sorta melded into one and as time passes the details are becoming foggier.
Great to see this thread kick off!
And what a kick off it is! Fucking hell :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Setting the bar high with the opener there :laugh: unreal carry on.
:laugh: :laugh: jesus! I lived in Liverpool for about a year, in Bootle, fuckin rough out. One night out walking the dog some scummer started chatting to me and offered me 3 rocks of crack for the dog. Sorry no dice ;D
One from a few weeks ago. Mate had a house warming. Got there around 8 o'clock. Parked the car a few door down and left some hang sandwiches and a sleeping bag and pillow in the car in case I needed to pass out.
Launched in to the gargle and the jazz woodbines. Great ould crack in the gaff. Was all going well until I blacked out around half 2. Next thing I remember is coming back into the gaff at half 6 in the morning and 2 lads still up so launched into it again. About half 8 I noticed I couldn't find my keys or phone or wallet. Went out to the car and the back door was wide open, hang sandwiches all over the place and pillow out where I had a lie down. Lovely bit of puke in the foot well to boot. Wallet keys and phone in the back seat thankfully. Went back I got he gaff not knowing what happened and fell week at 10. Woke up at 2 and drove home even though I was fucked. Crawled onto the couch and woke at half 6 and it all came back to me.
Had gone to the car, made an attempt at the hang sandwiches and feel asleep and can remember puke gurgling out of me onto the foot well. When I woke around half 6 I went up to the door of what I thought was my mates gaff but his gaff was a few doors down. Some buck in a sleeping robe is roaring laughing at me going "this isn't your fucking gaff mate". The fear i had for 2 days afterwards was unfathomable. Good times.
Deadly!
Quote from: Emphyrio on April 24, 2020, 04:05:54 PM
I wish we could access the thread on MI. The two times I slept rough in Barcelona have sorta melded into one and as time passes the details are becoming foggier.
Jesus I wish i even copied the text of those stories. Absolute gold they were :abbath:......I'll have a few more myself. I'll try to remember them properly before posting them up.
I'm still chuckling at StoutandAles story after reading it last night. :laugh:
Quote from: Emphyrio on April 24, 2020, 04:05:54 PM
I wish we could access the thread on MI. The two times I slept rough in Barcelona have sorta melded into one and as time passes the details are becoming foggier.
I've often thought the same thing myself - there would be times you'd be dying in work and feeling like you're a failure at life - then you'd take a look at that thread and you'd feel an awful lot better about yourself. It served many purposes that's for sure :laugh:
That dude 'Pirate Sid' had a couple of absolute corkers in that thread, highly vivid. Even his description of his bowel movements were hellish.
I don't know anything about code and the like, but if someone is in the know, is resurrection possible for some of those threads? The reviews as well. If I had to speculate, I'd say CT just pressed the big red button one night after a few nippy sweeties, having been considering it for some time beforehand.
Quote from: Ollkiller on April 25, 2020, 10:04:40 AM
One from a few weeks ago. Mate had a house warming. Got there around 8 o'clock. Parked the car a few door down and left some hang sandwiches and a sleeping bag and pillow in the car in case I needed to pass out.
Launched in to the gargle and the jazz woodbines. Great ould crack in the gaff. Was all going well until I blacked out around half 2. Next thing I remember is coming back into the gaff at half 6 in the morning and 2 lads still up so launched into it again. About half 8 I noticed I couldn't find my keys or phone or wallet. Went out to the car and the back door was wide open, hang sandwiches all over the place and pillow out where I had a lie down. Lovely bit of puke in the foot well to boot. Wallet keys and phone in the back seat thankfully. Went back I got he gaff not knowing what happened and fell week at 10. Woke up at 2 and drove home even though I was fucked. Crawled onto the couch and woke at half 6 and it all came back to me.
Had gone to the car, made an attempt at the hang sandwiches and feel asleep and can remember puke gurgling out of me onto the foot well. When I woke around half 6 I went up to the door of what I thought was my mates gaff but his gaff was a few doors down. Some buck in a sleeping robe is roaring laughing at me going "this isn't your fucking gaff mate". The fear i had for 2 days afterwards was unfathomable. Good times.
Mother of jaysis! :laugh:
A quick look at the way back machine produced a copy of the old thread:
https://web.archive.org/web/20170728023550/http://www.metalireland.com/community/viewtopic.php?f=11&t=59146
Should be able to skim a few pages from either end of it but without further hunting the middle is probably gone. If anyone had the patience they could trawl the archive from 2013 on and collect each page that way but I certainly don't. Maybe it might be worth it to salvage some of the better tales.
Fair play to you
Class. I would love to get the Pagan Riot thread back too. It always cracked me up.
I had beers at home on Saturday. While I was listening to a few tunes late into the evening I ended up pulling out "Seventeen Seconds" by The Cure. I was never a big Cure fan (I'm still not a massive fan) until a lad that I worked with, whom I shall call The Broz, gave me a copy of this record when I was about 19. The Broz was a few years older than me and was blessed with that knack that George in Seinfeld describes Kramer as having;
"His whole life is a fantasy camp. People should plunk down two thousand dollars to live like him for a week: do nothing, fall ass backwards into money, mooch food off his neighbours, and have sex without dating."
Anyway. This lad decided over a decade ago to live life to the fullest. He currently lives in Portugal. I shot him a text asking how he was. And got back;
"Not bad at all, boy. Hope ye're grand. You'll have to come and see me when this is all over."
All of a sudden The Fear came over me. I flashed back to an incident over 15 years ago when he was living in Germany. The morto-sweat actually appeared on my brow. The missus looked up from her magazine and asked if i was alright cos I looked intense.
Let's go to 2005.
Me and another buddy, JB, went to stay with him for a week when he was living in Germany about 15 years ago. I was single and carefree at the time. Out the first night in Hamburg and on the absolute fucking slaughter - cheap booze, cigarettes and mighty craic. Woke up the next day - DYING. A hangover that I got in my mid-twenties would kill me stone dead now.
Crawled out of the bed, mouth as ragged as sandpaper - arse knowing it would be the same as soon as I found a toilet bowl. The Broz was sitting at the counter in his kitchen smoking a rollie – looking every bit as louche and unfazed as he had the night before.
"Everything alright" he asked.
"Urggggggh" I gurgled.
"Going out with a few people I work with tonight about six-ish. Straight from work. I've told them that JB and yourself will be around"
"Urrrrrrrrrggggghhh-hummmmm. Where's JB?"
The Broz nods in the direction of the couch where there's a human shape facing into the sofa.
"Didn't make it to the bed"
A few hours later and I'm right as rain – your 20s, lads... bulletproof.
At around 1800hrs I am making my way through St. Pauli. Feeling great. JB on the other hand has told me that in no uncertain terms he will need another hour. I gave him the name of the pub and skip off.
Into the bar and I start to look around. Can't spot The Broz so I get a beer and mooch about. It's full of some of the best looking people you will ever see. I hear someone call my name and there he is, surrounded by a rake of German young ones and young fellas at a huge table. All of them are chatting and in great form. The Broz is throwing the charm at one of them, hard. It's not long before he's throwing himself at her too. Wearing the faces off of each other. I can speak German so I start trying to chat to one of the girls. It's going alright (not as well as across the table) and I suddenly think I might have a chance. More alcohol is needed.
"Does everyone want a beer?" I ask. I get vague side looks and mumbles.
A lad walks past and I order a lash of sauce in my best German.
He replies with "Great! But I'm not a fucking waiter."
Turns out there's no table service in this gaff so I have to get off my ass and get the booze. I am absolutely bursting for a piss but I've been otherwise occupied til just now. So I make a run to the bog and hit the bar on the way back.
I find my way back to the table navigating through a very busy bar with a tray of 10 or 12 bottles of Astra. The Broz has disappeared with your wan. I knew he'd do it.
"Move up" says I to the girl at the end of the table.
She looks at me blankly.
I nod the head.
"We don't know you!" she says as I start handing out the booze.
"After I buying us all this drink?!" roars I.
Suddenly The Fear has returned and all my bravado is gone. The self-pity is UNREAL, lads. I'm a nice guy, trying to do a nice thing for people that I don't even know. My carnal desires notwithstanding obviously. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes and feel one boiling hot droplet course down my cheek. The Fear is now in a WWF Tag Team with Righteous Indignation.
I snap the bottles of beer that I can reach back out of their hands, wipe my nose and pick up the tray of booze and decide that I will find a corner and drink these while smoking my fags. "Fuck ye" I growl as I walk away. This would be more menacing if I wasn't now bawling my eyes out.
I'm giving it the oul "tut mir leid" as I try to get past people to get out to the patio area. I can feel the stares. Just then I hear a voice, a Cork accent.
"You found us so, langer?" says a refreshed looking JB who helps himself to a beer.
I look up through tears and snot - the whole table including The Broz is staring back at me. It is then that I have an out of body experience and find myself wanting to crawl under a blanket because I know that 30 feet from where I am there's a table of confused Germans after getting abused by a blubbering fool.
Shoot back to present day and the wife has asked if I want a beer from the kitchen while she's making tea.
"No... I'm fine thanks."
"Are you sure that you're alright, you look a bit stressed."
😂 fuckin A1
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
I've had viciously nasty hangovers aplenty, but not sure about the fear.
Although after the time I invented and consumed a cocktail called Cheap Death I was not in a good state for about 2 days.
Ingredients?
Might as well tell the whole story.....
Cheap Death was a drink I made in my first year at university as follows:
1) Get a pint glass.
2) Put four shots of cheap vodka in the bottom of it.
3) Fill to the top with White Lightning cider.
I made the drink in a friend's room on campus. I had two pints of it, then maybe a third with six shots, memories are hazy at this point as I blacked out.
I awoke the next day with the worst hangover I have ever experienced.
I could not work out why there was such a strong smell of vomit in my room.
I then checked under my discarded clothes on the floor and noticed a spray of sick all over the carpet. I immediately started dry heaving in the basin.
I then went into the kitchen and was met with some concerned enquiries as to whether I was alright. I asked what had happened. Apparently I had come back to my block drunk and violently abusive. I could be heard screaming apocalyptic obscenities up the stairs as everyone on the corridor locked their doors. The two biggest guys on the corridor manhandled me into my room while I tried to start a fight with them. I worked out that I must have passed out face down on the floor, been sick, then woke up briefly and got into bed. I noticed that I had dried sick in my hair.
After this, I went into my room and had some water. It came up within the next twenty minutes because I felt so awful. The smell of sick never quite left the room even after it had been hoovered and scrubbed out of the carpet, and the hangover didn't clear until halfway through the following day,
Yeah, I'll give that one a miss.
Similar mixture: I was on a school tour around Europe when I was 15ish. Did the duty free thing on the way home went all out on a bottle of Paddy. A bunch of us had a piss up in a youth club that we were running at the time, I was mixing it with white lemonade, in between cans of Harp. When I ran out of lemonade, I couldn't drink it straight so decided mixing it with Harp was a good idea.
It was not.
[scene missing]
The next thing I remember is a couple of the other lads taking the toilet door off the hinges 'cos I'd been in there so long they thought I'd either done a Mama Cass or jumped out the window (it was 3 or 4 floors up), when I was just asleep. With a ring of vomit around me and all over the walls etc. To my credit, not a drop on myself.
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Keep them coming, lads.
Make The Fear Great Again.
Hear, hear for the fear..... Hahahaha...
Big vat or bucket
2 bottles of buckfast
1 litre of vodka
4 cans of cider
2 cans red bull
Tastes lovely actually and good times await 🤣
Quote from: Ollkiller on May 07, 2020, 01:59:52 PM
Big vat or bucket
2 bottles of buckfast
1 litre of vodka
4 cans of cider
2 cans red bull
Tastes lovely actually and good times await 🤣
Ah christ I remember a bucket challenge years ago, fucked loads of rum and orange juice in as well as some cider, all sorts of rubbish. Bet my mate a tenner he wouldn't drink from the sick bucket, probably the best-earned tenner I've ever seen.
Halloween night, 2015. Had spent about 6 hours drinking in various watering holes across Dublin before trotting over the Voodoo Lounge to catch Dead Congregation. Some fucking mongo kept putting his arm around me to headbang and I remember not wanting to kick his head in, in case it caused a scene and DC stopped playing their set. Surprisingly though I didnt cripple myself on that huge kerb in the middle of the venue.
Left after the gig and was dragged to some wanker pub somewhere near St Stephens green. Naturally, got caught rotten pissing on a nearby street by some horrified onlookers. Place was jammed so we had to order a few pints at a time, which was of course a great decision.
Ended up in The Black Door then which just led to utter liver destruction. I'm sure I was only let me in because it was Halloween and I'd say they thought I had dressed as a heavy metal wino. Place was full of posh birds dressed like 1920s flapper girls and I'm sure the sight of me falling on my arse and onto tables full of glasses still haunts them. I think the leather jacket saved my radial arteries from getting bits of pint glass shoved in them.
After the nightclub I had the great idea to get the 5.30am train back to the midlands. As you do sure. Walked back to the hostel where the guy on reception asked me at least 10 times if I wanted to check out, clearly concerned for my safety. The walk back to heuston took about an hour, and I nearly fell under a street sweeper lorry.
Ended up in heuston and found out that on a Sunday, the first train that suited me wasn't leaving until 9am. Tried to sleep on a bench but almost froze to death so off to the jacks I went. Tried to get some kip while junkies in the other cubicles had their breakfast fixes. How I got home eventually is beyond me, I do remember having a four seater to myself on the train though.
I haven't drank that much since and I probably never will to be honest. Definitely changed my outlook on boozing that day (slightly). Checked my account balance a few days later and nearly had a stroke.
Quote from: Slaughterday on May 07, 2020, 08:51:52 PM
Halloween night, 2015. Had spent about 6 hours drinking in various watering holes across Dublin before trotting over the Voodoo Lounge to catch Dead Congregation. Some fucking mongo kept putting his arm around me to headbang and I remember not wanting to kick his head in, in case it caused a scene and DC stopped playing their set. Surprisingly though I didnt cripple myself on that huge kerb in the middle of the venue.
Left after the gig and was dragged to some wanker pub somewhere near St Stephens green. Naturally, got caught rotten pissing on a nearby street by some horrified onlookers. Place was jammed so we had to order a few pints at a time, which was of course a great decision.
Ended up in The Black Door then which just led to utter liver destruction. I'm sure I was only let me in because it was Halloween and I'd say they thought I had dressed as a heavy metal wino. Place was full of posh birds dressed like 1920s flapper girls and I'm sure the sight of me falling on my arse and onto tables full of glasses still haunts them. I think the leather jacket saved my radial arteries from getting bits of pint glass shoved in them.
After the nightclub I had the great idea to get the 5.30am train back to the midlands. As you do sure. Walked back to the hostel where the guy on reception asked me at least 10 times if I wanted to check out, clearly concerned for my safety. The walk back to heuston took about an hour, and I nearly fell under a street sweeper lorry.
Ended up in heuston and found out that on a Sunday, the first train that suited me wasn't leaving until 9am. Tried to sleep on a bench but almost froze to death so off to the jacks I went. Tried to get some kip while junkies in the other cubicles had their breakfast fixes. How I got home eventually is beyond me, I do remember having a four seater to myself on the train though.
I haven't drank that much since and I probably never will to be honest. Definitely changed my outlook on boozing that day (slightly). Checked my account balance a few days later and nearly had a stroke.
:laugh: :laugh:
I told this one on the other of forum, but it's worth a retell.
I was in Sheffield at Easter 2012, visiting a pal from home who was living there at the time. It was mid afternoon, and we were eating pizza and drinking cans watching Wrestlemania, recorded from the night before.
My girlfriend at the time called me, which I remembered being irritated by as a) I told her I was going to be catching up with my friend and b) she broke the WM momentum. Turned out it was to tell me she was pregnant, which I hadn't been expecting to hear. I then had to make the call to the mother, before sheepishly going back into yer man's living room. He asked me if I was alright, as I looked shaken and pale. Told him the script, and he immediately suggesting flinging in our jackets and going for a few pints, forget all about it.
At least 15 pints later, ended up in a gay disco (the only place that would let us in). I was slobbering all over the place, and as we were in Sheffield, I asked the barman if he knew where Sean Bean lived/if he was around (not sure which) to which he said 'Sean Bean is banned from all the pubs in Sheffield and was a 'homophobic bastard''.
I took the massive hump over this (I was a huge fan of the series Sharpe) and started hurling all kinds of horrible abuse at him, most of it homophobic (I'm getting a beamer typing this). The bouncers made an example out of me, and I was flung out the door, and by the time I gathered myself into a position to shuffle off, I had no runners or jacket.
When I woke up the next day, listening mortified to the 'tut tuting' of my friend, I had actually forgotten all about the 'other thing', so mission accomplished, for a quarter of an hour or so.
I didn't feel too clever when my brain decided to deliver that kick in the balls reminder on top of the most horrific fear I had from calling the barman a 'bender' over Sean fucking Bean the night before. Class few days in Yorkshire.
Went on an absolute royaler on shorts one night years back ,ended up wrestling on the floor of my local chipper (the chipper informed me of this the next day when i went in for a hangover cure),smashed a load of plant pots in the front garden ,and physically dragged my dad out of bed when i got in!.Woke up next morning with no recollection!,have barely touched any spirits since!.
Spirit abuse invariably leads to that kind of insanity. Two buddies of mine, both docile enough, drinking Captain Morgan's at breakneck speed at home before the pub, ended up trashing their own house later, rugby tackling each other in the street. Falling asleep quick is a right result if you've been on the nippy sweeties!
That Sean Bean story is fucking quality. There's something about Yorkshire that just inspires serious craic and heavy boozing.
I think it was 2018 when Malthusian set of for Łodz to play a headline gig there. I ain't a fan of flying but I'm usually grand. The nerves got the better of me that morning in the airport though and I had arrived a bit before Matt and Pauric. Johnny was on tour with Conan so was flying in from wherever he was to meet us at the venue that afternoon.
I grab a pint and fairly inhale it and am on my second pint when the lads arrive. Paudi gets a scoop in and Matt is off the sauce that weekend. Grand job. I proceed to lash into another four or five pints before we get on the plane. Naturally, I'm half scuttered and a bit as we take off. Perfecto.
When we reach cruising altitude the trolly arrives and as had become something of a routine on flights with Malthusian I order 2 Gins and 1 Tonic. Matt says, you might as well get 4G 2T in now to save the dude coming back around. Makes sense. I tell the steward to double it. He gets a bit confused in the transaction and ends up giving me the lot for half the price. Matt has willpower but this is an opportunity too good to pass up on. He orders the same and somehow gets it for the same price! Poor ol P in the row behind gets stung for the full whack, but so what, the lads are officially ON IT!
I think I ended up ordering the same again but to be honest I can't really remember anything after that round and the next thing I recall is being in the venue. There are a few hours missing in between.
Johnny lands in to the venue and the three amigos are unable to stand. He is on tour with a professional band so has been well behaved and just sees the three lads in ribbons and thinks, what the fuck are we going to do now.
It's all blurry but I remember we get up onstage, my hands pretty much have stopped working so I turn around to Johnny before we begin to tell him that if I forget a riff I'll just hammer away on E minor and pretend to play stuff with my fretboard hand. He goes, Andy you thick cunt, this is the sound check! We aren't on for five hours!
Happy days. We run through some kind of a check and I fuck off back stage to crash. Problem solved.
I wake up three or four hours later still completely gimped. Fuck. We get onstage and it's a haze but I thought I was getting away with it. At some stage I realise the music has stopped and I look around. Johnny and Matt are slapping the heads off each other across the drum kit. Somehow we continue but Matt fucks his guitar down and walks offstage. In my head at least I'm still keeping the show on the road. Fuck knows what I'm doing to the guitar at this stage but Matt reappears and unwinds his mic, falls over and starts shouting abuse at the crowd while they all start booing and giving us the finger.
We take our bow. Łodz, there will be no encore!
The lads who put the gig on think it's the most fucking rock n roll thing they've ever seen and continue to ply us with more booze and somewhere along the way, acting the cunt on the cobbled dance floor I break my fucking ankle!
A month later we meet up in my gaff to listen to a mix of the album and make notes when Matt and Paudi fill me in on the rest of the plane journey. Apparently as we were disembarking I tried to bum a smoke off some giant Polish dude and somehow ended up trying you square up to him! They said he was three times my size and would have killed me instantly. I fell on my hole and they are picking me up when they realise there are a bunch of fucking Polish soldiers standing there watching the entire fiasco. How I wasn't either deported or murdered I don't know.
I still get the willies when I think about that weekend.
Jesus fucking Christ lad 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
:laugh: brilliant
Haha i love these horror stories!
Quality :laugh: :laugh:
:laugh: Class. You can't beat a good gig horror story.
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 07, 2020, 10:40:51 PM
I think it was 2018 when Malthusian set of for Łodz to play a headline gig there...
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Fuckin'-A!
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 07, 2020, 09:35:35 PM
....,and physically dragged my dad out of bed when i got in!
Mother of Christ!
Keep 'em coming, lads. We'll beat this Corona Cunt with The Fear.
Quote from: Juggz on May 08, 2020, 08:04:44 AM
:laugh: Class. You can't beat a good gig horror story.
I wasn't playing at a gig but I have a mild horror story...
2015. Was in Berlin with the missus and spotted that Elder were playing there the week that we were staying. Touring the excellent "Lore" record.
Had a few pre-gig pints and then wandered into the venue where they were doing Jagermeister shots for €1 and Morgan Spiced and Cokes for €2. Who am I to say no to this sort of thing? It's almost like saving for fuck sake.
My missus isn't into metal but she'll go along and if it's not her thing she'll find a quiet corner and look up interior design stuff on her phone (I'm not joking).
Mos Generator were the support band and they were daycint. When they were done, I popped up from the basement venue to check on herself. Grabbed another tenner's worth of rum and cokes. The support lads had to run the merch stand but they were a bit steamed so they got their guitar tech to do it. I was chatting away to him, nobody was buying merch except me - he was working on guitars at the same time. I was talking through my hole about guitars, pedals and other shit that I think I'm erudite on when I'm half cut. He asked me to watch the stand while he went for a piss/smoke.
"Not a bother" says I.
Gave my missus a wave - she shot back a
what in the name of fuck are you up to, you know this won't end well look. This look is always perceptive.
I decide to help your man out and pick up the next guitar that needs to be re-strung. Sober me will always wait and ask to pick up someone's gear. I think it was a Guild S-100 or maybe a Viper. It was an SG style but not Gibson. I play a Gibson SG so I'm used to the set up. Anyway......
I'm pleasantly surprised by the skill and dexterity that Captain Morgan's spiced rum has given me. I have it strung and done just as the lad is coming back from the jacks or wherever.
"Did one there for you, look!"
"Oh, um. Thanks."
"Not a bother, kid" says I as I strut back to the missus. Hear Elder ramping up. Head back downstairs. Pass my new friend at the merch stand who is still admiring my handiwork. Give him an oul devil horns for good measure.
Great show. I climb back up from the basement to find herself and head out. As we're leaving I see the lad still by the merch stand with another guy. They're looking across at me. I give him a wink and the pistol fingers from across the bar.
The tech waves me over. Perhaps I'm getting a free t-shirt for watching the stand and being the best guitar stringer on holiday in Berlin. This will be a great end to the....
"The fuck is this?" asked the lad who wasn't there before?
"Excuse me?"
"Why did you do this?"
Oh, the high horse comes out of the stable. And once I have a lip on me well...
"C'mere. I was helping out your man there, he was bursting for a piss and to be quite frank it was raw fucking form leaving him there on his own. Merch all over the gaff, him trying to do his own job. I was trying to be sound. So you can wind your fuckin' neck back in..."
And then I see it, lads...
I'm a lefty. Guess which way I've strung the guitar?
Went over with a friend to Munich for a Manowar gig, maybe around 07/08. Typical few morning airport pints to get going, another one or two on the plane, then when we got there realised there was a bit of miscommunication issue and we both thought the other one had sorted out a place to stay. No bother though, hit the Hoffbrau Haus for a few steins, talking to a lad there and he recommended a hostel nearby that had a bar attached and off we went. The two of us getting pretty mouldy at this stage so went for a kip for a few hours before the gig, wake up, pint and €1 jager shot to keep the hangover at bay and off we went
Things start going to shit at this point when we get to the venue to collect the tickets and they've no record of the reference number, so end up having to buy more. It was a bit pain, but the seats end up being pretty decent. Rake more pints at the gig, vague memories of trying to find a rock bar after the show, getting lost in the subway for ages, eventually finding the hostel and starting on more jager, and then just a complete black out until waking up in the morning, the toilet covered in shit and vomit, and my phone gone.
Sure fuck it I thought, was still half cut so went on to another beer hall to keep going, remembered there was an Ireland match on so headed to an Irish bar, and during the second half started my mate turns to me
"Here what time is the flight back at?
Ah not until 7, we'll head after the match
"Yeah, but it's going to take about an hour to get out on the train, and its 5 now"
Nah, its only 4, we're grand
"It's 4 in Ireland, you never changed the time on your watch"
....fuck....
Queue a mad dash to the airport, still end up missing the flight. Ask the guy at the desk for the next flight back to Dublin, which isn't until 7 the following night. Then my friend has a look at the schedule and in the drunken stupor sees there's one to London early the next morning and goes and books that, because "it'll be way easier to get home from London than Munich", and off we got for a sleep in the airport.
When we wake up the drunk is starting to wear off, and when we get in the plane the fear hits me fucking rough. I'm convinced the thing is going to crash and starting to panic, my mate isn't much better but he's trying to calm me down in case we get kicked off or arrested or something. By some miracle the plane goes find and we land in London and go straight to booking a ride home. At which point we realise nearly all the money was spent getting to London, so we have to beg the lad running the internet cafe (remember those) to let me ring my missus so she can book us flights home. Safe to say she wasn't too impressed, but a few minutes later sends on a text with flight details. From Heathrow. I forgot to tell her we were in Stansted. So we'd another cross city run but manage to make this one.
The hangover has kicked into overdrive at this point, have barely slept in two days, alcohol coming out of every pore, havent eaten in ages, no money to get any food and feeling like utter shit. Eventually made it back home, was politely told by my missus to go fuck myself and sent to sleep it off on the couch. We broke up soon after
I think since having calmed down the last coupla years, I can truly appreciate this thread more. Jesus!
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 07, 2020, 10:40:51 PM
I think it was 2018 when Malthusian set of for Łodz to play a headline gig there. I ain't a fan of flying but I'm usually grand. The nerves got the better of me that morning in the airport though and I had arrived a bit before Matt and Pauric. Johnny was on tour with Conan so was flying in from wherever he was to meet us at the venue that afternoon.
I grab a pint and fairly inhale it and am on my second pint when the lads arrive. Paudi gets a scoop in and Matt is off the sauce that weekend. Grand job. I proceed to lash into another four or five pints before we get on the plane. Naturally, I'm half scuttered and a bit as we take off. Perfecto.
When we reach cruising altitude the trolly arrives and as had become something of a routine on flights with Malthusian I order 2 Gins and 1 Tonic. Matt says, you might as well get 4G 2T in now to save the dude coming back around. Makes sense. I tell the steward to double it. He gets a bit confused in the transaction and ends up giving me the lot for half the price. Matt has willpower but this is an opportunity too good to pass up on. He orders the same and somehow gets it for the same price! Poor ol P in the row behind gets stung for the full whack, but so what, the lads are officially ON IT!
I think I ended up ordering the same again but to be honest I can't really remember anything after that round and the next thing I recall is being in the venue. There are a few hours missing in between.
Johnny lands in to the venue and the three amigos are unable to stand. He is on tour with a professional band so has been well behaved and just sees the three lads in ribbons and thinks, what the fuck are we going to do now.
It's all blurry but I remember we get up onstage, my hands pretty much have stopped working so I turn around to Johnny before we begin to tell him that if I forget a riff I'll just hammer away on E minor and pretend to play stuff with my fretboard hand. He goes, Andy you thick cunt, this is the sound check! We aren't on for five hours!
Happy days. We run through some kind of a check and I fuck off back stage to crash. Problem solved.
I wake up three or four hours later still completely gimped. Fuck. We get onstage and it's a haze but I thought I was getting away with it. At some stage I realise the music has stopped and I look around. Johnny and Matt are slapping the heads off each other across the drum kit. Somehow we continue but Matt fucks his guitar down and walks offstage. In my head at least I'm still keeping the show on the road. Fuck knows what I'm doing to the guitar at this stage but Matt reappears and unwinds his mic, falls over and starts shouting abuse at the crowd while they all start booing and giving us the finger.
We take our bow. Łodz, there will be no encore!
The lads who put the gig on think it's the most fucking rock n roll thing they've ever seen and continue to ply us with more booze and somewhere along the way, acting the cunt on the cobbled dance floor I break my fucking ankle!
A month later we meet up in my gaff to listen to a mix of the album and make notes when Matt and Paudi fill me in on the rest of the plane journey. Apparently as we were disembarking I tried to bum a smoke off some giant Polish dude and somehow ended up trying you square up to him! They said he was three times my size and would have killed me instantly. I fell on my hole and they are picking me up when they realise there are a bunch of fucking Polish soldiers standing there watching the entire fiasco. How I wasn't either deported or murdered I don't know.
I still get the willies when I think about that weekend.
A drunk Andy story reminds me of that Hells Pleasure (2011?) where a pile of us got the train from Berlin to Poßneck. I think by the time we got the last connecting train you were well and truly gimped. Wandering though the carriage, sitting with random families on the train asking what their favourite black metal album was and the likes. I think a few of us had to pull you away several times from a series of concerned and/or bemused German people doing their best to be polite.
We get off the train and you could barely stand - I think I still have a sequence of pics of somewhere of you trying to climb out of a grass verge you fell into just after leaving the station at Poßneck.
I eventually convince you to go with Scottish Graeme and the Grave Miasma guys cos your in the same hotel as them.
About a short while later I start to get a panicked sequence of texts from Graeme. Starts with you disappearing while they go to the supermarket to get booze, only to discover you asleep in some old ladies garden nearby. They try to move you but are being belligerent and refusing to move. Old lady freaks out and calles an ambulance. Graeme then freaks out thinking you're going to wind up with a large bill for the privilege a lift to hospital. Luckily they manage to get you moving and off to the camp site.
From what I also remember you'd arsed up your flights home too and the only viable way to make it was to leave at about 21:00 on the Saturday?
Plenty of funny anecdotes from those HP/HOA trips.
This is more a story about 'should've had the fear but didn't' from 2003.
We were heading down to Cape Clear from Cork for New Year's Eve, which at the time (no idea now) has two boozers, a hostel or two and a handful of houses.
I got to the bus station on time, and the other two who were heading with turned up late, sending me abusive messages for not 'holding the bus' (normal Bus Éireann service like). So I went down via Skibereen and Baltimore. They had to wait three hours for the next bus, so they hit the early house, got take away cans and arrived at the island around 5 or 6 in the evening absolutely cunted. I met them at the wharf and they got off the boat still shouting about 'not holding the bus' and trying to throw me into the sea.
Later, one of them took his shoes off in the puband put his feet up on the table, knocking shit all over the place with his dirty socks, so the owner came down and asked him to get them down. Just a disaster, slobbering and talking gobbledegook. After a few more pints, he seemed to just ghost away, and after a while we got mildly worried, as cape clear had no lighting whatsoever bar from the pubs, and it'd be handy to end up in the water if you went walking at night after a few scoops. Keep in mind this lad was after a few dozen.
We spent a while outside looking for him, and decided to head back towards the pub in case he'd come back. It turned out he hadn't left. The owners son had by the arm shaking him and shouting at him outside, him just a dishevelled mess, and very unsure on his feet. After realising he was 'with us' he informed me that he had wandered in behind the bar, wandered upstairs into the living quarters and sat down beside this fellas granny who was watching the soaps, this guy 'looking for the remote'🤣.
'He's nearly given my granny a stroke, she's 88!'
Next day I was puking my ring up over the side of the boat home, this guy just laughing and drinking a can, not an ounce of remorse or shame. He was 19 or 20 though. Add fifteen years to that and the same experience would drive you to just stay on a few days in a cave, wallowing in it.
'looking for the remote'
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Quote from: Noisymute on May 08, 2020, 03:01:24 PM
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 07, 2020, 10:40:51 PM
I think it was 2018 when Malthusian set of for Łodz to play a headline gig there. I ain't a fan of flying but I'm usually grand. The nerves got the better of me that morning in the airport though and I had arrived a bit before Matt and Pauric. Johnny was on tour with Conan so was flying in from wherever he was to meet us at the venue that afternoon.
I grab a pint and fairly inhale it and am on my second pint when the lads arrive. Paudi gets a scoop in and Matt is off the sauce that weekend. Grand job. I proceed to lash into another four or five pints before we get on the plane. Naturally, I'm half scuttered and a bit as we take off. Perfecto.
When we reach cruising altitude the trolly arrives and as had become something of a routine on flights with Malthusian I order 2 Gins and 1 Tonic. Matt says, you might as well get 4G 2T in now to save the dude coming back around. Makes sense. I tell the steward to double it. He gets a bit confused in the transaction and ends up giving me the lot for half the price. Matt has willpower but this is an opportunity too good to pass up on. He orders the same and somehow gets it for the same price! Poor ol P in the row behind gets stung for the full whack, but so what, the lads are officially ON IT!
I think I ended up ordering the same again but to be honest I can't really remember anything after that round and the next thing I recall is being in the venue. There are a few hours missing in between.
Johnny lands in to the venue and the three amigos are unable to stand. He is on tour with a professional band so has been well behaved and just sees the three lads in ribbons and thinks, what the fuck are we going to do now.
It's all blurry but I remember we get up onstage, my hands pretty much have stopped working so I turn around to Johnny before we begin to tell him that if I forget a riff I'll just hammer away on E minor and pretend to play stuff with my fretboard hand. He goes, Andy you thick cunt, this is the sound check! We aren't on for five hours!
Happy days. We run through some kind of a check and I fuck off back stage to crash. Problem solved.
I wake up three or four hours later still completely gimped. Fuck. We get onstage and it's a haze but I thought I was getting away with it. At some stage I realise the music has stopped and I look around. Johnny and Matt are slapping the heads off each other across the drum kit. Somehow we continue but Matt fucks his guitar down and walks offstage. In my head at least I'm still keeping the show on the road. Fuck knows what I'm doing to the guitar at this stage but Matt reappears and unwinds his mic, falls over and starts shouting abuse at the crowd while they all start booing and giving us the finger.
We take our bow. Łodz, there will be no encore!
The lads who put the gig on think it's the most fucking rock n roll thing they've ever seen and continue to ply us with more booze and somewhere along the way, acting the cunt on the cobbled dance floor I break my fucking ankle!
A month later we meet up in my gaff to listen to a mix of the album and make notes when Matt and Paudi fill me in on the rest of the plane journey. Apparently as we were disembarking I tried to bum a smoke off some giant Polish dude and somehow ended up trying you square up to him! They said he was three times my size and would have killed me instantly. I fell on my hole and they are picking me up when they realise there are a bunch of fucking Polish soldiers standing there watching the entire fiasco. How I wasn't either deported or murdered I don't know.
I still get the willies when I think about that weekend.
A drunk Andy story reminds me of that Hells Pleasure (2011?) where a pile of us got the train from Berlin to Poßneck. I think by the time we got the last connecting train you were well and truly gimped. Wandering though the carriage, sitting with random families on the train asking what their favourite black metal album was and the likes. I think a few of us had to pull you away several times from a series of concerned and/or bemused German people doing their best to be polite.
We get off the train and you could barely stand - I think I still have a sequence of pics of somewhere of you trying to climb out of a grass verge you fell into just after leaving the station at Poßneck.
I eventually convince you to go with Scottish Graeme and the Grave Miasma guys cos your in the same hotel as them.
About a short while later I start to get a panicked sequence of texts from Graeme. Starts with you disappearing while they go to the supermarket to get booze, only to discover you asleep in some old ladies garden nearby. They try to move you but are being belligerent and refusing to move. Old lady freaks out and calles an ambulance. Graeme then freaks out thinking you're going to wind up with a large bill for the privilege a lift to hospital. Luckily they manage to get you moving and off to the camp site.
From what I also remember you'd arsed up your flights home too and the only viable way to make it was to leave at about 21:00 on the Saturday?
Plenty of funny anecdotes from those HP/HOA trips.
I remember waking up in a half erected tent thinking I had missed the entire weekend. It was around seven o'clock on the first evening :laugh: fucking hell, I'm glad those days are behind me and that I somehow came through those sessions alive.
Abbath would be proud of you
This will be a little bit non-linear butsurelookit.
It was probably between 2000 - 2002 all this happened. Hanging around Dublin City centre with some friends (about 5 or 6 of us), with not much money. We bought some homemade vodka / poteen off this guy who alleges he was ex Russian mafia. He sold it at 7 quid for a 1.5 litre mineral bottle full, so we got 3. It had little brown black specks and orange peel floating in it. Duly armed we went to a friend's place on Aston Quay who had also managed to smuggle some Amsterdam weed back home. So we start pouring out some glasses of this filth and I'm throwing them in like normal shots, meanwhile my mates are grinning and giving me lots of encouragement. It was my first time drinking it and I'm starting to get a sinking feeling as they're all just sipping.
---- Scene Missing - - - -
I wake up face down in bed at home, still drunk the next morning, trousers torn right across both legs and both knees with big gashes and caked in blood. My last memory was sitting on the floor of my mates flat singing pogues songs, and a hazy memory of a weird dream, where my older brother Dave had moved into the house a few doors down from ours.
I shambles down to the kitchen to look for water and coffee where my step father was, and he just starts laughing at me and says "are ya alright?", (fear level 1) has kicked in.
He tells me that my neighbours knocked on the door late last night saying I was banging on their door, shouting to be let in. My parents had to grab an arm each, drag me back to the house, up the stairs and throw me onto the bed. Fucking mortified! Anyway, I tidy myself up, shower off the blood have some coffee and head in to work still drunk. I'm alone there for the first 4 hours so not so bad.
Heading back home that afternoon, and as I'm walking up the main road of my estate a white van stops and the window rolls down. (Fear levels rising). "You alright?", whodafuk is this I'm thinking. "yeah I'm alright, are you?". "ya weren't fucking alright last night!" Shit, (fear levels spiralling).
"What!? Sorry, who are you?"
" I'm Dave, from number 6,you were in bits last night knocking on my door, ya kept asking me when did I move in and trying to push past me into the gaff. The lads in work think you're a hero, we're ya on drugs?" "No, no, just vodka from a bath tub"
"Yr bleeding gas, anyway, gowom!", and off he goes. I slunk back home, then the 'dream' starts to make sense. It wasn't a fucking dream, I can vaguely remember it now.
I still am somewhat concerned about what transpired from my mates flat to home (45-60 minute bus journey on a good day).
About a week later I run into another friend I thought I hadn't seen in a couple of weeks, also with that "state of you" look on his face. Turns out he saw me shambling around the bus stop in town on that night and decided to be a good samaritan. He got off at my stop (despite living another 15 minutes away). He said I insisted I was fine to walk home so he walked me some of the way. I left him at the edge of the green. He said he stayed to watch me stumble across the green and shamble straight into the nearest knee high wall and over it into the garden. So that's where the knee gashes came from. Fuck! The fear returns.
If I had let him walk me all the way home I could probably have avoided the other mess too. I never drank bath tub vodka again! 😬😵
Actually felt the fear on that one 😂.
Not exactly fear, just stupid drunk habit. In my 20s while saving for a mortgage and staying with the parents, I used get the notion that I was Gordon Ramsay or the like. I thought it a great idea to make the most mental concoctions when I'd get home around 3 o clock. Now I'd put leftover potatoes, ham, eggs, flour and basically anything near at hand, add a hape of herbs and spices. Now depending on the consistency I'd either think it would work great as a savoury pancakes, a soup or if it was very thick maybe a version of a potato cake.
Naturally this was never once successful, I might have a bit or 2 and berate my self that it maybe lacked cumin or there was too much oregano. I'd leave this "batter" in a big bowl, also telling myself I could salvage it the next morning. Only to wake up the next day after my parents had eaten and left this bowl of congealed mess on the workshop, as if expecting me to make use of it. Occasionally , the night before, I'd even leave a note to myself with a note how to improve it.
Also in those dark days I suspect they may have caught me at myself to those shitty German sexline ads on the likes of RTL and Sat Eins at 4 in the morning.
Once on, what we'd have considered a fairly typical night out, walking home with one of the lads who lived only around the corner. He stopped to sit down about 100 yards from either of our houses. Being a pillar of sense, I continued the last stretch. Probably in a mad fit to make savour pancakes.
Two days later, yer man texts me. I asked if he was as dying as me the day before. He said he was. After taking that break on the walk home, he fell asleep outside someone's house. Either an ambulance drove past or a neighbour called one cos he was taken to the hospital and got his stomach pumped. And this was only a typical night's drinking at the time. He must have just got up really early that day or something.
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 07, 2020, 10:40:51 PM
A month later we meet up in my gaff to listen to a mix of the album and make notes when Matt and Paudi fill me in on the rest of the plane journey. Apparently as we were disembarking I tried to bum a smoke off some giant Polish dude and somehow ended up trying you square up to him! They said he was three times my size and would have killed me instantly. I fell on my hole and they are picking me up when they realise there are a bunch of fucking Polish soldiers standing there watching the entire fiasco. How I wasn't either deported or murdered I don't know.
3 months later and it was me and Johnny that were out in the house. Johnny, who wasn't even there, was the one that reminded us of the runway incident.
A fuckin mortifying disgrace.
Gig was 2017 so it took 2 years and a return to Poland to get over it. At the first gig the soundman looks at my beers, cracks a smile and goes 'haha. Be careful this time'.
No way. We're you back in the same venue?? Memorable might not exactly be the word describe that night under the circumstances but the scar remains!
I remember getting completely paranoid the following morning. We had crashed in the venue and just drank on once we woke up and they had opened a side door into an alleyway. In my alcohol induced paranoia I was convinced we were going to be abducted through that door and dissapeared. Dunno if I ever mentioned it or just kept it to myself but I was freaked out. It didn't help that my ankle was swollen twice it's size and I couldn't stand up :laugh:
I'm sure I probably told this one on the old forum, but it's too much of a classic to pass up for anyone who may have missed it:
I'm about 24 and one of the lads - a bit older than me, and one of the guys from the group I'm least close to, but the group is the group - is getting married to an American girl so we're all invited along. Only, trying to cut down costs here and there, they've invited all of us to the church, then about half of that to the dinner at the hotel, and then all the rest of us up to join them in the evening for the shindig. Grand.
Lovely late morning mass; one of the lads on the church organ accompanies one of the American cousins as she sings, everyone straining their necks up towards the gallery to see the golden-curled source of the melodious voice. Stained-glass windows, gothic architecture, coloured light; she looks like an angel. "What's the status of this American cousin?" all the lads begin to whisper.
Mass ends and those not on the dinner list are going to hit the pub for lunch and as many pints as time will allow until the call comes for everyone to head to the hotel. But I'm broke, like flat broke, at the time; no way I can afford pub lunch plus an afternoon's worth of pints, and I don't want to ask anyone to spot me 'cos I don't know when I'll be able to get them back. So I hatch a simple plan; with what little money I have, I'll go to the offie, buy a shoulder of Jameson, go home and grab something to eat for free, and hit up the shoulder over the course of the afternoon so that by the time we can go to the hotel I'm more or less as advanced as everyone who's been drinking at the dinner or at the pub. See, the thing is, I don't have a mother who'd be grand with me sitting at home on my own knocking cans into me, so the idea is to go to the tiny music room I have, doodle away on the guitar and work away on the shoulder on the sly.
Head home, already started on the shoulder on the way. Get lunch and secrete myself away, keep sipping on the shoulder. Knock on the music room door; whiskey into the guitar case. "Are you not at a wedding today?" Explain the story with the pub, the money, and - somewhat out of character, therefore unexpected - my mother gives me some money for the pub and for drinks at the reception. Sound! So I set off down the village towards the pub and polish off the now unneeded shoulder, arrive, sit down, and instantly realize I've been drinking far too fast compared to everyone else (a shoulder of whiskey is the equivalent of how many pints??); they're grand, I'm fucking locked. Still, I have money now! "Pint there please!"
We organize a mini-bus up to the hotel (I mean, I guess we do, I don't really remember), and the reception has just kicked off when we arrive. In we go, and guess what? Free bar. Free bar! My whole initial plan for how not to end up the only dry one of my mates has been rendered unnecessary by the generosity of others! All I know about the reception is that I was messy; I wasn't alone in being messy, but even other people who were messy were looking down on my messiness. The night carries on and eventually the coach comes to take everyone back from the hotel. I'm having way too much fun for that so I strategically miss the bus having heard whispers that the bridal suite is fully occupied for an all-nighter with the American cousins, best men, groom's inner circle (which as I said at beginning, I'm not part of). Here's what I actually remember of what came next, in all its disjointed glory:
- We're all sitting round, bottles of silver label JD being passed around, and I'm still fuelling.
- I sit down beside the "angel" cousin and start trying my luck.
- Two of her enormous other cousins move in to protect; I graciously make space for them to sit down and proceed to try to talk to them while also trying to hit on her. I dunno.
- I'm staggering around corridors, not a fucking notion where I am.
- Some staggering later; a ferry, some kind of luxury cruiser, that's where I must be!
- I open a door; machinery, flashing lights and noises. I'm taken aback at first, but of course it must be the engine room.
- I'm on the exterior metal stairs of a fire escape wondering why the cruise ship is so close to land. Maybe we've docked? I should get back inside.
- I'm in a huge dining room, picking up and staring at cutlery and tugging at table cloths.
- I wake up in my bed at home (4 miles away). It's five o'clock in the evening.
- Inner voice instantly says "What the fuck?" So I go online to a forum we used to have with this group of lads to see if any of the stories have started coming in. Going by the fragments in my head, this is not going to be good for me and I'm reckoning the groom may never want to see me again. But this is the fear, I don't know anything for sure. The organ-playing mate, who'd had a room booked at the hotel, is online.
"Chap, I've only just woken up...and at home! Any idea what happened to me last night?"
"You don't know? You don't remember anything?"
"Nah, I think I was staggering about in the hotel a bit, but it's all a blank otherwise."
"Haha, fucking brace yourself! We got in the taxi this morning, driver asks us if we've had a good night, then says, 'Wait til yiz hear about the night one of yer mates had!'" Now imagine the fear as I'm watching this story unfold, line by line, with no idea what's coming next, miles from where I started and about 15 hours since my last memory:
Once I'd been asked to walk off my drunkenness (i.e. kicked out of the bridal suite for being a holy show...though I would have had to walk to Cork and back to get sober by that method!) I was picked up and moved along a couple of times by the night porter who was getting repeated calls to reception about my presence here and there in the corridors, banging walls, falling up against doors, sometimes lying down singing and laughing. The porter's just a young lad though, doesn't really know what to do with me at four in the morning so just hopes I'll fall asleep somewhere and at least be quiet. Eventually though (I presume after the dining room), I end up wandering into the kitchen. The chef in charge of breakfast, a Polish guy, has arrived and the other chef who's supposed to be with him to cater for the wedding party has called in sick. So now, this chef sees me appear in his kitchen at more or less the right time for the morning shift, fully dressed (albeit in a fucking suit!), and decides that I must be the replacement chef who's been sent to help him out. He can't get any sense out of me, but, in a bind, he reckons I must just be both a) hungover and b) foreign (gabbling incoherent anyway). Apparently I'll do, especially since I don't resist when I'm pointed towards the stove. So, brain seemingly just a sponge to suggestion in its current state, I get stuck into trying to cook some breakfast for a hundred people.
In the meantime, the shift manager has arrived and is taking a brief from the night porter who explains that everything was grand except for an AWOL guest he hadn't known what to do with but who he thinks must be asleep somewhere. Shift manager panics, starts running around the hotel just in case I've fallen or collapsed in a vomitous heap where another guest will trip over me. No such luck! He makes to the kitchen where he sees me, in a suit, teetering about, half-dead, at the stove; an enormous insurance claim just waiting to happen. He reefs me out of it, tries to find out what's going on, figures out I don't have a room, figures out I don't have any money, manages to get me to write my address on a piece of paper, then fucks me into the hotel taxi for a free ride home, considering himself lucky I haven't fried my face. Taxi driver says I was still babbling incoherently all the way home, in good spirits, but he had to walk me to the door of my gaff and help me unlock it. I don't know how, but just thank Christ I actually made it into my bedroom and shut the door, since there was just as much chance of me falling asleep on the crapper or in the bath tbh!
And the only reason I know any of this is because my mates had the same driver home later on. Haha, what a tragic waste of a yarn it almost all was!
Anyway, that's the story of how I almost became a chef in a fancy hotel/severe burn victim.
:laugh: :laugh:
:laugh: :laugh: haha fuckin hell! amazing!
That's fantastic.
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 10, 2020, 03:02:56 PM
No way. We're you back in the same venue?? Memorable might not exactly be the word describe that night under the circumstances but the scar remains!
I remember getting completely paranoid the following morning. We had crashed in the venue and just drank on once we woke up and they had opened a side door into an alleyway. In my alcohol induced paranoia I was convinced we were going to be abducted through that door and dissapeared. Dunno if I ever mentioned it or just kept it to myself but I was freaked out. It didn't help that my ankle was swollen twice it's size and I couldn't stand up :laugh:
Haha. Different city but we obviously came with a health warning. Stacking guitars on your wheelchair and facing you into the wall in the airport is my only funny memory of that trip.
I think you may have mentioned that alright. So grim. I was supposed to start a new job on the Monday. Feel queasy thinking about it.
Frightening carry on. Heebie jeebies stuff.
I was on the phone to a few buddies of mine the other night. Seeing as we can't get together at the minute we're having cans, a chat and listening to records using the JQBX (Jukebox) app.
Bit of a laugh. Until some prick when, it's his turn, decides to show how edgy/cool/music literate he is and puts on some 23 minute free-jazz track made by musicians from Capo Verde who have never seen the instruments they're playing before instead of just putting on "Black Dog" or whatever.
The conversation turns to getting older and having more sense than we used to (or not as the case may be). One of the lads says "I'd love to be 21 again", someone else disagrees and then one of the lads says "Christ Stouty! Do you remember your 21st birthday party?"
"I didn't have a 21st birthday party" said I
"No, but we all went to Freds and The Works after starting in your flat, remember?"
Shit. I do now.
Just finished college, nice flat in town on my own, good job with proper money, week off work. Happy days. A few days before my 21st, I went to Freds with this girl that I was sort of seeing. Things were great.
"I've been thinking about us" she says.
"Right." I says
"I'm seeing someone else" she says.
"Em... OK."
"I'm going to The Crowbar to meet him now"
"I don't really want to go to The Crowb..."
"I wasn't inviting you"
"Yeah... well"
"Bye"
So now I'm stuck in Freds with a heavy heart, a pint bottle of Bulmers and a pint of Bulmers that she's after putting raspberry cordial into (a Red Witch, lads - ask for it by name).
A few of my buddies filter in and decide to get me locked. And I end up getting steamed. So steamed that at closing time I'm wondering why the tables are all so high before realising that I'm sitting on the floor.
Fade out. Fade in. Still on the floor but now singing "Birth Ritual" by Soundgarden at full volume, trying to drown out Chris Cornell. One of the lads from behind the bar is getting fed up. Fade out. Fade in. The barman is now standing above me asking me to leave. Fade out. Fade in. The barman has his hands under my armpits and is lifting me up.
"Out you go".
"Riiiiiiiiiiituuuuuuuuuuuual!"
"The fuck are you on about?"
"Shinging alongsh to sssshe shhhong!"
"There hasn't been music on for 20 minutes, you fucking clown".
Fade out..........
End of part one.
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Quote from: StoutAndAle on May 19, 2020, 05:24:24 PM
I was on the phone to a few buddies of mine the other night. Seeing as we can't get together at the minute we're having cans, a chat and listening to records using the JQBX (Jukebox) app.
Bit of a laugh. Until some prick when, it's his turn, decides to show how edgy/cool/music literate he is and puts on some 23 minute free-jazz track made by musicians from Capo Verde who have never seen the instruments they're playing before instead of just putting on "Black Dog" or whatever.
The conversation turns to getting older and having more sense than we used to (or not as the case may be). One of the lads says "I'd love to be 21 again", someone else disagrees and then one of the lads says "Christ Stouty! Do you remember your 21st birthday party?"
"I didn't have a 21st birthday party" said I
"No, but we all went to Freds and The Works after starting in your flat, remember?"
Shit. I do now.
Just finished college, nice flat in town on my own, good job with proper money, week off work. Happy days. A few days before my 21st, I went to Freds with this girl that I was sort of seeing. Things were great.
"I've been thinking about us" she says.
"Right." I says
"I'm seeing someone else" she says.
"Em... OK."
"I'm going to The Crowbar to meet him now"
"I don't really want to go to The Crowb..."
"I wasn't inviting you"
"Yeah... well"
"Bye"
So now I'm stuck in Freds with a heavy heart, a pint bottle of Bulmers and a pint of Bulmers that she's after putting raspberry cordial into (a Red Witch, lads - ask for it by name).
A few of my buddies filter in and decide to get me locked. And I end up getting steamed. So steamed that at closing time I'm wondering why the tables are all so high before realising that I'm sitting on the floor.
Fade out. Fade in. Still on the floor but now singing "Birth Ritual" by Soundgarden at full volume, trying to drown out Chris Cornell. One of the lads from behind the bar is getting fed up. Fade out. Fade in. The barman is now standing above me asking me to leave. Fade out. Fade in. The barman has his hands under my armpits and is lifting me up.
"Out you go".
"Riiiiiiiiiiituuuuuuuuuuuual!"
"The fuck are you on about?"
"Shinging alongsh to sssshe shhhong!"
"There hasn't been music on for 20 minutes, you fucking clown".
Fade out..........
End of part one.
Haha
The Works,Crowbar,blasts from the past there!
Ah can't wait for Part 2, we need a netflix binge of Stout Tales!
Part Two.
Fade in...
(Begin Capt. Willard-like internal monologue)
I'm fucking roasting. I can feel the sweat on me like a waxy film. Is it still night? No. I have my eyes closed. Should I open them? If I don't open them maybe I'll get away with this. No... no I must open them. I'm thirsty. What time is it? Fuck it, open your eyes. That's it, now you can see. Where the fuck am I? What are all these weird curtains and stuff? Feel around... Yup. I'm bollocks naked. Did I score? How did I get here? Where is here? It mightn't be sweat. Maybe you're covered in blood. Maybe you murdered someone in a passionate jealous rage. Maybe it's your blood. Maybe if you move the curtains you can see where you are. Good idea.
So that's what I do. I move the coloured drapes and they all fall with a crash. Turns out I'd fallen asleep with my head under the shitty clothes horse that I used for drying my jocks.
Ugh. I feel rotten. But not pukey. I look around the bedroom, there's nobody else there, just me – starkers. My bed is still perfectly neat from the way I left it before I went out last night. I haven't broken anything in the room. I try getting up off the floor but it feels like my ass-cheeks are glued to the timber flooring. Eventually I roll to one side and there's a Velcro like "ffffiiiiiitch" as my hole leaves its resting place. The sweat is pumping out of me and I'm none too steady on my feet.
"Huuuuurgh." I need to shower and brush my teeth. My bedroom has a small shower and jacks so I don't have far to go, couldn't face walking down the hall to the main toilet. The place is intact. I look at myself in the mirror. I look like a 90 year old (fat) corpse. "Yeh fuckin' eejit" I say to my reflection. End up sitting on the jacks for about 20 minutes trying to focus on Kerrang and wondering if I could get a horn to any of the girls in Kittie. I decide against it and try to focus on them talking about their record "Spit". Definitely a passion killer. Turn the page and there's an article on The Donnas. Again the debate begins but I ultimately decide that I might have a heart attack and, if I'm found with my lad in one hand and a dishevelled copy of Kerrang in the other, there'll be eternal questions over which band I was looking at. Was it Kittie? Was it Iron Maiden? Was it Powerman5000?
The sweat is still pounding out of me and I nearly slide off the jacks when I'm standing up. Brush teeth. Shower while trying to put my journey home back together. Freds isn't far from my flat so I couldn't have done too much damage. The shower starts to bring me around, I'll have coffee and a cigarette then enjoy the rest of my time off. Towelling off I come back into the bedroom and remember the clothes horse. This is one of those cheap ones that was a bit like a new born foal. One sock too many and the whole thing would collapse. I get it back upright, stick on a pair of boxers, grab the towel to dry my face/beard and head into the hall.
Next thing I know I am flying down the hall at speed. On the way out of my room, I put my foot into something and took off along the wooden boards. I land on my hole with a clatter at the end of the hall. I look down to see what I've tripped on – it's a wok. A fucking wok! And not just any wok but a big, burnt black, dirty greasy wok. You could drown a medium-size zebra in this thing. My foot is covered in wok gunk and it's all over the floor. I spend the next hour, after re-showering, cleaning grease and burnt black shit off my floor, skirting boards and walls. Have to throw out the mop head. Better get dressed, head to the wardrobe...
Hang on. Where are my clothes from last night? THE FEAR is here.
End of part two.
Brilliant! :laugh:
Jesús H Christos :laugh:
How many parts are in this excellent adventure?? You shouldbe writing novels lad 👍
Quote from: Snare on May 20, 2020, 12:24:41 PM
How many parts are in this excellent adventure?? You shouldbe writing novels lad 👍
I think 4 parts. I don't want to be boring people or making my drunken stupidity a chore to read by having them too long.
Haha hurry up!
This'll put Netflix out of business
StoutAndAle giving Ragnarok a run for his money these days.
Ragnarok had some fuckin great ones, ya.
Part Three.
So there I am, lads. Standing in the hall with a filthy mop head. The flop sweat on my brow is monsoon-like. I hardly walked home in nip. I'm not that much of a..... please..... Christ, tell me I didn't.
I dash into my room and open the wardrobe. I'm not a neat freak or anything but I firmly believe that everything has a place so I'm fairly rigid about how I hang my clothes, place my shoes, stack my jeans. I have a very specific way of folding t-shirts and god help anyone who tries to do it for me. Did I mention that I was very much single at this point? I stand there glaring at the wardrobe. Everything is in its right order. I check the washing basket, no sign of my jeans, t-shirt or underwear from last night. Fuck.
I go to the living room and start frantically searching under the couch, behind the telly, the stereo, the CD rack. Nothing. Into the kitchen – I check the washing machine, under the table, the fridge (who knows?) and come up empty. I start to spiral a little bit. I am drenched in sweat again. I can't put the last part of the night together. Anxiety has me by the throat and THE FEAR has me by the balls.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Every problem has a solution" I say out loud over and over.
I light a cigarette and try to think. I look at the counter and see the wok. The HUGE dirty wok. What does this have to do with my night? Did I trade a Chinaman my Levis for a cooking implement? This would be a low point.
I am soaked in a mixture of panic/shame/DT sweat so I have to have my third shower of the morning. This time checking from cuts or bruises. If I strolled home naked, I'd surely have some signs of physical wear and tear but no, not a mark on me.
After dressing I have to wrestle with the wok to get it into a black bin bag. It barely squeezes in. It's humongous, did I mention that? I decide to double-bag it, grab the mop head too and pick up my keys, phone and wallet as I..... Hang on. Phone, keys and wallet – these would have been in my jeans. Where the fuck are my clothes?!
I can't dwell on it now, I need to get out of the flat before I start sweating again. I haul the stuff down the 2 flights of stairs to where the bins are and drop the mop head in. Not a bother. The wok is going to be more difficult. I start fighting with it but no matter what way I turn it, I am no closer to getting it in. My upstairs neighbour appears and has to squeeze past me and my wok on the turn of the stairs. He turns to look back at me shoving the black bag with a two-foot long timber handle sticking out of it into the bin. I looks like I've killed Long John Silver and I'm now trying to dispose of his corpse.
"The oul bins are getting small and smaller, aren't they?" says I
"Owls?" he asks "The birds?"
Fuck it, he's Norwegian.
"Yeah, no I mean, you know yourself. Late start for you today is it, Torben?" says I. He works in a call centre.
"No. Normal time. 10am"
It is then that I realise that I haven't looked at a clock or a watch all day. I'm operating on 5 or 6 hours of sleep after a bender where I hadn't eaten all day.
"Oh right. Have a good one"
"Yes, you too. That will not fit in the bin, I think. And it will not leave room for my bag this week if it does"
"Yeah, you're right" Go fuck yourself, you Scandi prick! "Thanks for the heads up".
I have a moment of inspiration. There's a building site around the corner. I can lob this thing into their skip, they won't mind, I'm sure they let people do it all the time.
Out onto the Cork city streets with my cargo. The early September air is nice and cool but the sun is shining. I start to feel better about things. I'll get rid of this bag, get a bite to eat, go sit in Fitzgerald's Park and I'll be grand. I turn the corner to the building site. There's 4 or 5 lads there but they'll all heading toward Centra. God be with builders and their internal body clock for tea/breakfast rolls. This is going to be easier than I thought. Getting to the skip, I say a silent prayer and launch the bag up and over the top. It makes a hell of a noise.
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
Job's a good-un. Now to get on with the rest of my day – the park, some sunshine...
"Hey! You!"
Can't possibly be me.
"You! Throwing shit into the skip there!"
OK, it could possibly be me.
"Yeah?" I says, turning to face the only builder in Ireland who doesn't take 9 breaks a day. Desperately trying to affect nonchalance.
"The cheek of you dumping stuff in our skip" says he.
"You didn't see me do it"
"I fuckin'-well did. Like a hammer throw in the Olympics."
"It wasn't me"
"I know full well it was you. I'm sick of people coming along and throwing their bags of rubbish into our skips. What is it? A TV? A dog?"
"A dog?"
"Someone threw a dead dog into our skip once."
"No, it's a wok"
"A wok?"
"Yeah, like a Chinese frying pan"
"A wok, me bollix. What's in it?"
"A wok!"
He reaches into the skip and starts to pull the wok out by its oar length handle. I decide to run. Have any of you ever run when you've been hungover – no? – cos people don't generally do it, do they? I get to the top of the street. I'm fucked. My heart is beating like Bonzo on Moby Dick. Lungs exploding. I look back and I see that the builder has unwrapped the package and is looking bewildered. I get this weird sense of déjà vu. I have enough fuel in the tank to get me another street away.
I can now start my day in earnest. I begin by going to a few record shops (remember them?) and pick up a few CDs and magazines. And then a new mophead. I notice that it's 1300hrs. Time for a pint, I'm on my holidays, it's nearly birthday and I need a cure. Freds won't be open yet and I'm too mortified to even think of going back in there after my Chris Cornell tribute act from the night before. There's a pub two doors down from my flat. I get on well with the lads in there. I'll go in and have the craic.
As I get to the door, I notice that they have CCTV cameras pointed in both directions. Would it be cheeky to ask them for a look at the tape last night? I wonder. What if I'm starkers on the video? I'll have to kill myself... or at the very least, move. In I go.
James, the manager, is at the bar writing in his notebook. He has a huge grin on his face.
No. No. No.
"Pint?" he asks
"..... eh" I reply
"Pint of Guinness there for, Spiderman" he says to Brian behind the bar.
Spiderman? What the fuck is happening?
Brian arrives down with my pint.
"There you go, Spidey" he says.
Does Spiderman do something with his langer hanging out? Did I miss an issue? The Amazing Bare-Ass Spiderman.
"James..." I begin, "what's the craic with Spiderman?"
"You tell me" he says "You were the one going on about it last night when I was closing up"
"Was I in here last night?!"
"No, no. You arrived on the scene just as I was locking the door. You had a HUGE wok with you. You were singing Spiderman! Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can. And thumping the wok with your belt buckle."
As casually as I can I say;
"Ah, sure I'm some eejit. I'd love to see it on the oul CCTV."
"Are you sure about that?" he asks. "You were, eh... in some condition".
"Go on" I says. Trying not to faint.
Into the office we go. He puts on the tape and rewinds it. There I am, in black and white, belting away on my wok – fully clothed. A tsunami of relief washes over me.
"The state of me" says I
"It happens to everyone. It was your turn last night" says James who has now taken on a Dali Lama wisdom.
"I dunno where I got the wok from"
James rewinds the video and changes the camera. There's a shadowy figure taking a piss down his side lane. Slash complete, said shadowy figure stops at a pile of rubbish bags, dives in and emerges with a rather large Asian cooking tool.
"Our lane backs onto The Mayflower takeaway" says the Dali Lama.
After two pints I head home. I'm fucking shattered. I take my records and stuff out of the bag and go to put the mop head in the little cupboard under the sink in the en-suite toilet.
And there, perfectly folded with my sneakers resting atop them are my clothes from last night.
FIN.
Phuck me sytheweighs :laugh: :laugh:
Fantastic haha
Jaysus :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Brilliant. Like a hammer throw in the Olympics 😂🤣😂
Gas man! :laugh:
Ah that was class. The owls killed me 🤣😂🤣
That was a decent read. The writing is to be commended
:laugh: Bladdered but still folded and put away your clothes. Very tidy :)
Epic adventure. Brilliant.
I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.
I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.
Quote from: Bigmac on May 22, 2020, 09:56:09 AM
I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.
I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.
Ahem, care to share some of your tasty past inebriated histories with us Mac?
Cheers lads. Glad that my fuckwittery from 20 years ago has some sort of value.
The more observant among you will note that I said 4 parts and mentioned my birthday. I condensed it it to 3 because it was getting a bit long.
I'll throw up my 21st birthday horrorshow later.
Side note: I was thinking about this earlier. We are creating our own MCU - Monged Clown Universe - here. There will come a point when stories will cross-over and the scuttered Avengers will assemble.
Quote from: Kurt Cocaine on May 22, 2020, 10:04:27 AM
Quote from: Bigmac on May 22, 2020, 09:56:09 AM
I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.
I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.
Ahem, care to share some of your tasty past inebriated histories with us Mac?
Ha ha I certainly have a plethora of ones I could tell, though my newfound sobriety sees little benefit in sharing what feels like a very different life. But I'll see, the notion might strike me one of these days.
Quote from: Bigmac on May 22, 2020, 12:41:08 PM
Quote from: Kurt Cocaine on May 22, 2020, 10:04:27 AM
Quote from: Bigmac on May 22, 2020, 09:56:09 AM
I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.
I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.
Ahem, care to share some of your tasty past inebriated histories with us Mac?
Ha ha I certainly have a plethora of ones I could tell, though my newfound sobriety sees little benefit in sharing what feels like a very different life. But I'll see, the notion might strike me one of these days.
Sharing is caring. C'mon ta fuck. Out with them lad. Makes the lockdown that bit easier.
A real quick one and nowhere near the writing standard of what is going here but I had work at 8 the other morning, and I was so poisoned the night before that I woke up at 7.45 with my jeans and shoes still on. I jumped up out of it got me shit together in 10 minutes and made a run for it. I decided not to smoke a fag because if I did I would have driven the car straight into a wall but when I was emptying my jeans pockets I saw 2 half rollies coming out amongst the detritus so I said to save time and hardship sure I'll just smoke one of those halves when I get there. Made it at 1 minute to 8 lovely got the full 30 seconds to horse it in...
Realised as I hit the roach hang on what's the story with the flavour off this.. ah no fuck it's the fucking joint. By then it was too late I could feel the cunt seeping in and I got worse by the minute while trying to keep it together. Not exaggerating at all I was very close to a full blown panic attack by 9 o clock and I have to work with the public in a setting where it is very not ok to be in that condition. It was fucking rough out and the closest I have came to pure fear in a good while.
Bit of an anti climax but sure fuck it I may as well contribute something. I have way worse historical ones but I am lacking the eloquence of Stout & Ale at the minute
:laugh: Jesus man. Spiked yourself there :laugh:
Brilliant! :laugh:
Here's a quick one after reading the thread about one album bands and the mention of Mushroom/Aonghus McAnally.
I might have told this on the old forum too but...
In Whelan's one night, a buddy and I were finishing our pints and debating where to go for a few scoops next. Jacket on, last slug of the pint, two fresh pints appear in front of us.
"There y'are" says Frankie (one of the world's greatest barmen).
"We didn't order these, Frankie" says my pal.
"There's a promotion later, you might as well have yours now" says Frank as he gives us a wink and disappears.
Grand. Jacket back off - head outside for a cigarette. As I'm going I look into the little corner area by the window. I spot an Aonghus McAnally lookalike. Wait, it is him. Deadly. I loved him on telly when I was a kid.
Back inside. Tell the buddy.
"Ah yeah." says he. "Listen, we better get another two pints here. I don't want Frankie to be thinking that we're sneaking off after two freebies."
"Grand" says I "we have two stools here anyway".
Sure enough - we end up there for another 2 hours. Few promo pints down the hatch. Light on the pocket. Definitely going elsewhere this time, jackets on, say goodbye to Frankie.
Mr. McAnally is still there. To hell with it. I'm going to say hello.
"Hey Aonghus!"
"Yes?" clearly annoyed.
"Eh... how's it going?" says I
"Grand... Is that it?" asks Aonghus
"I met you once before in Mosney..."
"Ehhh...."
"It was back in the 80s"
"Right"
"What are you up to for the night, Aonghus?"
"Eh... heading home. And yourself"
I fuckin' set it up, now for the pay off;
"Ah Aonghus, you know yourself... ANYTHING GOES!" I bellow
"Right. Fuck off" says Aonghus
"Eh.. what?"
"Fuck. OFF!"
My buddy muscles in to my defence, grabs me and heads towards the door.
"Hey, Aonghus!" he roars back into Whelans "shove your saxophone up your hole!!!".
"What does that have to do with anything?!" I ask
"He plays the sax in The Commitments, doesn't he?!"
"He doesn't."
"Hey, Aonghus, stick any oul saxophone up your hole!!!"
You can't buy class.
Aonghus mcAnally was down in a secondary school on the north side of Cork city back in the early 90s for a day.
He was doing work for some kind of sports day in the school or something like that for TV.
A fella we know ,a student at the school, was assigned as Mcanallys helper/chaperone for the day.Between the jigs and the reels your man took a dump in a tissue and slipped it into McAnallys coat pocket.
At the end of the day Mcanally put on his coat jumped into his car and headed for Dublin ,none the wiser that there was a steaming turd in his pocket.
:laugh: :laugh:
:laugh:
That has to be a certain Murphy story surely Keo?? 😄
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 27, 2020, 06:40:13 PM
Aonghus mcAnally was down in a secondary school on the north side of Cork city back in the early 90s for a day.
He was doing work for some kind of sports day in the school or something like that for TV.
A fella we know ,a student at the school, was assigned as Mcanallys helper/chaperone for the day.Between the jigs and the reels your man took a dump in a tissue and slipped it into McAnallys coat pocket.
At the end of the day Mcanally put on his coat jumped into his car and headed for Dublin ,none the wiser that there was a steaming turd in his pocket.
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
That's fucking mental.
Quote from: Snare on May 27, 2020, 11:09:27 PM
That jas to be a David Murphy story surely Keo?? 😄
Yeah
It's going to be tough to top putting a shite in Aonghus McAnally's pocket
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 27, 2020, 06:40:13 PM
Aonghus mcAnally was down in a secondary school on the north side of Cork city back in the early 90s for a day.
He was doing work for some kind of sports day in the school or something like that for TV.
A fella we know ,a student at the school, was assigned as Mcanallys helper/chaperone for the day.Between the jigs and the reels your man took a dump in a tissue and slipped it into McAnallys coat pocket.
At the end of the day Mcanally put on his coat jumped into his car and headed for Dublin ,none the wiser that there was a steaming turd in his pocket.
Mother of Christ! :laugh: :laugh: :laugh: That is brilliant. Disgusting but fucking brilliant!
I wonder did my Cork accent trigger Aonghus that night?
Was this The North Mon by any chance, Paul?
Fella I know in Mayo got community service for some small misdemeanour. His community service was cleaning in the courthouse. Judges chambers and all. There was a window with curtains and a radiator underneath it. He was cleaning the room at the end of the day when everyone had gone and he got his poop and smeared it round the back of the railings on the curtain and the back of the radiator. Next day when the heat was switched on the God awful smell wafted through the whole building. Cases cancelled for the day. Had to get the fumigators in. Funnily enough never got caught for it.
Most of my fear stories are just bleak - the drinking bits are generally great but the following fear usually consists of edging on a nervous breakdown for a day under a wet cloth, enough times for them to have blurred together. I'll post one or two in here some time but they are not as detailed as the few already posted.
I felt like I had to share this with ye though. Found it on twitter this morning and properly laughed out loud at it, this belongs in this thread though it happened to none of us: https://twitter.com/shockproofbeats/status/992006545473966082?s=19
Quote from: ochoill on May 28, 2020, 12:46:40 PM
Most of my fear stories are just bleak - the drinking bits are generally great but the following fear usually consists of edging on a nervous breakdown for a day under a wet cloth, enough times for them to have blurred together. I'll post one or two in here some time but they are not as detailed as the few already posted.
I felt like I had to share this with ye though. Found it on twitter this morning and properly laughed out loud at it, this belongs in this thread though it happened to none of us: https://twitter.com/shockproofbeats/status/992006545473966082?s=19
Aye saw this a few years ago. Fucking classic.
Quote from: StoutAndAle on May 28, 2020, 10:03:09 AM
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 27, 2020, 06:40:13 PM
Aonghus mcAnally was down in a secondary school on the north side of Cork city back in the early 90s for a day.
He was doing work for some kind of sports day in the school or something like that for TV.
A fella we know ,a student at the school, was assigned as Mcanallys helper/chaperone for the day.Between the jigs and the reels your man took a dump in a tissue and slipped it into McAnallys coat pocket.
At the end of the day Mcanally put on his coat jumped into his car and headed for Dublin ,none the wiser that there was a steaming turd in his pocket.
Mother of Christ! :laugh: :laugh: :laugh: That is brilliant. Disgusting but fucking brilliant!
I wonder did my Cork accent trigger Aonghus that night?
Was this The North Mon by any chance, Paul?
St Aidans,there is a plethora of stories involving this fella and shite!
I could be getting stories mixed up here,but there was an incident where someone pissed into a syringe and injected into a class mates Apple!
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 28, 2020, 01:48:55 PM
St Aidans,there is a plethora of stories involving this fella and shite!
I could be getting stories mixed up here,but there was an incident where someone pissed into a syringe and injected into a class mates Apple!
I know who he is. Same lad used to take shits under plungers and toilet brush holders in UCC allegedly. Or was the rumour at the time anyway. Your story would make it seem like it was true.
Strange cos he was a quiet enough sort of guy anytime that I met him. He fronted QK years ago.
He used to work in a video shop that had a tanning booth in it too.
Christ knows what went on in there.
Quote from: StoutAndAle on May 28, 2020, 04:48:10 PM
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 28, 2020, 01:48:55 PM
St Aidans,there is a plethora of stories involving this fella and shite!
I could be getting stories mixed up here,but there was an incident where someone pissed into a syringe and injected into a class mates Apple!
I know who he is. Same lad used to take shits under plungers and toilet brush holders in UCC allegedly. Or was the rumour at the time anyway. Your story would make it seem like it was true.
Strange cos he was a quiet enough sort of guy anytime that I met him. He fronted QK years ago.
He used to work in a video shop that had a tanning booth in it too.
Christ knows what went on in there.
thats our man! :'( :laugh:
Cork's very own scat tanning salon!! A browner shade than normal I suspect. He was in the Blackpool one where the New Furniture Centre expanded into later IIRC.
We probably should remove his name from our posts to protect the guilty!!
QK? As in Queen Kong? I remember that lad, seemed a bit touched but I wouldn't have had him to down as Scatman John...
Ah, I saw them live a couple of times, knew a Cork lad studying film who was mates with the frontman too, if I'm remembering right. And and the only time I was shown scat porn it was in his gaff, now that I recall :laugh:
:laugh: :laugh:
Quote from: Black Shepherd Carnage on May 28, 2020, 07:06:16 PM
Ah, I saw them live a couple of times, knew a Cork lad studying film who was mates with the frontman too, if I'm remembering right. And and the only time I was shown scat porn it was in his gaff, now that I recall :laugh:
I note the way you specify "shown" and not the only time you've "seen"!! Obviously you understood ye had a mutual interest 😜
He's one of the soundest, most intelligent guys out there, he just doesn't have high notions of himself like others.. His performance on Blackboard Jungle is legendary, I can only imagine what the mother found when she was emptying out a young Ray D'Arcy's pockets afterwards 🙀
Quote from: Snare on May 28, 2020, 08:46:31 PM
I note the way you specify "shown" and not the only time you've "seen"!! Obviously you understood ye had a mutual interest 😜
Haha, caught rapih'!
It was this mate of his I knew who showed it to me, him saying a "friend" had sent it to him. I'm just making a newly educated guess about who the friend most likely was :laugh: Didn't arouse any further curiosity anyway, like, I wasn't wondering to myself after, "Maybe I'd have been more into it with non-Asians??" :laugh:
:laugh:
Anyway, 2 other memories of him come to mind...
His band stepped up as a very late replacement for Waylander for a gig I put on in An Spailpin Fanac in 1998, for which I was extremely grateful for. However I could have done without the stage show props introduced from the English Market across the road - a pig's head and numerous pigs trotters that were kicked around the venue after their performance (along with loads of sanitary pads from the dispensing machine). Venue took it in their stride though! 🤣
His creation of a water feature in The Oval bar a few doors down another time would put Dermot Gannon to shame. The jacks is upstairs, sink stoppers and stop cocks are easy to manipulate, so for a grand cost of zero punts, a stepped water feature appeared one evening down a full flight of stairs and into the bar without any official unveiling ceremony.
Keohane, does Ronan's text after a trip to Dublin belong in this thread???
Quote from: Paul keohane on May 27, 2020, 06:40:13 PM
Aonghus mcAnally was down in a secondary school on the north side of Cork city back in the early 90s for a day.
He was doing work for some kind of sports day in the school or something like that for TV.
A fella we know ,a student at the school, was assigned as Mcanallys helper/chaperone for the day.Between the jigs and the reels your man took a dump in a tissue and slipped it into McAnallys coat pocket.
At the end of the day Mcanally put on his coat jumped into his car and headed for Dublin ,none the wiser that there was a steaming turd in his pocket.
Jesus Christ :laugh:
Reminds me of this lad in Drogheda who was a pint stealer. He only stole pints of Guinness and was so cute with it that he was probably at it for years. It was always the same spot in the same bar. Finally a bunch of lads had it twigged, were sick of him and decided they'd set him up one night. So one of them gets a pint of Guinness and goes into the jacks and somehow manages to take a shite into the glass. Comes back out and the pint looks perfect. They set it in the usual spot and the lad steals it. They went out the back of the nightclub a while later and he's vomiting his guts out and this group of lads roaring laughing at him. Rotten. I can only imagine him delighted when that first taste of Guinness hits his lips only to be met with a stool bouncing up at him. Turns my stomach even thinkibg about it.
Hahahaha! You'd be haunted by that for years!
Quote from: Pedrito on May 28, 2020, 10:35:01 PM
Reminds me of this lad in Drogheda who was a pint stealer. He only stole pints of Guinness and was so cute with it that he was probably at it for years. It was always the same spot in the same bar. Finally a bunch of lads had it twigged, were sick of him and decided they'd set him up one night. So one of them gets a pint of Guinness and goes into the jacks and somehow manages to take a shite into the glass. Comes back out and the pint looks perfect. They set it in the usual spot and the lad steals it. They went out the back of the nightclub a while later and he's vomiting his guts out and this group of lads roaring laughing at him. Rotten. I can only imagine him delighted when that first taste of Guinness hits his lips only to be met with a stool bouncing up at him. Turns my stomach even thinkibg about it.
:laugh: :laugh: brilliant!
Quote from: Snare on May 28, 2020, 09:54:09 PM
Keohane, does Ronan's text after a trip to Dublin belong in this thread???
Christ im not sure what that one is?,
Back in Cork Airport after a trip and session for some gig/gigs for the weekend, you were picked up by someone special...
Quote from: Snare on May 29, 2020, 12:20:39 AM
Back in Cork Airport after a trip and session for some gig/gigs for the weekend, you were picked up by someone special...
Ah i get ya now! :laugh:
Quote from: Snare on May 28, 2020, 08:46:31 PM
I note the way you specify "shown" and not the only time you've "seen"!! Obviously you understood ye had a mutual interest 😜
He's one of the soundest, most intelligent guys out there, he just doesn't have high notions of himself like others.. His performance on Blackboard Jungle is legendary, I can only imagine what the mother found when she was emptying out a young Ray D'Arcy's pockets afterwards 🙀
He was always dead on with me. Which is why the scat stories were even harder to believe.
I was in college around the same time as him. I'd been aware of his band for a while but hadn't got around to seeing them live. The opportunity finally presented itself in maybe 1999 or 2000 (bit hazy on the date of this to be honest) when the band that I was in at the time ended up on the same bill as them. It was in Nancy Spains if my memory serves me correctly. Dave and Johnny were there but, as usual, just lurking. There was another lad with them who was incredibly soft spoken.
We were on early, played our set to pretty much nobody bar the bands that were also playing. The soft spoken lad appeared next to me as I was put putting my guitar into its case.
"I liked your stuff." says he.
"Sorry what?" says I
"I liked your stuff. Nice guitar. OK. Bye" and off he went.
QK come on later in the evening and they're pretty good. At this stage it was just Dave and Johnny in the band. And then someone in a gimp suit appeared. A full on fucking gimp suit.
Near the end of the set the lads threw a noose over the top of the rafters and were coaxing the gimp into it. All hell started to break loose. That was the end of their set and the next band were told to get the fuck up and start theirs.
The gimp leapt off the stage and landed like a cat on the floor. He started prowling around and just generally scaring people. It was very creepy.
He got to where me and the other lads were. One of us said to him;
"C'mere man, you have some set of balls on you doing that shit."
"Thanks. It's not so bad. OK. Bye."
.
:laugh:🤣😂 class, definitely put effort into doing things differently!
Lad, you're a fucking wordsmith. I'll give you that... :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
:laugh: :laugh:
I dont think QK were formed as early as 99/2000?,they did an awesome cover of CC 'hammer smashed face',its probably up on YouTube or somewhere.
Speaking of Johonny,years ago Skippy gave me a call ,'you have to call up,johonny was in South america and brought me back something'
Hopped in the car and drove over,there was real secrecy around this 'gift' Johonny brought him back,skippy pulls a cylindrical shaped thing out of a gear bag,pulls back the plastic ,to reveal a Lamas fetus in a jar!!
I nearly died!! I was expecting a big block of hash! :laugh:
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 10, 2020, 03:02:56 PM
No way. We're you back in the same venue?? Memorable might not exactly be the word describe that night under the circumstances but the scar remains!
I remember getting completely paranoid the following morning. We had crashed in the venue and just drank on once we woke up and they had opened a side door into an alleyway. In my alcohol induced paranoia I was convinced we were going to be abducted through that door and dissapeared. Dunno if I ever mentioned it or just kept it to myself but I was freaked out. It didn't help that my ankle was swollen twice it's size and I couldn't stand up :laugh:
Was it your gammy ankle or gammy knee that lead to the 30 minute attempt to get down from the top bunk at Chaos Descends?That's still one of the greatest things I've ever seen. And I was a fucking disaster area myself that weekend
"The following is a true story. Only the names have been changed... to protect the guilty" – Bon Scott
The weekend that I turned 21 I didn't want to have a party. At the time I wasn't seeing eye-to-eye with my father, mother or step-father so I just wanted to be left out of any plans that they might have had for me. I left home when I was 17 and I've done alright for myself ever since. Where we grew up was fairly dog rough so you had to know how to assimilate, fight or get the fuck out. I managed the latter two. I'm regarded as posh because I decided I wanted more, went to college and worked. I just wanted to hang with a few buddies and my kid brother who had just turned 18 a few months before. He's a gas man now, mainly sensible – he was a stone cold lunatic back then.
A plan was hatched - all meet at my nice new bachelor pad in the city centre, few cans, have the craic and then onto Freds. This plan was obviously made before I decided that I was a much better singer than Chris Cornell and treated the mid-week crowd in Fred Zeppelin's to a heart broken rendition of "Birth Ritual" and had to be lifted off the premises. (See a few pages back).
The lads started to arrive around 1630hrs or so and one-by-one they got to hear my tale of the wok, the skip and Spiderman. One of them, Chuckles, who had been with me on that fateful night said;
"Yeah. We wondered what happened to you after you ran away from Freds."
"Ran away?" I asked
"You took off like a fucking bat out of hell down the South Mall. You were lifting it. You have some pace for a fat cunt."
I have no recollection of this. The last thing I ever choose to do is run. Even in the gym, the treadmill is my least favourite machine. I am not a good or willing runner.
Everyone takes turns laughing at me and pulling the piss. I know when I'm beat and take a slagging. The buzzer goes, it's my buddy JB.
"Come on up" says I
"I, eh, have someone with me" says JB
"Who is....." asks I
"OPEN HER UP TO FUCK! OPEEEEEEN SESAME!" I hear a voice roar. I recognise it but I can't place it.
I open the door. Must be one of the lads having a mess.
I turn back to the bunch of boys in the gaff and I'm just about to say something when I hear this wild, shrill cackling from the stairs. At the same time at least three of us in the room say in unison "Bertie".
If you're from Cork or lived in Cork in the late 90s/early 00s and travelled in the circles that most of us here do then you'll know this lad. You'll have been at a party and got stuck with him whilst he smoked all your cigarettes. Or you'll have been in Freds, Preachers, The Quad or somewhere and had him sit down at your table, cadge drinks and stay the night. Fuck it, he was at a party in JB's gaff one evening and ended up deciding to live there for three weeks. That is a story in itself...
So I open the door to JB and Bertie who shoves his way into the flat.
He's about 10 – 15 years older than everyone else in the flat.
"Alright?" he asks, "I met your man on the road there. He said there was a bit of a party so I said I'd come along. Alright yeah? I didn't get you anything cos I didn't know it was your birthday and anyway, even if I did know, I'd have bought you nothing cos I think you're a cunt" followed by his trademark cackle and then "Only messin'. Have a sense of humour for fuck sake!" and then the cackle and then "Ritchie?! I haven't seen you in ages".
"Oh Christ" mutters Ritchie, putting his tobacco and Rizlas into his jacket.
I turn back to JB.
"Sorry man" says he, handing me a slab of cans and a birthday gift. You can tell who your mates are.
"Here!" roars Bertie "Do you have any decent scotch?"
"I do, yeah" say I "It's in the crystal decanter on the Danish sideboard"
"Where's the sideboard?"
"There's no scotch. I don't drink spirits too often. There's beer over there."
"Fuck that! Do you have a bottle of decent red wine?"
"I don't drink wi....."
"For fuck sake, this is some party lads. No booze, no wine, no women. Fuck sake. Have you a bit of smoke?"
"No. Not my thing"
"JESUS CHRIST!" says he swiping a beer. "I don't know why I bothered coming here at all."
This has all taken place in about 90 seconds from him entering the room.
"I have a bit" offers one of the lads.
Bertie snatches the baggie from him – "This is pure shit. You were robbed."
BZZZZZZZZ. Thank fuck, more people.
"Yeah?" I ask
"Waaaaaaaaassssss deh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckin' story, sham?!" I know exactly who this is. It's my kid brother.
I turn to the lads "Pods and Maxer are on the way".
"WAHEY!" The lads love my kid brother. Like I said he's a gas man and so is his best mate Maxer.
(Sidebar – Years after this story takes place, jump ahead to 2015, Maxer was up in court on a drunk and disorderly charge. The judge left him off with it. He went into The Washington Inn, a pub next to the courthouse, to celebrate. Got demented. Several hours later he got arrested and charged for being drunk & disorderly - pissing on the courthouse steps.)
Door opens to reveal the two boys in their uniform of the time – Football jersey, 501s, Air Max.
"Happenin' kiiiiiids?" roars Pods at the entire room. Big cheer.
"What's the story with the knackers?" asks Bertie
Everything stops.
"That's my brother" says I
"Eh....."
"Hey you. You call me a knacker again, you'll be losing a few of those straight Southside teeth, kid" says Pods "right, birthday boy, there you go." He hands me some beer coasters that he's carved himself. "Now, can I have a smoke in here?"
"Yup" says I
The two boys produce bars of hash that could dam a river.
"Could I, eh, you know, eh, get in, on that action there?" enquires Bertie
"Can ya have a smoke, d'ja mean?" asks Maxer
"Yes"
"You can, when we're ready"
"Can I skin one? I think that yours might be a bit on the teeny bopper side"
"No. Dis is my hash, right? If you wanta skin wan you can buy some and skin it yourself but dis is my hash." says Maxer.
"Um, no. If you're offering me a smoke. I'll wait".
The two boys go to work at the kitchen table. It's like a production line with the two of them. I start to mingle with the other lads. More people than I expected have turned up. Great! Every once in a while I hear a shrill cackle from the table behind me. After an hour or two we decide that the time has come to go to Freds. I am dreading this. I haven't been in since I acted the gowl in there. Fuck it, lets go.
Bertie is out of it. He's upright but stoned solid.
"This is all wonderful" says he.
"Right we're all going to Freds" says I.
"No, I don't think so. Let's go to Souths" he replies.
For those not from Cork – Souths is a staid hotel bar in The Imperial Hotel i.e. not the sort of gaff a load of young fellas would go to.
"Yeah. On your own there, kiiiiiiiiid!" says Podsie. "Let's go. Freds. Come on".
Bertie floats through town out of his head and then at the corner of Freds says;"Lovely to see you all. Bye now".
The fucker has gotten high and pissed for free and had dodged off. To be honest, I didn't care – like I said, he wasn't someone I knew too well.
I hold the door of Freds open for all the lads while gearing myself up to go in. Please, Jesus, don't let Mick be on. Please don't let Mick be on. I pray.
In I go.
"Hi Mick" says I.
Fuck you, Jesus. You're no friend of mine.
"Ah... Stout. I was wondering when you'd show your face around here" says Mick, stoney faced. Glowering.
"Look. I just wanted to apologise... I was demented and that's no excuse but..."
He's staring at me. Through me. Dead eyed. Hands by his side. Fists balled. Christ. He looks like he wants to hit me. Jesus. Am I going to get decked on my birthday?
"... am I barred?"
He breaks into his trademark grin. The lads are all pissing themselves. One of them texted him to say we were on the way.
"Gotcha, yeh fucker! Barred? If that was the worst thing that happened to me all week in this place, I'd be delighted. Pint?" he asks, laughing.
"I, eh, won't, no. Maybe in a minute. Thanks." I haven't touched a drop so far, I don't feel the need to start filming Spiderman 2 just yet.
We sit down the back, there's enough of us there to take over one whole side of the rear section of the bar. Steve the DJ puts on "Birth Ritual" and starts pointing and laughing. We all laugh even though I am fighting back a reddener that could cook popcorn.
"Look at the state of this!" shouts Chuckles.
We all look towards the door. Bertie has come through it at a very jaunty 45° angle. His shirt is wide open down to the belly button and he's covered in what looks like sweat. His hair is stuck to his face.
"Not a hope!" roars Mick at the door.
"Ahhhhm huuuuuuur faaah Stout's baaaaaar-day!" slurs Bertie.
Mick looks down at us. We all shrug.
"Right" says Mick "I'll give you one drink and see where we go from there".
"D'jjjjuuu haaaaaf and deeechent Scotches?" Berite inquires.
"Teachers?"
"Daaash fine"
He comes over and joins us. He is FUCKED. "Hashes is stttrong".
I look over at Podsie and Maxer who look OK. Then again, they're made of hash.
Over the next 30 minutes Bertie dozes off, gets slapped awake by Mick, dozes off again, goes to the bar, gets refused, comes back with 4 bags of Bacon Fries, eats them all by himself. He's starting to come around. Not perfect but he's not completely out of it anymore.
"Let's go to The Brog" he says
"We're grand here" someone tells him.
"Fuck ye so!" and he's gone. Again.
My brother and his buddy are also getting up to leave.
"There's young ones over in The Catwalk. This place is full of lads. Enjoy your birthday. See you tomorrow" says Podsie. And they're gone too.
End of Part One.
Part Two.
A few hours later and we're heading to The Works.
The Works was an alternative rock nightclub with 3 DJs open every Thurs – Sat... the likes of which will never be seen again.
In we go. I still haven't had beer or anything. Just Tanora and 7-Ups. THE FEAR taught me a lesson the other night.
The lads are in varying stages of drunkenness. Chuckles comes over to me. I'm just standing there looking around, listening to the tunes.
"Have a pint!" he shouts, over the music
"I'm grand a while thanks" says I
"Go on. Have something!"
"I'll have a Jaegermeister"
"Right so... C'mere isn't that yer wan that you were sort of seeing? The one who dropped you during the week?"
I look over. Oh for fuc... This night is not going well.
"Yeah, it is" I nod.
"She's with some fella there, lookit!"
Great. I look over and look back at Chuckles.
"C'mere man, leave that Jaegermeister off. I think I'll just go home"
"It's not even half eleven yet. On your birthday?! Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them"
"I'll just leave it, I think"
I turn to say goodnight to the rest of my buddies and am greeted by the sight of Bertie being carried, fucking CARRIED into the club. Two other lads that I know vaguely from drinking in Freds have an arm each and are lifting him in. I should mention at this point that The Works was up two flights of stairs. I have no idea how he got past the bouncers.
"Stout! Stout!" he starts roaring in my direction. His two aides see this as their opportunity to get rid of him and promptly prop him up at the bar next to me. He is chewing the eyebrows off of himself. I've never taken Ecstasy but I'm not naive enough to not spot someone else who's currently buzzed on it.
"I tooo-ok two-ooo yokes" gurns Bertie.
See? I was right.
"My puss-ah is in here." he continues "I scored in the Brog with this chick and this is where she said she was going to".
"Ehhhh. OK. Where is she?" I ask, trying to get rid of him.
He sweeps his arm across the entire room "Sooome-where heeeere."
"Uh-huh".
"Listen.... listen" he starts to whisper in a hushed tone "order me a drink there. I have to go to the jacks" tapping his nose. He heads off in the direction of the toilet, then stumbles back "I HAVE SOME SPEED AND A BIT OF CHARLIE!" he roars and then puts his index finger to his pursed lips in a shush motion.
I shrug it off and turn back to find that Chuckles has bought me the Jaegermeister that I told him I didn't want. I pick it up and take a sip, it's warm. I ask the guy behind the bar for a glass with ice. As I'm pouring the Jaegermeister into the fresh glass I notice someone next to me, I glance at a face that I don't recognise. It's a lad in his late 30s, possibly early 40s, in a Korn t-shirt, biker jacket and New Rock boots trying to give me an intimidating 1000 yard stare. I say trying to because I'm 6'2" and this guy is barely breaking 5'5" even in the New Rocks.
"How's it going?" I ask
"Do we have a problem here?" he spits out.
"Right..."
"I'm with her now" he says, pointing at the girl that I was sort of seeing. "You stay well away from us. You lost, buddy".
"I don't know what the fuck you think I'm going to do but yeah, fine, it wasn't serious or anything. Relax, man."
He knocks the drink out of my hand and starts poking me in the chest.
"Serious? Shit can get serious real quick!" he says to me while still poking me in the chest.
I've had enough of this now. I can feel the anger well up.
"Stop!" I utter - whilst grabbing his fingers, bending them backwards and twisting his wrist. He lets out a yelp.
I am just about to let him go, I really don't need any hassle, when all of a sudden a black army surplus paraboot sails into my field of vision and slams into this guy's jaw. THWACK! I let go of his hand and he crumbles to the floor.
I hear someone make a loud Bruce Lee "Haaaaaaaah!" noise. It's a much more alert but extremely sweaty Bertie. He gives Korn shirt a few more kicks.
"We're even!" he says to me "Even!"
"Even?! For what?!"
"For when I knobbed that bird Nora that you were going out with a while back."
"I never went out with anyone called Nora!"
"Even! EEEEEEEEE-VEN!"
And then fucks off into the crowd on the dance floor. Yer man in the Korn shirt is still on the ground, in an awful condition I might add. Face busted open, blackish blood coming from his mouth, definite teeth loss. Security has arrived. I'm standing over this lad debating on what to do when I'm unceremoniously grabbed and hauled through the club with everybody in there staring at me wondering what I've done. The girl that I was sort of seeing is sitting your man up, bawling her eyes out calling me a fucking bastard, a psycho and all sorts of other names. They get me out of the alternative room and have me on the landing, they're still holding onto me, my arms behind my back and I'm facing down the two flights of stairs. For a minute I begin to panic that they're going to throw me down the stairwell headfirst - Cork bouncers around this time in the late '90s were fairly heavy handed - one had even killed a guy outside a club in the city.
"I didn't do anything!" I start to plead my case.
"We'll let the Guards decide. They're on the way"
"The only thing I did was stop him poking me in the chest"
"Fine way of doing it" says one of them.
Just then my friends arrive on the scene. They start in on my defence. The bouncers are having none of it. People start filtering out to have a nose. Thank Christ for busybodies! A few of them pipe up with "You have the wrong guy there" and "It definitely wasn't him". The bouncers ease up on me. One of them gets on a radio. They start getting a description of the perpetrator and looking back at me. "Black hair, thin, white shirt wide open" meanwhile I'm shaven-headed, portly and wearing a black t-shirt.
"Right" says the bouncer. "Head away home."
"Home? I haven't done anything wrong".
As if by magic - the swing doors of the club open - out comes the walking wounded along with yer one and some of their friends. The lad is in pieces. One eye is all swollen shut, nose is a mess, blood everywhere. I genuinely start to feel sorry for him. Nobody deserves that on a night out.
"Leave. Now." says the bouncer. I start to head down into the street.
A male and female guard pass me on the stairs heading towards the bouncers. Somebody behind me says that I'm a witness.
Fucking busybodies! The female guard comes back down to meet me.
"Yeah" I say "but look all I know is that the guy that got hit was trying to start an argument with me. I asked him to stop and someone else hit him."
"Someone else?" asks the female guard. I notice that she looks uncannily like Paul Baloff.
"Yes" I reply wondering if I should casually mention the Baloff thing. She might be into Exodus and thus, flattered.
"Who was this someone else?"
"I don't know"
"You don't know? Are you sure about that? We'll be checking the footage"
"I don't know him."
"What's your name?"
I swear to Christ, I'm seriously debating whether or not to tell her that my name is Gary Holt when the other guard says "It's not him". Baloff stares at me for about 10 seconds and then marches up the stairs.
I decide to call it quits and head home but first I'm going to get a kebab in The Spice Route - the metal community of Cork will know this place well, it's where a lot of us ended our night out in '90s. Chuckles catches up to me and says he wants food too. I get to the counter and give the lads behind it a wave. They're well used to me coming into the place in all sorts of conditions. I order my usual - lamb korma kebab and chips - not on the menu but the lads will do it for regulars or anyone else with money... probably. I hear a voice from behind me.
"Ah Stout, how's it going now?" It's Bertie. He's standing right next to us in the queue. His shirt is wide open, eyes manic, sweating, pint bottle of Bulmers in his hand. Hanging of his arm is a vaguely attractive A-typical "rock chick" in jeans, GN'R t-shirt (of course) and a fur type jacket thing which has a big streak of white power up it. Either she's just been swimming and talced up or she's been at the nose candy with your man.
"Eh, yeah, grand". says I
"Was there hassle in the club? The law were pulling up as we were leaving." he asks.
"Well you..."
"Sorry now, one second there. Yeah... two Ch-ch-icken-en naans-sh, two chipsh, and whatever drink. Yeah?!" he slurs slightly.
"Two shish naans, two chips and water to drink. Yes, yes my friend." says the counter guy.
"No... that's not what I said" Bertie snaps back at the lad as he rolls his eyes at me.
"OK, my friend. What did you say? You tell me, I will make it for you"
"I'm not your fucking friend right? And if you want to operate a business in this country you'd do well to learn the lingo."
Oh Christ! I need to get the fuck out of here. The counter lads shoot me a look as if to say "Do you know this idiot?"
"I have the grub here" say Chuckles copping the situation "let's go".
I try to give a sincere, apologetic "I'm not a racist and I don't know this person" type of look to the guys working in The Spice Route but afterwards Chuckles tells me that it looked more like someone trying to squeeze out a cheeky fart.
"Will we eat it on the steps?" ask Chuckles.
I have had enough fun for one night. With my luck Paul Baloff will arrive to sort this ruck out. I grab my food, say my goodbyes and head home where I eat and watch some Seinfeld til I doze off.
I am woken earlyish by my Nokia phone playing its "Raining Blood" ringtone which I programmed into it one night in the pub to the delight of everyone else around me. Only took about an hour.
"Yeah" I groan.
"Yes. Hello. Right. Is this Stout? Bertie here".
"OK, yeah?"
"Very quick question. Did I give you my wallet last night?"
"No"
There then followed some rustling and muted shouts of "He doesn't have it! Where the fuck is my wallet?". He comes back to the phone;
"Sorry now. I've just woken up here next to some TRAMP and my wallet is gone. I've called everyone I know and nobody has it. I KNOW she's taken it and ripped me off!"
"Is this the girl that was with you last night?"
"Girl... Ha! She's a fucking robbing TRAMP! I'm not allowing you to leave til I find my fucking wallet!"
I then hear another male voice on the line in the background telling Bertie to keep it down.
"Mind your own fucking business! I have been robbed" he roars "by a WHORE! YOU. ARE. NOT. LEAVING!"
More noise in the background, female shouting, a couple of who-the-fuck-do-you-think-you-ares and you-want-to-watch-your-mouths followed by Bertie coming back to the line;
"All sorted. That was my housemate. I left it on the coffee table downstairs. OK BYEEEE!"
:laugh: :laugh: Brilliant!
Quote from: Pentagrimes on May 29, 2020, 04:32:45 PM
Quote from: Eoin McLove on May 10, 2020, 03:02:56 PM
No way. We're you back in the same venue?? Memorable might not exactly be the word describe that night under the circumstances but the scar remains!
I remember getting completely paranoid the following morning. We had crashed in the venue and just drank on once we woke up and they had opened a side door into an alleyway. In my alcohol induced paranoia I was convinced we were going to be abducted through that door and dissapeared. Dunno if I ever mentioned it or just kept it to myself but I was freaked out. It didn't help that my ankle was swollen twice it's size and I couldn't stand up :laugh:
Was it your gammy ankle or gammy knee that lead to the 30 minute attempt to get down from the top bunk at Chaos Descends?That's still one of the greatest things I've ever seen. And I was a fucking disaster area myself that weekend
That was a torn cruciate a couple of years before the ankle incident. I'm currently doing physio for my other knee which has been clicking non stop when I walk or kneel down for the past month. Middle age rules!
:laugh: you're a pure artist Stout!
Your memory is astounding lad. Class tale :)
The Works ,theres a blast from the past,spent a few nights in a heap in that place.
Fantastic, Stout! Pure poetry.
Quote from: StoutAndAle on May 22, 2020, 10:53:05 AM
Cheers lads. Glad that my fuckwittery from 20 years ago has some sort of value.
The more observant among you will note that I said 4 parts and mentioned my birthday. I condensed it it to 3 because it was getting a bit long.
I'll throw up my 21st birthday horrorshow later.
Side note: I was thinking about this earlier. We are creating our own MCU - Monged Clown Universe - here. There will come a point when stories will cross-over and the scuttered Avengers will assemble.
at the time, I hated my equivalent experiences, or being around similar goings on, but the passage of time makes the late 90s stuff seem like a whole other universe, sadly missed.
Quote from: StoutAndAle on May 20, 2020, 02:41:48 PM
Quote from: Snare on May 20, 2020, 12:24:41 PM
How many parts are in this excellent adventure?? You shouldbe writing novels lad 👍
I think 4 parts. I don't want to be boring people or making my drunken stupidity a chore to read by having them too long.
you don't hear much about cordials anymore; the late 90sness of your stories is amazing man, Im loving catching up on all the madness
Agreed, and it makes my drunken exploits seem all the tamer by comparison, so there's that.
my memories of that time period are of standing around various Dublin rock venues, being bored/miserable. I would give ANYTHING to be back then again knowing even 1% of what I now know about life.
snakebite if blackcurrant, cinnamon aftershock, nu-rocks, COF tshirts, 'homely' girls, Du Hast, oh look- some cunt's put jukebox-Davidian on 3 times in a row, can I have a look at your copy of Bizarre?
Aftershock, Jaysus. Great stuff in my teens.
Just read the 21st story. Wow. 😂🤘🤣
Phuck me Stout :laugh:
Glad I saved part 2 for this evening. After having a couple of Guinness and whiskies... :laugh:
Class. Class. Class. Felt like I was there with you man. Hahaha....
:laugh: :laugh: Thanks a million for taking the time to share the 21st and morning after lunacy!
Re the bouncers killing "someone" around that time, that wasn't bouncers simply being overly enthusiastic. That "someone" was well known for his violent tendencies and attacked the bouncers simply because they wouldn't let him in after being on an all day bender.
The CCTV footage is fair shocking the way he wound up and smacked the bouncer. They had a struggle to restrain him and he got a crushed windpipe for his going out of his way to cause trouble.
I remember a while after that the manageress in Hillbillies on Grand Parade was expressing her happiness at it one busy night in front of a line of customers. I called her out on it (quietly at the side after I collected my order!), saying it was still someone's son/brother etc locally that she was talking about in public. She was having none of it, calling out after me that he had it coming for a long time, still delighted, etc. Found that hard to believe the way someone could carry on in work like that. Lucky she wasn't heard by his buddy who went to attack the club owners afterwards!
Re The Spice Route, we gave up on that place around then! Buddy's a celiac so gets a burger then takes it out of the bun. One night in there they handed him a fresh styrofoam burger box. Grand job, down to the table to tuck it. Does his usual to dispose of the bun, then discovers two large bite chucks already taken out of the burger!!Goes back up to report it, they didn't bat an eye and gave him a replacement. We reckon they clean off tables and restock it for drunks coming out of clubs!!
Hillbillies! I used to DJ in the wolfhound of a Thursday and get abused by Leo and Noel for playing 'Brian Cody Metal' and if I actually played a song they liked...'fanny! Crowd pleaser!' Those chicken burgers took the pain n away :)
I had coffee with my kid brother over the weekend. I reminded him about my 21st.
He said that Maxer hasn't changed in all that time. They were at another of their friend's wedding just before last Christmas. Maxer was at a table of about 16 people.
During the best man's speech he was leaning back in his chair to get a better look. He couldn't hear the guy very well so he roared "Speak up, ya fool!".
Unfortunately the shout took quite a bit out of the already steamed Maxer and the chair went from under him. He tried to steady himself by grabbing the table but only managed the tablecloth and ended up hitting the deck and pulling a whole table's worth of drink down on top of himself. He roared laughing as the alcoholic waterfall flowed over him. People started tsk-ing and tutting.
"FUCK THE LOT OF YE! I'da been grand if that guzzy eyed dickhead had spoken up a bit."
He was eventually tossed out of the afters for stealing peoples drink, at a free drinks reception...
I asked my brother if he got turfed out of the hotel or what.
"No, he wasn't staying there. He tows a small little caravan around with him when he goes to weddings and sleeps in that. Next morning he was in the car park of the country house cooking sausages on a gas stove sitting in his jocks, shirt and tie".
I might invite that fella to my wedding. Give folk something to talk about after.
Quote from: Emphyrio on July 08, 2020, 02:15:21 PM
I might invite that fella to my wedding. Give folk something to talk about after.
Can I come too?
Ah lads. It's good to be back! Pissing myself here catching up on all the stories. :laugh:
Quote from: Nazgûl on July 08, 2020, 04:45:19 PM
Ah lads. It's good to be back! Pissing myself here catching up on all the stories. :laugh:
It's like getting the band back together :laugh: :abbath:
Quote from: Nazgûl on July 08, 2020, 04:45:19 PM
Ah lads. It's good to be back! Pissing myself here catching up on all the stories. :laugh:
That could quite easily be old age though.... :laugh:
I only discovered there was an off topic forum here the other day and then, to my delight, i discovered that the FEAR is back! Some horrifically hilarious tales of Fear in the old forum for sure, manys the laugh i had from them. Need to wade through this new batch at some stage!
Met a buddy of mine for coffee the other day. He told me a great little tale about a mutual friend who had a house-warming/Christmas party at the end of last year.
This lad we know, DC, bought a nice gaff. On his own (pharma job, lived at home until he had a huge deposit). Decided to have a bit of a party. Good craic, plenty of booze. One rule. "Lads, downstairs jacks only, yeah?"
Wakes up next morning to the screams of the girl he was seeing. Runs down the stairs absolutely starkers (after grabbing a club from the golf bag on the landing) following the sound of the roaring.
DC finds her staring at one of the boys out cold in the jacks naked from the waist down, surrounded by cans and some of the food that had been laid out in the dining room the night before, cradling a bottle of Famous Grouse.
"Ah for fuck sake!"
DC finally gets the other lad to come to. He stands up, wobbles a bit and sets about searching the house for his pants and jocks. All the while singing a version of "Wired For Sound".
Something must not have agreed with his guts cos as he left the downstairs jacks he revealed a "chalk outline" that he had created by spraying up the back of the cistern, around the outside of the bowl and the floor.
Yer wan was never seen again.
"Seal le Dáithí
TG4, 7.30pm
The multi-talented Aonghus McAnally recently retired from broadcasting, but pops up here as Dáithí Ó Sé's first guest on the new series"
It would be great if we could submit some questions about things he might remember! 😀
My favourite thread from MI so I may as well add in some of what I've been up to since then.
By and large I've been much more sensible, thanks to two incidents that changed my drinking habits. One was the Destroyer 666 gig in Dublin in 2018, the last time I drank Buckfast. I don't remember a note of the gig, nor apparently needing help to put my jacket on or body-slamming some short fella to the floor, whose identity is still a mystery. The first thing I remember after finishing the Buckfast on the bus is being refused service by the bar staff in On The Rox and attempting to sneakily get someone to buy me a pint. Not sneakily enough and I was marched down the stairs by the bouncers. The memory loss kicks in again at that point but I do know that I ran into El Ogre Del Dublinios at that point who should be in here soon enough to share his own tales so he might be able to fill in the blanks.
The other was the last night I ever drank spirits as my main tipple. A few nights after Christmas about 2 years ago and the stepfather had given me 2 bottles of this rotten chilli whiskey which became tolerable when mixed with ginger ale so that had me off to a flying start at my friend's house. This may have also been the night that it took an hour to coax me along the 15 minute walk back to the after-sesh from the bar after accepting a toke off a joint and shitting my guts out behind a bin but I can't be sure. What I do know is that with both bottles of the rotten chilli whiskey gone I let myself back into my mother's house just around the corner around 2am to grab a third bottle, a Redbreast 12 which is far too good a whiskey to be wasted on a night like this. The next thing I remember is after sunrise and holding onto the lampost outside the friend's house, trying not to slip on the icy ground and assuring him that I'm okay walking round the corner.
And I was.
Or so I thought.
I was later told by the mother than not only had the stepfather nearly run me down in the car when leaving for work when I staggered into the road but she had put the bolt on the door after he left, assuming I had made it home already. With my key not getting the job done and unable to rouse her by knocking I apparently decided trying to batter the door down with a log from the garden was the best course of action. Cutting back on the spirits was pretty much a prerequisite for staying home at Christmas or ever again from that point on.
So since then I've mostly been on the straight and narrow, sticking to beer and wine with the occasional cocktail or single malt here and there. One night in Manchester is still worth a mention though. I had moved there for work in the autumn of 2019 and because of working unsociable hours, prioritising going to the footie and a general lack of decent gigs it took til February of last year for an opportunity for some real dionysian metallic alcoholocausting. But when that opportunity came it came in spades. A 12 band bill, finally a chance to get to check out some local bands and meet up with all the mates who I had known before moving but hadn't had the chance to sesh with properly yet.
I decided to start off slow, forgoing any cans on the train ride in from Stockport. After all this day was primarily about social and musical enjoyment and I didn't want to ruin that too early on. Beside which, it was also a charity gig in honour of a very well liked local lad who had committed suicide the previous year and most of the attendees, my mates included, had a very personal connection with him. The last thing I wanted was to be the drunk stranger at the wake.
The day got off to a bit of a bad start. First of all I asked a lad to extend my apologies to his wife, who I had upset by not recognising in my drunken stupor at the Samhain gig in Limerick a few months back. Only I didn't know they had separated. Foot in mouth, strike one. Then there was the appearance of a girl who I had hit it off with on a previous trip to Manchester. Got on like a house of fire, sat chatting away in Burger King til the wee hours, she walked me back to my hotel and kissed me goodnight. Then for reasons I still am not sure of blocked me on Facebook. Strike two and things were getting awkward so hitting the pints hard earlier than planned was the only sensible thing to do.
A few bands and plenty of pints in I was feeling much better, so much so that I thought I might take a crack at the statuesque redhead who had sorted me out with a ticket for this sold out affair via Facebook. (Sidenote - I later found out she's a dominatrix so I may have dodged a "bullet" on this one in more than one sense of the word.) I was formulating my battle plan while walking down the stairs, an old smooth worn oak bastard that was probably as old as the Victorian building itself. Consumed with thoughts of the ride I failed to notice the puddle of beer and strike three, I cleared the last dozen steps in a textbook Larel And Hardy banana peel spill, landing arse first on the bottom step. Right in front of the ginger beauty.
Fuck it, full speed ahead on the drinking and headbanging from that point I thought.
Now it's worth mentioning my mother's family have an incredibly high genetic tolerance to painful injury. My grandfather once took 24 hours to notice a broken neck. His brother once wrapped a protruding leg bone in a hankerchief and said he would make an appointment with the doctor on Monday. I myself once broke some ribs and didn't notice for several hours so the thought did cross my mind that this was something that wouldn't be sorted by a bit of a sit down. But with over half the bands still to go I convinced myself I could stretch it out with a bit of yoga in the morning and masked the pain with beer, good cheer and adrenaline and plowed on through til kicking out time at 11am.
The first sign that not all was right was when I needed physical help exiting the taxi onto the next bar. Just the drunkenness I told myself. Then with the discomfort growing I managed to fall alseep sitting on a tiny window ledge only a few inches deep outside for what must've been at least an hour. The red flags were well and truly waving now but when the suggestion of moving onto a third joint was made, a late night basement cocktail bar, I was well up for plowing on. Somehow this proved to be one of the few good decisions of the night because after slowly making it down the stairs, gripping the handrail for dear life, a few espresso martinis turned out to be a much better painkiller than the beer. Maybe this wasn't that serious after all.
I'm not sure at what time I said my goodbyes but it was somewhere between being too late to get a kebab anywhere and too early for the first train. A load of junk food from the Spar beside the bus stop and the night bus it was then. A combination I had made quite a few times before. And on some of those occasions I had fallen asleep on the bus, shaken awake by the bus driver at the park and ride halfway into county Cheshire and allowed to ride the return journey to my stop. I was fully prepared for this happening again so no biggie. What I didn't prepare for was falling asleep yet again, and waking up halfway back to the city centre and having to change onto a third bus to get home. By now the sun was well and truly up but fuck it, at least I was home.
The next thing I remember was waking up in bed in a solid 7/10 pain in my tailbone competing with one of the worst hangovers of my life. That fucker was at the very least bruised, if not cracked. I wasn't due in work til the following night but I knew even that wasn't going to be enough. After literally crawling to the bathroom for a boke (which made the pain even worse) and a miserable tear-filled sit down shower I called the boss and arranged to move my next days off forward.
3 days still wouldn't have been enough time to recover except for one thing. While emptying out my jeans pockets to throw them in the laundry pile I came across a score bag which I can only assume was a gift from some kind soul who anticipate what pain I would be in. Alternating between smoking waterfalls over the kitchen sink and vegetating on the sofa watching Hardy Bucks for the next 24 hours definitely cut that convalescence period down by a fair bit. I was still sitting behind the reception desk at work on a foam ring cushion designed for pregnant women and sleeping in bed propped upright for pillows for the best part of a month though and I still can't sit in a firm chair for too long to this day.
In response to the above tale:
I met you after getting off work late sadly missing the gig. You were outside the venue slobbering to anyone who would listen lol. After you got kicked out of the Vodoo we both decided to head into frank Ryan's next door to sink a few ( I went with ye cos the bastards in on the Rox wouldn't take card).
To this day I can only guess what ye were trying to communicate to me, I was more or less sober for the first hour or so of it and still I couldn't figure out what ye were on about to me. I could make out the words "Israel" "syria""grandad" and "paratroopers" and that was about it.
After leaving frank Ryan's we walked to fibbers , chancing our arm at getting into sinè on the way. The bouncer at sinè that night was this Roma gypsie lad I knew from blanch called mario ( the lad is a fuckin scumbag but he likes me for some reason so I try to keep on his good side) upon hearing his name was mario you broke your shite laughing and asking him "where's luigi so?". He was about half a second away from battering ye so I had to quickly wisk ye away down to fibbers. After getting to fibbers ye ended your night continuing to slobber nonsense to a load of young wans who looked fuckin terrified of ye lol
I'll uploading my own horror stories soon enough anyway lads. Prepare to enter the heart of darkness
Those stories have given me a hangover... :laugh:
My worst attack of the fear isn't my most disgraceful story but well up there in the mind rending terror it induced.
The tale takes place in Paris, France.I Was at fall of summer 2018 and after spending the whole festival as a drunken, violent mongo I was suffering bad on the way back, sweat pumping out of me, shivering despite the heat of a continental summer, rusty hacking cough, intense feelings of dread and regret, the whole nine yards, no messing.
The plan was to get the train through the channel tunnel, spend 1 more night on the rip with my London mate and then train and ferry back to Dublin. So I land in the train station with about 30mins till the train when the moment I've been dreading all mourning comes, I need to take a shite. People who know me in person are well aware of whatever mystery intestinal issue that plagues me constantly so I knew how bad this was going to be. So I find a jaxs down one of the corridors under the main platform, find a stall and sit down. As soon as me cheeks hit the seat a jet of what feels like battery acid comes out me hole with the force of a firehose. I Was legit screaming out loud from the pain of it. After about 10 mins of arse spraying mayhem and being so dehydrated I looked like ET I clean meself up and leave the jaxs. Here is where the terror begins.
The corridor is empty outside the jaxs apart from a man who looks at me and starts pointing and screaming in french. It takes me a second to realise what I'm looking at is a bomb-disposal expert, in the full combat gear carrying a rifle. I look to me left and about 10 feet from me is a school bag on its own the the middle of the corridor. My brain finally puts 2 and 2 together and I nearly have a heart attack. I run the direction the copper was telling me to and out the station and I hid in an alleyway behind a bin, heart pounding and vision blurry for what feels like an eternity until I finally calm down and go back to the station to get my rescheduled train ( not before running into Fart who was so drunk he couldn't comprehend what a bomb threat was) I spent the entire train to London locked in the jaxs on the train paro off me head that i was gonna get blown up. Visions of ISIS decapitation videos filling my brain every time I closed my eyes to try and sleep.
The best part? I later learned it was a false alarm. It was a kid who left his school bag on the floor by accident.
That was my most intense experience with the fear, next time I'll post the one about sleeping in a shed or maybe the time I was so fucked up I was hallucinating
Jaysus that's a sore one!
Yes boys! :laugh:
the next instalment of my endless war with the dreaded fear.
this one took place while i was studying in maynooth during either 2016/2017. for those unaware it was maynooth tradition for more or less the entire college to get langured all day on the week before the Christmas break. much to the eternal disgust of the population the entire town basically becomes one massive sesh. me and a mate who was also studying there decided we would join the festivities after our lectures for the day where done.
i had a feeling i was in for a rough night when i arrived in the town at 10 in the mourning to see a 20 year old lad unconscious, being dragged off the campus by the guards. fair play to the lad, its not easy to get black out fucked by 10 in the mourning. so i finish me lectures for the day, rammed a chicken role down me gullet for the soakage and went to meet me mate. we decided upon the classiest plan for the night, which was to get plastered on flagons of cheap cider and whiskey from lidl under the bridge by the train station. we where joined by a few others and cracked on. (on a side note this may have been the same night when i tried to batter a load of 12 year olds for throwing coins at me from the top of the bridge but i cant remember)
we move towards the nearest pub but are refused entry ( probably a fair judgement considering we where splattered and reeked of booze) after being refused from a good few pubs we finally got in to one of them, so me and me mate decided to try and get the ride off some young wans. we start chatting to a pair of wans that seem to be up for it, so we go inside and sit with them at a table. here is where things start to go wrong. i start to role meself a fag and look up at me mate. something about the look on his face just screamed to me that he was about to do something retarded. i was correct in this assessment. for reasons known only to himself he decided that now was the time to start making a high pitched screeching sound and to flop around on the seat like he was having a seizure. the 2 young wans decide, after me being unable to offer any explanation as to this behaviour that maybe they shouldnt be talking to the drooling apes who screech like banshees for no reason. to deal with the shame i go and pump a round of shots into me and have about 20 rollies one after the other. after this im absolutely spastic so it takes me a solid 3 hours to realise my mate has gone missing.
this was a problem, because i dont live in maynooth, the last train and bus has left and ive spent all my money so i cant get a taxi home. i was supposed to stay in me mates house in maynooth but i hadnt been to his gaff yet and i didnt have an address either. he also wasnt answering his phone. it was an hour till closing time and i wasnt able to chat anyone up to let me stay. in short i was up shit creek without a paddle. (i later learned that my mate had left the pub in a drunken stupor, thought i had gone home and walked back to his gaff and passed out (he also had his own little misadventure on his way home, but im not allowed say what happened under strict instruction from him lol)
after getting kicked out the pub i wandered the streets for a few hours before deciding on my course on action. i wandered down an ally, and looking over the wall at the end i can see the door of a shed in someones back garden swinging open. jackpot. so i hop the wall and crawl into the shed and lock the door. i quickly realised that i couldnt leave for any reason until i was going to hop back over the wall in the mourning, so im ashamed to say i pissed in the shed full of this poor families garden chairs and left about 30 fag buts in there for good measure.
after leaving in the mourning after basically no sleep in went to the then open maynooth library, passed out on a beanbag chair, snored so loud half the library complained about me and got turfed out by security, not before they looked at me and asked me if i needed a doctor ( i can only assume they thought i was a smack head that had wandered in, probably the smell and the DTs)
thank christ it was the last week of college before Christmas break, i dont think i could have faced it so soon. even when i went back after Christmas break i was cringing about what had happened lol
"mourning" :laugh:
Quote from: Kurt Cocaine on February 03, 2021, 07:18:54 AM
"mourning" :laugh:
a very appropriate Freudian slip to be honest lol
These stories are becoming fewer and fewer. Wish we could get the old thread and copy the stories in here. God, it was full of beauties.
I have a good few tales that I'm gonna ration out over the coming weeks so not to worry
I'll add in a few soon. Just have to collate the memories into something cohesive.
Quote from: Ollkiller on February 03, 2021, 01:34:39 PM
I'll add in a few soon. Just have to collate the memories into something cohesive.
Ya, with the passage of time, both times I went AWOL and slept rough in Barcelona have become a jumble.
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on January 31, 2021, 03:03:30 PM
not before running into Fart who was so drunk he couldn't comprehend what a bomb threat was
Reminds me of the time he took a load of mushrooms before flying back from Eindhoven and forgot what decade he was in.
"Here Matty I can smoke on this plane ye?"
Some proper morbid tales there. I got a good laugh.
It's enough to put you on the straight and narrow!
Been on that the past couple of years!
In the winter of 1997 I was working on the tulip bulb harvest in The Netherlands.
Handy money for shit work and a few months of being stoned pretty much continuously and every weekend was an adventure in Amsterdam.
One night myself and another lad were wondering around demented on mushrooms and happened upon a very friendly and inviting lady who led us down a series of alleyways to an all night club.
On entering I noticed that a lot of people were dressed in rubber and leather but was too monged to really question too much, as it was noisy, full of dry ice and I was already hallucinating a little.
We arrived at the bar and when the lad behind the counter served us while dressed in a gimp suit it became clear we were in a "specialist" venue.
So we were literally holding onto the bar from the drugs and through a clearing in the dry ice I registered a couple in gas masks in doggy style at a booth.
As the pounding techno increased in intensity more fleeting glimpses of pvc leather and sexual activity emerge from the gloom and it becomes clear this is some kind of an S&M rave which was quickly turning into an orgy. It was like date night in Dante's Inferno.
So we both agreed to finish our pints and get the hell out ASAP, but my bladder intervenes and tells me that I have to piss urgently, and mushroom logic tells me I have to find the toilet so I go looking for it, despite there being perfectly good alleyways right outside where I could take a leak.
I asked some girl where it is and her reply is to hand me a bottle of poppers. I took a sniff because I'm a fucking imbecile and continue to search the gloom for the toilet while the booze, mushrooms and poppers steer me in circles of confusion. I get propositions from both genders en route and it's all getting truly weird and I was becoming convinced that my arse is now in real danger of a bumming.
Eventually I found myself in a toilet cubicle unable to piss through a combination of inebriation, confusion and a wee bit of the fear. The cubicles either side are emitting slurping and moaning noises which isn't helping.
After an eternity I managed a trickle then my stomach decided it was time to puke so I launched my dinner into the bowl and onto most of the floor.
At this stage I decided that I needed to be outside fucking pronto, because for some reason I decided that the staff were going to tie me up and give me a solid reaming for puking in the middle of the toilet orgy. I also was now certain that there would be a puke fetishist out in the crowd with me in their sights.
I eventually found myself on the street and realised my buddy was still waiting at the bar. I decided that his sacrifice to save me was worth it and found a park to have a sit down and hallucinate in peace.
It turns out he left before I even found the toilet.
I spent the rest of the night roaming the streets of the city holding onto walls like Spiderman, and hiding behind parked cars from my imagination.
Fantastic. " It was like date night in Dante's Inferno." Fair play.
These need to be published. Honestly they would sell so well.
Quote from: Petardo on February 04, 2021, 09:27:06 AM
In the winter of 1997 I was working on the tulip bulb harvest in The Netherlands.
Handy money for shit work and a few months of being stoned pretty much continuously and every weekend was an adventure in Amsterdam.
One night myself and another lad were wondering around demented on mushrooms and happened upon a very friendly and inviting lady who led us down a series of alleyways to an all night club.
On entering I noticed that a lot of people were dressed in rubber and leather but was too monged to really question too much, as it was noisy, full of dry ice and I was already hallucinating a little.
We arrived at the bar and when the lad behind the counter served us while dressed in a gimp suit it became clear we were in a "specialist" venue.
So we were literally holding onto the bar from the drugs and through a clearing in the dry ice I registered a couple in gas masks in doggy style at a booth.
As the pounding techno increased in intensity more fleeting glimpses of pvc leather and sexual activity emerge from the gloom and it becomes clear this is some kind of an S&M rave which was quickly turning into an orgy. It was like date night in Dante's Inferno.
So we both agreed to finish our pints and get the hell out ASAP, but my bladder intervenes and tells me that I have to piss urgently, and mushroom logic tells me I have to find the toilet so I go looking for it, despite there being perfectly good alleyways right outside where I could take a leak.
I asked some girl where it is and her reply is to hand me a bottle of poppers. I took a sniff because I'm a fucking imbecile and continue to search the gloom for the toilet while the booze, mushrooms and poppers steer me in circles of confusion. I get propositions from both genders en route and it's all getting truly weird and I was becoming convinced that my arse is now in real danger of a bumming.
Eventually I found myself in a toilet cubicle unable to piss through a combination of inebriation, confusion and a wee bit of the fear. The cubicles either side are emitting slurping and moaning noises which isn't helping.
After an eternity I managed a trickle then my stomach decided it was time to puke so I launched my dinner into the bowl and onto most of the floor.
At this stage I decided that I needed to be outside fucking pronto, because for some reason I decided that the staff were going to tie me up and give me a solid reaming for puking in the middle of the toilet orgy. I also was now certain that there would be a puke fetishist out in the crowd with me in their sights.
I eventually found myself on the street and realised my buddy was still waiting at the bar. I decided that his sacrifice to save me was worth it and found a park to have a sit down and hallucinate in peace.
It turns out he left before I even found the toilet.
I spent the rest of the night roaming the streets of the city holding onto walls like Spiderman, and hiding behind parked cars from my imagination.
This one seemed genuinely terrifying haha. Reminds me of the time me and a mate after a gig ended up in a gay bar so we hid in the smoking area for the rest of the night. We were covered in leather (jackets and the lot) praying it wasn't an 80's type of gay bar ha.
Last few pages have been absolutely incredible :laugh: keep them coming lads.
a quick one this time.
not one of my stories but one from one of my mates.
for me and me mate summer 2014 was utterly demented. i was given a good chunk of money by my grandad after my leaving cert and my mate had gotten settled into his room in a gaff after his ma kicked him out. understandably he wasnt in the best state of mind so the two of us started drinking alot. pretty much every day for the whole of the 3 months of summer. about a month or so in we went to another mates gaff near to town. a good litre of whiskey was drank between the 3 of us before we left the gaff with a tactical naggin or two stuffed in our jackets for our mate who was understandably short on cash. the night goes as expected and after getting the boot from the pub we continued splattering ourselves in me mates gaff. the next day while me and the mate whos gaff it was where still asleep, me mate got up, realised he had to be somewhere (i cant remember what he had to do) and started making his way home. to get home he had to walk into town and get the bus back to blanch. this is where the story gets good.
about half way into town, a combination of the hot sun and the hangover has me mate sweating buckets. so he takes his shirt off. so now he is stumbling down the street, no shirt on, pumping sweat and reeking of aldi whiskey, moaning to himself. he gets another bit into town and realises he needs to have a piss. he nips down an ally, does the job and walks on. at this point he notices people staring at him in disgust. understandable he thinks, i do look a sight. he keeps walking and realises people are REALLY giving him the evil eye. he ignores this and walk on, eventually he reaches the bus , gets on and sits down............to realise that his flute has been sticking out his fly since he took the piss in the ally as in his hungover state hadnt fixed himself properly afterwards.
he only told me about this about 2 years later when he was finally able to say it without turning bright red. lol
Just catching up here!,fuck me!
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on February 06, 2021, 10:00:00 PM
a quick one this time.
not one of my stories but one from one of my mates.
for me and me mate summer 2014 was utterly demented. i was given a good chunk of money by my grandad after my leaving cert and my mate had gotten settled into his room in a gaff after his ma kicked him out. understandably he wasnt in the best state of mind so the two of us started drinking alot. pretty much every day for the whole of the 3 months of summer. about a month or so in we went to another mates gaff near to town. a good litre of whiskey was drank between the 3 of us before we left the gaff with a tactical naggin or two stuffed in our jackets for our mate who was understandably short on cash. the night goes as expected and after getting the boot from the pub we continued splattering ourselves in me mates gaff. the next day while me and the mate whos gaff it was where still asleep, me mate got up, realised he had to be somewhere (i cant remember what he had to do) and started making his way home. to get home he had to walk into town and get the bus back to blanch. this is where the story gets good.
about half way into town, a combination of the hot sun and the hangover has me mate sweating buckets. so he takes his shirt off. so now he is stumbling down the street, no shirt on, pumping sweat and reeking of aldi whiskey, moaning to himself. he gets another bit into town and realises he needs to have a piss. he nips down an ally, does the job and walks on. at this point he notices people staring at him in disgust. understandable he thinks, i do look a sight. he keeps walking and realises people are REALLY giving him the evil eye. he ignores this and walk on, eventually he reaches the bus , gets on and sits down............to realise that his flute has been sticking out his fly since he took the piss in the ally as in his hungover state hadnt fixed himself properly afterwards.
he only told me about this about 2 years later when he was finally able to say it without turning bright red. lol
:laugh:
I'm Determined to keep this thread going even if I have to do it single handedly.
Another quick one
Me and a mate went on the piss in town, I think we ended up in the foggy one of the nights scobes was djing, got absolutely twisted and got chatting to these two birds. The two of them were well up for it or so it seemed, bought them loads of drinks, chatting them up for ages , then the two of them get up, say to us, we both have fellas yiz clowns and leave the bar. Lol
After this we land back in me mates gaff and I pass out on the couch, me mate gets up in the morning (well more like 3 in the day but sure look) to get a pint of water and goes to check on me. I'm still asleep at this point so I don't remember, but he tells me he came into the room, said "you awake man?" And I responded "ehhh 2 pints of Guinness, a shot of jemmy and a pack of salt and vinegar please chief". In my head I must have thought I was still in the pub lol ( I also have a vague memory of looking for the jaxs and wandering into his housemates room, leading to a serious dose of the fear wondering if I'd shat in the poor lads bed or something ) needless to say the head was sore that day
The classic brain slip thinking your somewhere else, we call it bleepblurging. Usual the result of illicit substances tho.
One of the better examples of it happened after a work night out. For context the job was call centre and for every sale you completed you got a 7£ bonus.
Me my manager and another lad left the party early to come back to my gaff to do our own partying as my mate had got some MD of the dark web that they wanted to try. Everything was going well, getting weird, shit talking and manager lifts out his wallet and starts counting out £ coins, he then hands said coins to my housemate who didn't work with us. My mates like what are you doing? My manager looks him dead in the eye and told him it was for booking that sale on for Monday. As soon as he said it he came back round and realised what he'd been saying. The same night the other lad went on a 20 minute rant directed at the manager of the company because he thought he was chatting to her, when he was actually lying with his eyes closed monged out on my sofa.
Plenty of other great examples but too dying to recall them right now.
Quote from: nukeabuse on February 08, 2021, 01:02:26 AM
The classic brain slip thinking your somewhere else, we call it bleepblurging. Usual the result of illicit substances tho.
One of the better examples of it happened after a work night out. For context the job was call centre and for every sale you completed you got a 7£ bonus.
Me my manager and another lad left the party early to come back to my gaff to do our own partying as my mate had got some MD of the dark web that they wanted to try. Everything was going well, getting weird, shit talking and manager lifts out his wallet and starts counting out £ coins, he then hands said coins to my housemate who didn't work with us. My mates like what are you doing? My manager looks him dead in the eye and told him it was for booking that sale on for Monday. As soon as he said it he came back round and realised what he'd been saying. The same night the other lad went on a 20 minute rant directed at the manager of the company because he thought he was chatting to her, when he was actually lying with his eyes closed monged out on my sofa.
Plenty of other great examples but too dying to recall them right now.
common enough then is it? not sure if i had taken anything but id say i didnt cos the lad i was with wouldn't stand for it really.
Not a story about me this time but one that I witnessed (sort of).
At Desertfest in Berlin the bones of a decade ago now - there was a fair few of us went - we all knew sort of knew each other either well or in passing. The majority of the group elected to stay in a very nice hotel near the Hauptbahnhof, couple of hundred bucks for a room on your own, peace and quiet etc - while one or two of the other lads, including our hero - Ducky, a mote of my mate Roddy, decided to stay in a cheap hostel nearer the venue in Friedrichshain.
Arrival in Berlin around 0900hrs A few of us have been here before and know where to go - S-Bahn blah blah blah.
Someone says to Ducky (who hasn't been to Berlin before) - "If you grab the same train as us, I'll tell you where to get out so you guys can go to the hostel".
"I have a few places I want to see around town that I Googled so I'm going to do that" says Ducky.
This means his patented "where is the cheapest pint and food in ~insert city here~" Google search. He wouldn't be fond of spending a few quid.
So off he goes on his own while the rest of us get the train. One of the boys points out to Al, the other lad staying in the same hostel, where his stop is and on we go.
Few hours later all checked-in to the nice hotel and down in the F'hain/X-berg area drinking beers, enjoying the early spring sunshine and having the craic. Talking about what bands were looking forward to seeing when the fest starts the next day. Al arrives and asks if Ducky is with us. He isn't.
"Is he not with you?"
"I saw him at the hostel about an hour ago. He was a bit steamed and telling some young wan behind the desk that his stuff better not go missing from the dorm. That he wouldn't stand for any messing. And then he wobbled out. I thought he was coming here".
We go back to our boozing when finally Ducky arrives on the scene. Half cut. He orders a beer and when he tries to pay of it I say to add it to the tables bill. He starts getting thick about it "I'm not getting caught paying for all your beer" and demands to pay for it there an then. The beer is less than €3 but while he's paying he decides to give out the young waiter about that fact that he was paying less than 2 quid wherever he was on his tod. The waiter looks at the rest of us who he has been having great fun with and shrugs.
On the sauce for the rest of the night. Good times. One of the lads points Ducky and Al in the direction of their hostel.
Next morning myself and my buddy Roddy are well enough to crawl out of our respective beds and meet at a market by the station and have breakfast. My phone starts going off it's Al and at nearly the exact same time Ducky starts ringing Roddy.
Me (on the phone to Al): Al!
Al: (shouting at someone in the background) ....DOING IT! Sorry, Stouty - are there rooms available in your hotel?
Me: I suppose so. I dunno really. Who are you shouting at?
Roddy (on the phone to Ducky): Who's shouting there, Ducky?
Al (on the phone to me): That fucking gowl buddy of Roddy's, yer man Ducky.
Roddy (to Ducky): OK. Why is he shouting like that?... Uh huh... I suppose there are rooms left, yes. How much? I don't know.
Al (to me): Will you see if you can get me a room for the rest of the trip? I'll be there in a bit.
Roddy has finished on the phone. I ask him what the story is. Apparently the two boys have been kicked out of their hostel.
Al arrives first. We're all in the hotel bar. I have his key ready for him. He orders a coffee and a pint. He looks a bit shook which I chalk up having to pack his gear after getting tossed out of a hostel whilst hungover. We ask him what happened. Turns out Ducky got back to the room demented and started looking through his stuff, then indiscriminately accusing people of stealing out of his backpack - which was in a locker. Al calms him down and says that nobody has stolen anything. Ducky reluctantly climbs up into his bunk and promptly falls asleep. Al spends the next 5 minutes profusely apologising to the young male and female backpackers of Europe for the actions of someone he barely knows. They all seem OK with it and make jokes "Too much beer" etc etc. Al is grateful for the understanding and dozes off to sleep in his cot.
The next thing he knows he's being hauled out of his bunk and getting belted about the head and shoulders. He puts his hands out to defend himself feeling only arms flailing and raining blows down upon him.
"Yeh ROBBIN' FUCKIN' BAAAASTARD!" roars a voice. It's Ducky's voice. Al is finally awake enough to get his vision straight and hits Ducky with a hard right hook. Ducky folds to the ground.
"Whatcha hit me for?" he starts whimpering.
It is then that Al notices that Ducky is bollocks naked. Turns out that he was a bit warm and stripped off at some point. Then he was bursting for a piss so he climbed out of his cot, made a load of noise, pissed on the floor of a corridor, got back to his dorm room and proceeded to thump the head off of the sleeping Al.
Which is when security from the hostel arrived on the scene to see Al in his jocks and t-shirt fists balled standing over a naked, whimpering man in a mixed-dorm hostel room with the young male and female backpackers of Europe looking on. Terrified.
The two of them had to sit in a train station for several hours until they assumed that we'd be awake.
I nearly get sick from laughing. I'm not the only one. Business people having meetings in the bar are giving us quare looks.
The mirth is only broken by a shout from reception of "How much for a fucking room?!"
Brilliant. Things go right quare when abroad. Lads lose the head altogether.
:laugh: ffs....
I'm assuming Ducky was never invited to a festival again :laugh: Pure gas!
There'll be a pair of Trumpsceptic cheeks and ears warming up nicely upon reading that 😂
Quote from: Caomhaoin on February 15, 2021, 04:36:34 PM
There'll be a pair of Trumpsceptic cheeks and ears warming up nicely upon reading that 😂
I just realised that there's a forum member with the same nickname. I stress that it is NOT him - at least I don't think it is.
All names are concealed to protect the guilty.
Quote from: Nazgûl on February 15, 2021, 02:04:51 PM
I'm assuming Ducky was never invited to a festival again :laugh: Pure gas!
No. He has appeared at gigs and made a disgrace of himself though. The Bruce Springsteen show in Cork is a standout.
Oh and he was Roddy's best man - the stag/wedding is another great one that I'll have to tell sometime.
You have a gift for setting the scene of a story anyway man. Keep em coming.
Quote from: Emphyrio on February 15, 2021, 12:43:07 PM
Brilliant. Things go right quare when abroad. Lads lose the head altogether.
So beautifully, unmistakably Irish there. My auld lad would have made that point almost word for word identical.
another quick one that i just remembered.
i came home from the pub absolutely polluted and went to bed, at some point in the night i got up in the to go for a piss and i was full on hallucinating that i was in the pub toilets. so i pissed all over the the radiator in my room thinking it was the urinal lol
That's not hallucinating. That's just being a full on legend.
I had a beer dream once that I was wandering through the house, but the hall, landing etc. were all made out of bales of hay with plywood floors. I was searching for the jacks and eventually just pissed in a corner. The fear I had when I woke, that I'd pissed against a door or wall fair shook me. False alarm, thankfully.
Was the strangest experience ever, could have sworn I was back in the pub, the fear I had the next day was unreal lol
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on February 19, 2021, 04:08:44 PM
another quick one that i just remembered.
i came home from the pub absolutely polluted and went to bed, at some point in the night i got up in the to go for a piss and i was full on hallucinating that i was in the pub toilets. so i pissed all over the the radiator in my room thinking it was the urinal lol
I had something simmilar happening when I was 16 and took a bit of a piss on my room floor. Wasn't hallucinating anything, but was simply passed out drunk. Used to keep my stereo system on the floor and was peeing on it and a bunch of tapes I had lying around it. Will never forget that moment, the darkness in front of my eyes started lifting up and I realized what was going on in the middle of the wizz. I went:"fuuuuck man, what are you doing" and was luckily able to contain myself from pissing further.
Arrived home fucking bombed late one night when I was a young ladeen of 15 or 16 and found that no matter how I tried I couldn't get my key into the keyhole of the front door.
Eventually I gave up and for reasons known only to myself at the time I pulled a wheelbarrow up to the front door, lied into it on my back with my legs up on the handles, and promptly fell asleep.
The auld lad woke me up in the morning, some hours later, and me shaking from the cold and the drink like Michael J fox at the Hungry Hungry Hippos world cup finals.
I got a savage bollocking off the auld pair and spent the rest of the morning getting sick and shivering.
To add insult to injury when I emptied out my pockets I found that it was the back door key I had bought out with me.
Fucking dum-dum!
Not fear induced but a funny drink related one. The brother had his first drink at 14 (I'm two years older) up the road with a few mates. He had a naggin of vodka at 3 on a Sunday afternoon. Myself and the ould lad were out the back of the house and I saw the brother coming in the front gate fucking buckled around 5pm. I said to ould lad look at the state of this. It was so hilarious he couldn't be mad. We had a gas canister outside the house for the gas cooker. The ould said "Are ya alright". Brother "I'm grand not a bother". Stumbled round the corner of the gaff, slipped and fell head first into the gas canister knocking himself out cold. Needless to say myself and the ould lad broke our bollocks laughing.
This story begins in a similar fashion to a lot of "fear" stories, with our subject (yours truly) waking up fully clothed on the sitting room couch. I was woken up by the laughter of my housemate standing in the doorway:
"Ya must have been fairly pished last night so"
I fucking must have been, right enough!! Because for some reason my wallet is in my right pocket. Like a previous poster has already mentioned on this thread: I'm not a neat freak, but I believe that everything has its place. A wallet in my right pocket feels wrong, and if I was too rat arsed to cop a screaming flaw like this, then what the fuck else could have happened last night that I'm not aware of?
An unwelcome unrest takes hold as I reach for my phone and message the previous night's parter in crime, Rachel.
"What the fuck happened last night? Zero memory of getting home"
Instant response: "I don't remember going home either, I don't remember anything after buckfast"
"BUCKFAST!?" I remember the night starting at my mates, drank a few beers and went to the pub. I don't remember leaving the pub, certainly no memories of BUCKFAST
"Yeah we bought 5 bottles when the pub closed and then we went to one of the hostels"
"We were drinking in a hostel!?"
"We were drinking in TWO hostels"
The feeling of unrest growing within, I sign off with "I'm so afraid" (a subconscious warning that passed by unheeded) and put my phone away. The act of standing up has made me realise that I'm actually still drunk as fuck, and I am very very hungry.
Staggering my way out the front door, the fresh air is welcome enough, but where the fuck is my bike? I must have left it chained to the pole outside the pub. Was I really that drunk last night that I came home without my bike? A wave of shivering willies surges beneath my skin, I zip my jacket up to my chin, keep my head down and proceed to zig-zag my way along the path towards the pub.
10 mins walk and a few accidental wall bumps along the way, I'm staring at the spot where my bike used to be and I'm fuming at myself for leaving it chained to a pole on the main street, in a town where bike theft is common. The anger and self pity/hatred will have to wait in line though, because right now the hunger is about to gnaw a hole through my stomach from the inside out.
I sit down in a nearby cafe and order a club sandwich, trying awkwardly to blend into the tablecloth, as I'm convinced that the surrounding customers know that I'm a bike losing, memory forgetting, irresponsible piece of shit that's wearing the same clothes that he slept in.
The club sandwich arrives, and I swear it must have been stolen from God's dinnerplate: a picture of structural perfection. 5 minutes later, the world seems a little less shitty, and I decide that there is a high possibility that I actually did take my bike from the pub last night, and probably left it at one of the hostels... duh! I stand up and salute the waitress, beam a smile at the friendly customers and stride down the street, a stream of positivity shining out from my arsecheeks.
I come to an abrupt halt about 50 meters from the hostel. Just off the side of the road, the morning sun is shining on something..... what's that tangled heap lying on a patch of grass overlooking the ocean - my fucking bike! The bike looks as confused as I was, but it was still biking well enough.
My phone rings and it's my buddy Ray. Ray did not party hard last night and he wants to smoke joints and go surfing.
Well this day is fairly turning around on itself! I feel like I've completely cheated a hangover and I got away with not getting my bike robbed due to carelessness.
"Yeah Ray, Sounds like a plan man", the smiley head on me.
"Nice one I'll pick you up at yours in half an hour. We'll go for a wee surf and then drop a tab of acid after, yeah?"
"....hah?"
"Remember last night you were trying to organise a bunch of us to eat some acid today after a surf?"
"....no???" A cold darkness has crept into my soul. I thought I'd gotten away with it.
"Oh right... well you did. Sure we'll go for the surf anyway. I heard ye went hard at it last night.... we'll see what happens sure. See ya in half an hour"
"Right... yeah see ya...."
Half an hour turned into over an hour. A lot can change in 30 mins. The morning sun can fade into a wet, windy december grey. The optimism of cheating a heavy drinking sesh (we bought 5 bottles of bucky? really???) can be thrashed with the realisation that I'm actually only starting to sober up, and I've unwillingly boarded a flight to destination hangover.
Ray picks me up and we go to the beach. I'm not as chatty as I was before, and a few tokes of a joint knocks the breeze out of my flaccid sails. The surf is shit so we go back to his shack - Ray lives in a mobile home in my mates garden. My hangover is officially starting to kick in, and I'm beginning to think about how I probably should have just went to sleep after I rescued my bike.
Ray puts a tab of acid into his mouth.
"Do you want one?" He hands me a tab and I stare it down. I know I shouldn't do it.
"Yes... but I also feel like I really, really need to get some rest before I do any psychedelics". But I also don't want Ray to do it on his own, I feel like I would be letting him down. Especially since I was the one who instigated the scenario.
"Well I guess you just have to listen to yourself so, If you don't want it, don't do it"
My brain: "Don't do it"
My body: "Don't do it"
Me in the face of danger and in the face of perfectly sound warnings: "What's the worst that could happen? If I have a bad trip I have nobody to blame but myself, right?
I put the little square piece of paper under my tongue.
To be continued......
:laugh: I'm giggling, bring it on... ::)
Yes biy! Cracking start. Roll on part two.
(https://media.tenor.com/images/86058dbef0c568480f3caa88bcb28aa3/tenor.gif)
I just saw this thread recently, some great laughs on it. StoutAndAle, great opener :laugh:
I was trying trying to think of some and I remembered this;
Back before my friend moved to the US, this would have 2003 we went over to Manchester for the weekend visiting a guy we new from years ago my mate played in a band with, and the guy in Manchester took us to see his friend's band who were playing locally with a couple of others, dull forgettable crap. Anyhow, around the end of the second bands set I was fairly well on and needing a piss, so I went into the jack and this pair of feet stick out under one of the doors of the toilets with a pair of women's shoes on them and thought, "Oh shit I must have gone into the wrong toilets" and she must have been getting sick. Then I heard this lads voice groaning from inside the cubicle. So I went over to the urinal to have my piss and there was a mirror on the wall and I hadn't noticed that cubicle door had opened and when I looked up your man was looking out and I caught his eye in the mirror as the woman was on her knees hoovering his baldy lad. I just though, "Oh shit" and got out of there as quick as I could.
That wasn't all of it. After the gig we went to a nightclub for extra booze, and even in my well oiled state I could tell there was a lot of lads fortified with "Vitamin E" and probably on loads of other stuff. We were offered stuff five or six times when we were in there and we only in there an hour before we decided to get out of there.
On the was out we saw two of the lads who earlier offered us drugs and one was shaking say "It's me first time". It turned out that one of them was a dealer and the other one was an under cover Cop in trying to catch lads dealing and also people buying from them.
We were only told by the guy we went over to see the next day that's it's a notorious kip for drugs that's constantly getting raided.
was re reading this tread in work yesterday and decided to have another go at keeping it alive.
a quick one first,
i came back from a 10 day bender in czech from brutal assault. was in an ungodly state after the festival and another few days boozing in prague didnt help things. so on the last night after nursing a few cans during the day i decided to take a quick hour or so nap in me hotel then head back out to a bar. while trying to have this nap i had the most intense and horrific fever dream i have ever experienced. due to overhearing in my semi conscious state, the Chinese couple having a domestic in the next room over, i had imagined that i was in a north Korean prison camp being tortured for information. needless to say i woke up screaming and covered in terror sweat. the night passed uneventfully and the next day feeling like hammered shite i boarded my plane home. spewed me guts up 3 times on the flight and eventually shaking and well within the fears grip i made it home. i crawled into bed, got nice and comfy and then sneezed. the force of the sneeze completely overwhelmed my shattered body and i shit myself. seriously considered throwing meself out the window after that one.
FIN.
😂 excellent.
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on August 27, 2021, 09:21:27 AM
was re reading this tread in work yesterday and decided to have another go at keeping it alive.
a quick one first,
i came back from a 10 day bender in czech from brutal assault. was in an ungodly state after the festival and another few days boozing in prague didnt help things. so on the last night after nursing a few cans during the day i decided to take a quick hour or so nap in me hotel then head back out to a bar. while trying to have this nap i had the most intense and horrific fever dream i have ever experienced. due to overhearing in my semi conscious state, the Chinese couple having a domestic in the next room over, i had imagined that i was in a north Korean prison camp being tortured for information. needless to say i woke up screaming and covered in terror sweat. the night passed uneventfully and the next day feeling like hammered shite i boarded my plane home. spewed me guts up 3 times on the flight and eventually shaking and well within the fears grip i made it home. i crawled into bed, got nice and comfy and then sneezed. the force of the sneeze completely overwhelmed my shattered body and i shit myself. seriously considered throwing meself out the window after that one.
FIN.
:o :-X :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Fuck me!
I checked this thread yesterday for the second half of Giggles' story in case I missed it but it's not there.
I have some more stories from 'Nam (i.e. my 20s) also but I thought I'd let a few share in the despair first.
another quick one while im on break
back in 2014 when me and me mates where on a constant 3 month bender over the summer, we had a sesh spot in a park we always drank at. one day i couldnt contact anyone for some unknown reason. after deciding that staying sober that day was a fate worse than death i decided to hit the offo and just head down the sesh spot by meself. crossing the field i see my mate who also couldnt contact anyone and decided on the same course of action as meself. after 3 more people in the same situation turned up who came to the conclusion that all drunks share a hive mind.
Once more unto the breach...
I went to Dublin to see Orange Goblin a decade or so ago. I was meeting a friend of mine who lived in Blackrock - he was taking a halfer from work and we were going to sit having the craic in Mulligan's/Grogan's/The International until it was time to go over to The Pint on Eden Quay where the gig was on.
Got an early Aircoach up so I could do a bit of record/book shopping before checking in to the hotel. In hindsight, the bus I got was too early. I was in Dublin around 1000hrs, had my record buying done at 1045hrs at which point it started to rain so I called up the Camden Court hotel and asked if my room would be ready. I stay there a fair bit for work and gigs, so often in fact that they all knew me. Apart from the person who answered the phone...
"Check-in is not until 1500hrs"
"I know, I just got to Dublin earlier than expected and it's raining so I was hoping that you'd be able to help me out. You've done it in the past"
"Might I suggest a visit to one of the local tourist attractions - the Waxwork Museum or Kilmainham Gaol - while we ready your room for arrival? Our American guests..."
"Eh, I'm from Cork"
"Uh hmm. OK so we'll look forward to seeing you at 1500hrs. Bye-b..."
"Wait. Is Róisín there? Or Adam?"
"We don't have anyone working here by those names, sir"
"You did last Wednesday and Thursday. I had a pint with Adam in Whelan's"
"..................."
"Hello?"
"One moment please."
~~~ Several moments of muffled conversation and rustling later ~~~
"Sir, I have managed to find you a find but it will not be ready until about midday - is that alright?"
"Yep great see you then. Thanks."
An hour to kill. There's a coffee shop on .... hang on the Dame Tavern is around the corner from here. Sure an oul pint at 1100hrs in the rain of a Friday on a day off before a gig will do no one any harm. Even the lord Jesus himself wouldn't deny it. This internal monologue has gotten me all the way down Dame St. and into the Dame Tavern - I am only shaken from it when I hear my external voice say...
"Pint of Guinness please" and take my seat at the bar. Phone rings. It's my buddy.
"Just climbed onto a high stool to get out of the rain. Where will I meet you?"
"I can't take a half day. Shit has hit the fan here. I'll meet you in Mulligan's about five, OK? I have to go home first so it will be around then."
"Yeah alright. I got an early room so I'll go check in."
The pint arrived down. Have many of ye been in The Dame Tavern? The whole thing is like a fucking ad. The pint is perfect and the barman hands me the newspaper with it. "There yis are now."
My Jesus, the pint is like cream. I leave out an involuntary "Auuuuuahhhh" - hard to put this sound into words but you know what I mean. I look at the glass - I've downed about two-thirds of it in one slug. "Another Guinness there, please"
"Another satisfied customer, wha'?" says the barman to the lads who are watching the horse racing on TV. None of them look away from the TV. "Talkin' to me bleedin' self sometimes in this jaysis place!" And goes about getting my pint while I involuntarily look up at the TV. It's one the reasons I hate televisions in a pub, no matter what's on it, I get drawn in for no reason.
"Now. There y'are" says the barman. "Into the oul geegees are you?"
"Hmmm? Oh thanks... No, not at all."
"Oh righ'. We have a tip for the next race is all. Worth a punt if you fancy it."
"I'm not much of a gambler"
"Ah yeah, no problems." and then to the other lads "I'm headin' to the bookies in a minute. Risin' Tide yeah?"
There was a track on the album that Orange Goblin were touring at the time called "Red Tide Rising". Close enough for an omen, I thought.
"Em. Could I put a bet on that horse?"
"Course yeh can, pal" and he hands me a Boyle Sports docket.
"What do I write down?"
He looks at me like I'm some sort of simpleton. "How much do you want to bet and I'll put it down?"
"Em... A tenner?"
"A fuckin' tenner?!"
"Eh... yeah, is that not enough?"
"Loads" says the barman taking a tenner out of my change on the counter "These lads here might go as far as a fiver." And off he goes to Boyle Sports across the alleyway.
Rising Tide romps home and I mean romps. I can see how gambling could be addictive. The 6 of us in a bar at 1130hrs roaring and cheering at a horse bursting it's bollocks.
17 - 1 lads. 17 - 1. I am handed a big ball of money. I ask the barman which of the lads gave him the tip. He nods at one of them. They're all in cahoots though so I buy a round for them, one for the barman and one for myself by which time I am at least 4 pints in and working off two pieces of toast and a banana that I ate around 0600hrs. I look at my watch. Just gone midday. Lovely. One more pint and straight up George's St. to the hotel.
Sink the fifth as fast as the first. Say good luck to the martyrs still watching the races and head outside still over €130 to the good. It had stopped raining. I stand outside the Dame Tavern looking down Dame Lane towards Trinity St, squinting in the bright midday sun which is bouncing off of silvery puddles formed by the rain. I realise then that I hadn't gone book shopping because I didn't fancy the walk to Hodges Figgis in the damp.
"Sure, you'll need something to read until later this evening." I say to myself, I point my five pints full feet in the direction of Dawson Street and away I go. It's lovely walking around Dublin in the sunshine with a buzz on. People are outside having lunch... lunch I must eat at some point too... I pass a McDonald's at the end of Grafton St. so I pop in for a Big Mac which I hungrily devour and head on my way. Into Hodges Figgis which, for those of you haven't been, is a fairly caverous bookshop with multiple levels and tomes stacked floor to ceiling.
"Schussse meee, hic!" says I to a young person working there "how-sh arrsh you? Where-sssh your hissssh-tree sess-seccc-shun?" only realising then that I haven't spoken to anyone besides drunks and barman all day.
"History?" she asks.
Deep breath. "Yes.... please" exhale I - tasting the Big Mac again.
She points me in the direction of the books and fucks off out it. I waddle over to where she pointed and - success - they have the books that I wanted. One of them is knee height so I drop to my haunches to get it. The sudden drop in cabin pressure makes me unstable and I feel myself teetering backwards and have to jut out a stiff arm to stop myself going over. The next problem is trying to get myself back upright. I must've looked like a patient in Broadmoor playing Twister in the prison library. With an almighty shove I get myself back right and steady myself with my other hand on the bookshelf.
Reaching out for the book with my free hand I grab it but also lose counter-balance and with a very loud "OH SHIT!" start falling backwards. Self preservation kicks in and I flail at the shelf looking for a grip. Unfortunately my 6 foot odd, 18 stone frame is no match for the delicate shelving of a city centre bookshop so I land on my back while the likes of Anthony Beevor, Max Hastings and Stephen Ambrose rain down upon me.
A security guard helps me to my feet as he asks am I OK. The shop that was fairly empty suddenly has the busiest history section in the world. People are staring. I just nod silently. He asks am I sure. I am bursting for a piss. I murmur "Is there a toilet". He hands the books that I have in my hands off to a shop assistant. "Sarah will have your eh..." looks down "books about Hitler at the till."
I try to say that they're an in-depth two-part biography by renowned historian Ian Kershaw but what comes out of my mouth sounds more like me singing "The Riddle" by Nick fucking Kershaw.
"OK, in there" he points. Grateful for the jacks - I let rip and feel a bit better. Washing my hands I look into the mirror to berate myself only to be confronted by my bearded face covered in sesame seeds, lettuce and Big Mac sauce. The morto sweat is beading, lads. Face washed - back out - he's waiting to lead me to the till. I pay all the while trying, very slowly and without slurring explain, that I lost my balance. To be fair they were very nice about it. I left there with my shoulders low, got to my hotel and crawled under the covers.
😂😂😂 ah here that's superb😂😂😂
The ease with which the best laid plans can come unstuck by way of an innocent scoopín before early mass is all too familiar to most lads. Fair play for calling a halt after 5 and a mildish incident, lesser men would have had the tape reel fast forwarded to an almighty dose of the despair at throwing out time the following morning :)
Quality stuff again!
Quote from: StoutAndAle on August 30, 2021, 01:57:50 PM
A security guard helps me to my feet as he asks am I OK. The shop that was fairly empty suddenly has the busiest history section in the world. People are staring. I just nod silently. He asks am I sure. I am bursting for a piss. I murmur "Is there a toilet". He hands the books that I have in my hands off to a shop assistant. "Sarah will have your eh..." looks down "books about Hitler at the till."
ive a similar story meself actually.
when i was like 17 or so one of me mates worked in a small bookshop in town. i went in one weekend, had a rake of cans and bought some book about the SS in his shop while chatting to him. i went home on the bus but since i didnt want me parents to see that i was rat arsed drunk i decided i would sit in a park around the corner from my gaff for a few hours, read the book and sober up a bit. i fuckin fell asleep and woke up to paramedics surrounding me with the book on display, cover and all for the world to see lol someone had seen me blackout out on the bench and called an ambulance. nothing wrong with me just sleepy lol. lucky being 17 i could refuse to be taken to the hospital and the folks where none the wiser.
Quote from: StoutAndAle on August 30, 2021, 01:57:50 PM
Once more unto the breach...
I went to Dublin to see Orange Goblin... and crawled under the covers.
Brilliant! Tell me you eventually made it to the gig at least.
Quote from: Carnage on August 30, 2021, 04:24:26 PM
Brilliant! Tell me you eventually made it to the gig at least.
Oh I did, yeah. I went for a little nap, shower, had a proper meal in the hotel restaurant and met my buddy in Mulligans where I re-started the pint clock from zero.
Gig was alright. The Orange Goblin lads were just after headlining the first night of Desertfest so I wasn't the only one who was shook looking in the venue. :laugh:
Indeed.
I really want to try the porter in The Dame Tavern if it's that nice.
Trust me, go for a scoop or five. It's in my top five stout bars in Dublin.
1. Grogan's
2. Mulligan's
3. Dame Tavern
4. Cassidy's on Camden St.
5. The Confession Box, Briody's or J. O'Connell's (a draw)
Cassidy's is the only one of those I've been in, and that was at least 20 years ago now. Rare enough I'd be in Dublin, let alone go a-pinting. However, I'm due to go to a gig (which probably won't happen at this stage) in a coupla weeks, so I might embark on a beer trip (© Karl Marx) instead.
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios
ive a similar story meself actually.
I think they all need to hear about the sacking of Blanchardstown Maccers from the other week next.
I'd pay to read a book of your stories Stout :laugh:
You'd catch a blurry glimpse while scrolling some of the longer posts around this place (i.e. the Coronavirus thread) and think "fuck that I'm not reading this", unless it has StoutAndAle at the top of it. A way with words ya have. :laugh:
A mighty fine tale of day drinkin'! :laugh: :abbath:
Quote from: Giggles on August 30, 2021, 07:55:51 PM
I'd pay to read a book of your stories Stout :laugh:
Same as, he's got such a talent for storytelling. And a near endless amount of material by the sounds of it!
Quote from: Toeshaver General on August 30, 2021, 07:37:56 PM
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios
ive a similar story meself actually.
I think they all need to hear about the sacking of Blanchardstown Maccers from the other week next.
too much incriminating behavior in that one for public consumption tbh lol
Thanks, lads. I guess that you don't spend 20 years of your life as a professional shambles without gathering a few stories to tell.
I haven't had a drop of the pure stuff in 6 years due to THE FEAR, never to return to it. I just stick to the Kombucha now!
Afew may remember this poem, sums up THE FEAR well enough!
"One mans struggle with the demon drink. portrait of a hangover, Ger Hough"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VN4B-_quG8
Also a fresh second hand account here , have to share it for the extremes of it.
A blinder of a birthday party was hosted for a Ukranian businessman last Sunday, located at a big farm about 30 mins up the road. I know 10 people who were commissoned to setup and host a Viking campsite experience for this birthday bash. The organiser made it into a mishmash of Game of Thrones & Vikings camp set in the valley.
Intitally the mood started off mild enough, the organiser stated this would be a small celebration with 40 guests who flew in from Ukraine and that very little alcohol would be involved since they would be allowed to handle medieval weaponry. A horse show, some songs performed, Völva fortune telling, the vikings steal the birthday lad away and turn him into a viking etc, followed with archery and axe throwing which went according to plan. They settled down to the feast and this is when it gets atad excessive.
Guests were served with a bottle of the red and white wine each along with a bottle of champagne, aswell 1 litre of vodka and 1 litre of whiskey, EACH! The booze itself cost up to 33,000 euros for these 40 people. The food costs was a little under 20,000 euros. A banquet of extremes with platters of food pilled on top of eachother for each person.
And after the digest and the quenching of thirst , the organisers tells the viking company that they want to try their hands at archery and axe throwing again. The vikings stated it wouldn't be a wise idea, the organiser insisted ,the vikings said no again. Well, she threw caution to the wind and was highly motivated and she managed to get hold of the axes on the sly and distributed it to the steaming heads. :-[
Drunkards throwing axes and drunk onlookers almost becoming targets followed next, these were blunt weapons but still this is an insane recipe . Miraculously noone got battered and the celeb Ukranian DJ flown in especiaily for the few hours arrives which shifts the drunk focus.
One pal was asked to supply 60 bales of hay. The organiser decided to stack 10 bales and planned to set these bales ablaze for the big ring dance but they were left in the sippin rain for hours before this gig started. So when the time came to light it for the circle dance the VIKEE VAKEE dance , they ended up having to drench it in petrol only to give off thickets of mishts , insufferable gusts of dense smokey clouds and finally within seconds it flamed up into a fairly wild bon fire.
The plan was to bring the guests into a cricle and do the traditional ring dance with one of the musicians playing but the DJ wasn´t given any shape of know how this would to be done , so next thing he launched straight into "WEE DO DA VIK-EE VAK-KEE DANS" backed with some concoction of DJ Scooter plus bagpipes and thumping bass beats blasting throughout the valley and they all do the VIK-KEE VAK-KEE. So 40 plastered people and afew bewildered non drunk workers all holding hands ina circle doing the manic VikI Vaki around the blazing burning hay stacks that start to collapse into a heap close to their feet, folks almost circling into Dante's Inferno. After that head melter the DJ announces its "ACEY DESAY"- AC DC acid techno remix :laugh: and the merry go round of Viki Vaki continues.
Did the FEAR reach them in the following hours, well, one can only guess it did.
And the birthday lad was only celebrating his 44th!
:laugh: :abbath: :abbath: :abbath:
new story fresh from the fear zone.
was out there on Wednesday there with two of me mates, id just moved into a new gaff that day and one of the lads only moved into his new place the week before, which turns out is about an hours walk through the phoenix park from my new place. decided we would have a few drinks that rapidly turned into a fuckin billion. we parted ways about 4 am and i set off on what should have been an hours walk home. it took me 3 hours and i have little to no recollection of that time. the real problem is that, at some point along this journey, i decided to message practically every woman i have added on Facebook the most vile, inhuman drunk horny talk imaginable. i still cant face looking at the messages to see the responses.
i think im going to buy a 20 quid blockia for going on the sauce so i dont have access to the internet while pissed ever again lol.
That's a sore one alright 😂😂😂😂
I have one more worth telling!
This account doesn’t reach the frightening depths of THE FEAR and its nowhere near the caliber of Stout’s accounts but I’ll do my best.
Afew of us from Dublin and Belfast headed to the Rise Above anniversary event in London back in 2008. The gig passed swiftly, I was merry and some of us were more than merry. After the show most of us ended back in a pub a stone’s throw from the ULU, that same pub a few of us were at before the Pagan Altar/ Warning show in 2007, but it’s still in a labyrinth to find in my memory. I was just taking in the moments, jovial and all, looking around and a familiar face pops out from the crowd. It’s that fella from the telly in East Enders, who lives ina pub with the mother and the brother, lo and behold its Phil Mitchell chatting by the bar. “Wow that’s Phil Mitchell. Look!” “That’s not Phil Mitchell” “Its yer man who lives ina pub” Ferglor shouting “THAT’S NOT PHIL MITCHELL” “ YES IT IS” the entire pub is hearing this. Finally, it was agreed after much talk, that this was indeed Phil Mitchell.
He looked right over at the group, I even get eye contact, a very cross look too, just as he is on the show. And I’m considering it wise to shuffle away but everyone is parked permanently in this spot.
A little while later “Here, would you ask for a photo with Bill and Phil ,can you manage that?” “what? ”says I “yeah, you´'ll never know if you don’t try” something like that. “Ah I dunno” “No, this will be amazing” “hmm” “It would be the Doomiest photo ever, imagine Bill Steer and Phil Mitchell in one kodak shot, it will be legendary, ah go on” After much hemming and hawing and time running short, I agreed, but my gut was uneasy . A pal said she’d walk behind me for moral support so that was something to hold onto.
Bill was at the other end of the bar behind us, and right off the bat he agreed, very sound ,he nods, not a worry, grandso ,that’s sorted! Right, now I have to carry this proposal to the other side of the bar. “Are ye? Are you gonna do it, yeah? yeah, yeaaah?” “Ok- LETS DO THIS!” But I need a sip….…and I needed another sip.
I walked gently on a tightrope towards Phil and his two companions, stuck in the deepest conversation and I get the feeling this will not bode well. Phil totally knows I’m walking towards him, he has been listening to us since he heard he was spotted by us, and I’m to blame. It was a daunting walk, I stand before them, I politely nod a gesture of excuse me, and “Hallo Phil, sorry, eh w-would you mind…” (I knew Phil wasn’t his real name but I kept calling him Phil) I am not confident with this situation at all . He barely gives a glance back to me “Yeah I'm talking, could YOU go away please?” ”O…right…so, I'll juushtt…. ” :-[ Mortified, absolutely mortified, I gingerly tip toe backwards, turning, wishing I never knew of this shambolic idea which seemed great afew minutes back but barely made it to shore.
I think I offended him, he seems like the sensitive type “What did you say?”, “I said hallo and…” Next I get a hand on my shoulder, “You just got rejected by Phil Mitchell” “FECK” It would have been worth it if it was the other brother, his head far more interesting to look at, archaic head on shoulders.
I just stood dumbfounded staring into the void, I turn around and Bill is chatting to a tall fair Elf beauty. One of the Dublin boys goes to embrace one of the Belfast lads sitting down, but the sheer force of the hug flips back the lightweight arm chair in slow motion ,right back down to the floor, piled on top of eachother, pints pour over. A moment of relief to brighten up and smile, it’s the little things like that.
Before some of us walk back to the hostel I’m told Phil had a change of heart (ah bless him) but he only agrees to pose with the Slomatic lads and Bill, and to this day it is probably hanging in a frame on someone’s wall.
So lesson in all this, follow your gut signals, first impressions do count and that’s the best I got.
Fucking gas! Ha ha ha
Haha, nice story!
I wasn't going to stick up another one so soon but I was reminded of an incident at lunchtime by one of the boys I work with.
Staff Christmas party 2007 of a Friday night in early December - the boss decides that no exceptions, everyone is going. We'd had a good year, it was time to show his appreciation.
I hate work Christmas parties and never go. As ye can probably tell - I'm mad to belt as much craic out of a night out as I can but I despise this forced fun horseshit.
Getting ready at home and still grumbling - my future bride tells me to cop the fuck on, make the most of it.
"Would you ring Steve and tell him that I'm sick or something?"
"No - I'm driving you in town and collecting Anne so that we can have a girl's night. Unless you want to hang around here with us?"
"No" and I slink off to get my coat. My new one. A navy peacoat. The one I think makes me look like Jack Nicholson from The Last Detail
Jacket and fisherman beanie on - I'm the spit off of Billy Badass Buddusky. I'm looking good.
"You know you like a degenerate coal delivery man in that get up, right?" says the queen.
"Buddusky! Last Detail Hal Ashby?" I protest.
"Is that a film?" she asks. "Never saw it".
"Woman - why did I ever even consider marrying you?" I say - in my head. I'm an eejit but not that much of a fucking eejit.
Doorbell rings and it's Pat - a guy I work with that lives a few streets over.
"Ready?" he asks
"Hi Pat, would you believe that he wanted me to call in sick for him?" my missus says as she grabs the car keys.
"Sick?! To a party? You're some cranky bastard" says Pat.
And I can't say that he's wrong.
In to town and the hum of Lynx deodorant and Adidas Sport aftershave off of Pat (single, 40s, lives with his mother, big into watching rallying and wearing the gear, drives a Focus) would knock a donkey.
"Jesus, Pat - you've gone all out with the aftershave" says I
"You have" says my missus "what is it?"
"Sex Panther" says Pat
"Oh right" says my missus who has never seen the film Anchorman and is now clueless.
Anyway - into town in 5 mins. Dropped off at the Corn Store. The restaurant where we're having dinner. There's not a sign of anyone else.
"Sorry there, love" says Pat to the hostess/seater/whatever "we're here for our Christmas party"
"So is everyone else" says yer one, trying not to breathe in the Adidas fumes.
"Oh yeah. Yeah. Em. Company X" says Pat
"Hmmm - oh yes. That's not til 2000hrs though."
Pat looks at me "The fuck are we gonna do now?"
"Go for a pint?" I offer as a solution
"And spend my own money?"
"Yeah, I suppose"
"It's the CHRISTMAS party!"
Before I can call he a fuckin' gowl we hear a roar from about 50 feet away.
"Biys! BIYS! BIIIIIIIYS!" - for those of you not from Cork thats "Boys! BOYS! BOOOOOYS!"
It's Kieran, one of the young apprentices - shouting from outside a pub across the way called The Roundy and he is fucking MULLERED.
"Steve is inside and all the drinks are on him!" he tells us in wonderment. Pat is gone like a hot snot.
"How long have you been drinking, Kieran?" I ask him - lighting a cigarette cautiously in case any of Pat's essence is still on me.
"About an hour" say Kieran "all shots".
"Right" says I "have a glass of water OK"
"You're not my boss when we're outside work"
"Get a glass of fuckin' water."
"OK"
Inside there are people in all states of sobriety. It wasn't a big company - only 20 odd people or so. Steve, the big boss offers me a pint but I tell him I'm OK a while - I have a feeling that this night won't last long. People are pouring drink into themselves.
Over to the restaurant and we're shown to a huge table where we all duly sit down. Dinner takes place and it's a sloppy affair. Fellas drinking Heineken washed down with red or white wine and Long Island Iced Teas. Two of the Polish lads - Jacek and Gregor - have ordered a bottle of vodka for the table. This is downed by the two lads - by the neck of the bottle. Then, with no prompting or hit, Jacek decides that he must arm-wrestle Gregor.
"You are puny man vom Bialystok!"
"Whad you fugging say about Bialystok?!!"
It then descends into Polish and a lot of shoving culminating in Gregor tearing his own shirt off first and then Jacek's - over his head. "Fugging JACEK!" fumes Gregor.
Steve - is alerted from cracking on to some cougar looking lady by half the table chanting "Oggy oggy oggy!" and the other half telling them to "Leave it". The boss man gets in between them, stops in and sends them on their way with an ominous "We'll discuss this on Monday!" ringing in their ears as they depart.
Steve asks for the bill. He's had enough of this shit. After having a series of minor strokes as he views the total cost, he settles up and we all head outside. He asks me for a cigarette and as I light it for him he queries;
"Are you off the booze? I didn't see you drinking at all"
"Didn't fancy it" say I - gasping for a fucking pint and knowing that I can now ditch all these pissheads and go to my local.
"Only had one myself - might slip away with the more sober lads and have a cheeky one somewhere if you feel like it?"
As I mull this over I hear from behind me;
"You would in YOUR HOLE!"
It's Pat. He beckons me over.
"Kevin here" he begins - pointing at Kevin one of the newer lads - "Kevin here says that he'd have sorted out Gregor in 20 seconds"
"I fucking would an' all" says Kevin "I'm big into me martial arts"
"He'd have bate the head offa you in 10 seconds, kid"
"No. I'd have had him. I have given him the Sweet Chin Music like Shawn Michaels. The roundhouse."
"You would yeah" laughs Steve.
"Right, fuck ye! Fuck the lot of ye! Ye cunts" says Kevin.
"Prove it" challenges someone. Possibly Steve.
"Right" says Kevin stopping down to take off his shoes and socks on a cold and wet December night. I notice then that he is bollixed because he can't stay straight as he kneels down. "Stand there, Steve" he says to the boss indicating an area by the edge of the path.
Kieran, the locked apprentice, starts singing "Sexy boy, sexy booooooy"
Steve is now bewildered - telling Kevin to leave it off.
"Stand. FUCKIN'. THERE!" he points - adding "I won't fucking hit yeh!"
The next thing I know - Kevin, the new lad has started his Sweet Chin Music rotation, he's up off the ground, like Jackie Chan cross with a Tatyo bag caught in the wind, he's nearly fully around and BANG! he only fucking lands it perfectly!!! Unreal. We all cheer.
Steve is still standing - looking impressed and shocked.
"Christ - I think that I'm after breaking my leg!" whimpered Kevin holding onto Pat.
The thing is that Cork's Heartbreak Kid didn't notice that if Steve was 12 o'clock, there was a pole-mounted stop sign at 10 o'clock and he creased it.
Never been a Christmas party since.
:o nasty. Work and booze... bad idea!
Some amazing stuff - feel the need to do my part.
Here's one from 10+ years ago so I've come to terms with it. I'd been living in Montreal for a few months, and gotten to know the local metal-friendly watering holes. One evening in the early Winter (Baltic cold) a local French-speaking friend who was into metal invited me out to a place called Cafe Chaos. It was a small dive bar place, but with a dedicated metal DJ on weekend nights, so I figured that would be good craic. Show up and it's a fairly quiet affair, just a few people singing along and having some polite drinks on a small dancefloor, lots of garbled Quebec French being spoken that I couldn't make heads nor tails of but generally a good time was rolling.
A few weekends before I'd made friends with an Aussie lad who was great craic. He texted me and I told him to head along to the bar. He shows up and we're really getting into it now. He has next to no interest in metal, but he played along to my now well-oiled metal-loving friend giving him plenty of "You're Australiannnn, so you must know TRENCH HELL and fucking D666 - ouais!?!" Not a notion, Aussie mate just smiles politely as the beer flows.
Turns out the bar has a bunch of cocktail specials on the go. My interest is piqued, as I usually never have cocktails. Slowly, people filter out of the place, until it's just myself and my Aussie mate sat at the bar. I'm doing a lot of shouting requests at the DJ - who is playing along with lots of Priest. I'm slowly working my way through the lot of these cocktails. Did I mention that the bar stays open and in full swing until 3am?
I started to get properly buckled, but have a clear recollection of chucking back a pinkish cocktail with whipped cream on top, before we finally bundle our way out the door with the barman essentially kicking us out.
You know that saying, "I was grand until the cold air hit me?" Well, when the temperature is minus 15c, it seemed to supercharge the alcohol in my bloodstream, which quickly suppressed what remained of my brain cells. It was supposed to be a 15 minute walk to my mate's apartment (way too late to get public transport back to my apartment and I was in no state to take a taxi), but this quickly became a ridiculous journey.
There were several detours into a snow-covered apartment construction site. My mate was shitting himself as he wasn't sure if there was a pit or something I was about to launch myself into, as I had climbed over the fence and was just running around the place giggling and shouting. He finally coaxed me down off the swings in a playground, and got me back to his gaff, but not before the stealing of a big fuck-off election sign that was dragged up the stairs to his place.
I arrive back to warmth, and like a total prick, elbow him aside, make a beeline to his room, and pass out, diagonally, fully-dressed, fucking dead to the world across his bed. Mate settles into the couch.
I wake up the next day. You know when you're instantly awake as your body's warning signals are all flashing - and despite a massive, pounding headache I launch myself towards the bathroom. I don't quite make it and instead carry out a Godzilla-style lazer vom from a full standing position, as those cocktails come back with a vengeance. My throat is shredded, and with tears streaming down my face, have to clean up the mess with flimsy toilet paper. Exit and the candidate on the election poster is just staring at me with these dead eyes. "IT WAS YOU, YOU BROUGHT ME HERE!"
All I can think of is getting home. So I stumble out into a cold, extremely busy city - jammed with Saturday afternoon shoppers. It's like that scene in the Matrix where all the plugged-in people in the city are being aggressive to Neo. Vision is still super blurry, so maybe I'm the one smacking into them. I make it down into the metro. Every stop on the way home is agony - feels like the motion of the train is coaxing more bile and horror out of my system. Eventually I have to bail out, so get off a stop early, exit the station, and instantly barf at the entrance, where the steaming mess will coagulate, turn to slush, and everyone will have to walk through it on their way in.
Sweating like a lunatic, I stagger the few hundred metres home, climb into bed, and have fever dreams of bugs all over the walls. I was supposed to go see Acid Mothers Temple that night. Instead, I was in a very, very dark place, jumping at any noise outside. There was a small slit of bright light that was shining under my bedroom door as I was in lying in the dark, and it felt like I was being sucked bodily sucked into it. Took a few days to feel right.
The bar closed a few months later and a lot of people were lamenting this great watering hole closing, but I felt like the scene of a terrible crime had been rightly shut down.
I remember you describing the 'Godzilla vomiting' on the old forum 😂😂
:laugh: stumbling down a busy street on a hangover is horrific. There's a lot to be said for being hungover on a pissy bank holiday Monday with nobody around.
Stumbling up through Greystones hungover/coming down, having gotten off a train from town around midday on a Saturday or Sunday, after crashing on a couch or mattress somewhere, in your 30s, all the way through the village and especially past the Instagram smiles in jogging clothes sipping oat milk lattés outside The Happy Pear and feeling like some kind of unclean vampiric leper slipping and sliding to avoid the aristocrats, knowing at any second someone might literally kill you by saying "Hello." Fun times, miss that so much.
Fear and loathing in Greystones.
On the subject of vomit - At a wedding years ago, absolutely twisted needless to say, I drank the water out of a vase of flowers in the hotel bar for a five Euro bet, then, just to put the cherry on top, I proceeded to eat most of the flowers.
The girlfriend at the time, who wasn't much of a drinker, had driven to the wedding and much to her delight I got sick out the passenger window on the way home.
the next morning I found myself in an awful state of chassis, trying to clean the perfectly fan shaped puke and petal stain off the side of her car while she berated and abused me.
Take it from me, if you stick a daffodil petal to a car with gin and tonic vomit and leave it overnight, that fucker is cuntishly hard to get off the next morning.
To add insult to injury, while I was scrubbing and scraping away I got a text off the lad who bet me the fiver to gleefully inform me that he never paid me the fiver and had never had any intention of doing so in the first place. Cunt.
Quote from: son of the Morrigan on September 11, 2021, 01:39:20 AM
.
Take it from me, if you stick a daffodil petal to a car with gin and tonic vomit and leave it overnight, that fucker is cuntishly hard to get off the next morning.
when i was 16 i spewed all over the inside of me aul lads car when he was picking me up from a gig, trying to clean up the crusted remains of a chicken burger and cans of cider the next day was brutal lol
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on September 14, 2021, 03:49:39 PM
Quote from: son of the Morrigan on September 11, 2021, 01:39:20 AM
.
Take it from me, if you stick a daffodil petal to a car with gin and tonic vomit and leave it overnight, that fucker is cuntishly hard to get off the next morning.
when i was 16 i spewed all over the inside of me aul lads car when he was picking me up from a gig, trying to clean up the crusted remains of a chicken burger and cans of cider the next day was brutal lol
Never leave the puke till the next day. A million times harder to got rid of it. And mixed with cider, the perfect concoction.
Quote from: Ollkiller on September 14, 2021, 05:16:15 PM
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on September 14, 2021, 03:49:39 PM
Quote from: son of the Morrigan on September 11, 2021, 01:39:20 AM
.
Take it from me, if you stick a daffodil petal to a car with gin and tonic vomit and leave it overnight, that fucker is cuntishly hard to get off the next morning.
when i was 16 i spewed all over the inside of me aul lads car when he was picking me up from a gig, trying to clean up the crusted remains of a chicken burger and cans of cider the next day was brutal lol
Never leave the puke till the next day. A million times harder to got rid of it. And mixed with cider, the perfect concoction.
i wasnt physically able to clean it that night and i suspect my dad wanted to punish me by making it as hard to clean as possible, which is fair enough i suppose
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on September 14, 2021, 05:24:48 PM
Quote from: Ollkiller on September 14, 2021, 05:16:15 PM
Quote from: El_ogre_del_Dublinios on September 14, 2021, 03:49:39 PM
Quote from: son of the Morrigan on September 11, 2021, 01:39:20 AM
.
Take it from me, if you stick a daffodil petal to a car with gin and tonic vomit and leave it overnight, that fucker is cuntishly hard to get off the next morning.
when i was 16 i spewed all over the inside of me aul lads car when he was picking me up from a gig, trying to clean up the crusted remains of a chicken burger and cans of cider the next day was brutal lol
Never leave the puke till the next day. A million times harder to got rid of it. And mixed with cider, the perfect concoction.
i wasnt physically able to clean it that night and i suspect my dad wanted to punish me by making it as hard to clean as possible, which is fair enough i suppose
I guessed you were not in a state to clean it. I'm blaming your ould lad lol.
i cant blame him for wanting to punish me tbh lol
Seems a good place to post this...
Turkey: 'Missing' man joins search party looking for himself - Published4 hours ago
A missing man in Turkey accidentally joined his own search party for hours before realising he was the person they were looking for, local media reports.
Beyhan Mutlu had been drinking with friends on Tuesday when he wandered into a forest in Bursa province.
When he failed to return, his wife and friends alerted local authorities and a search party was sent out.
Mr Mutlu, 50, then stumbled across the search party and decided to join them, NTV reported.
But when members of the search party began calling out his name, he replied: "I am here." He was taken aside by one of the rescuer workers to give a statement.
"Don't punish me too harshly, officer. My father will kill me," he reportedly told them. then drove Mr Mutlu home. It is not clear if he was given a fine.
Saw that alright, great story for the grandkids that's going to be ::)
Thread Resurection!!!
My friend, Chuckles, is like a brother to me. He is one of the soundest, nicest, most natural fellas you could ever hope to meet. He can sit and talk to anyone – you could put next to a load of strangers at a wedding and within 5 minutes he’s deep in conversation with them – about their lives and interests – and he’s genuinely interested in what they say.
The same fella can be a disaster on the drink. Not helped by the fact that if there’s nobody around – he’ll go out by himself.
He bought a house a few years before the pandemic but he lives alone so he thought it best not to be demented and lonely for long periods of time. So, during the lock-downs, he got big into kayaking/sea-swimming/paddle-boarding as a way of not getting polluted from beer/wine 7 nights a week.
Cut to post-pandemic present day. He needed to get a few things done to his house - walls knocked, extension etc. so he had to move back in with his widowed mother. They don’t fully see eye-to-eye so this raised a few eyebrows but nobody else had anywhere for him to stay for the 5 or 6 months. I gave him a copy of “Confederacy Of Dunces” to pass the time. 8)
He asked me to go out with him last Saturday but I couldn’t make it.
“I’ll meet you next Saturday” says I
“Yeah, yeah. Sound. I’ll go out for one or two on my own this afternoon” says Chuckles and we left it at that.
So last night my wife reminds me that she’s away in Dublin for the weekend with her friends.
“Are you meeting Chuckles?” she asked.
I rang him.
“Are we still on for Saturday?”
“Eh… yeah… I’ll have to leave it off.” says he “After last Saturday night me mother doesn’t want me boozing if I’m staying in her gaff”
“What happened?!”
He went out on Saturday afternoon with the intention of having a few quiet pints. Ended up chatting with some tourists and falling in with their group (see what I mean) – and took them on a boozing tour of Cork. 10 hours later he headed home – the tourists long gone – and he says he has a fuzzy recollection of talking with the taxi driver about Cricket and Pakistani cricketers.
“Was the driver into cricket?” I ask
“He was from Pakistan” he replies.
Gets home and has only minor memories of what he did from exiting the taxi until he’s halfway up the stairs with a box that his mother told him had arrived for him.
Opens it. It’s his new wetsuit, finally arrived from Australia.
Naturally he decides that RIGHT THERE AND THEN is the best time to try it on for size.
Next thing he remembers is waking up in bed at about 6AM, bursting for a piss so he hops out of the cot…. Still wearing the wet-suit.
Gets into the bathroom and tries desparately to get the zip-pull to come down. He can reach it but in his mangled state can’t open it.
“All of a sudden” he says to me on the phone “I feel seriously claustrophobic and I start to panic that I’m going to be stuck in the wet-suit. And I’m badly in need of a piss.”
“So what did you do?” I asked
“I started shouting for help” says he – as if I’m some sort of thicko for asking such a question.
“Mam! Mam! Can you come in here please? MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!” Chuckles roared – awakening his 75-year-old mother from her peaceful slumber.
“Oh Sweet Jesus! What’s after happening to you?!” she screams through the door.
“Come in for fuck sake!” he bellows back at her.
She opens the door. There, kneeling down and flailing, is her 40-year-old baby boy covered in sweat in a wet-suit.
“What in the name of god?” his mother says
“I woke up wearing it! Just pull the fuckin’ zip there. THE ZIP!”
“Oh, for god’s sake” she tuts pulling the zip “Are you not wearing any underpants or anything?”
“Who would wear underpants under a wet-suit?” Chuckles asks.
“Who in their right mind would wear this get up going to bed?”
"So yeah" he says to me "I mean - I'm still allowed to have people over and that but she doesn't want me going out and getting wrecked".
Man what an image! 😂😂😂
Brilliant.
Haha. Legend.
Less Chuckles, more Shudders.
Yowsa!
2023 - Resurrect THE FEAR!
I was having coffee with one of the lads that I work with a few weeks back. The conversation turned to Christmas.
"Any plans yourself, Cavs?" I asked
"Ah yeah" says he "a bunch of us are going skiing. Kids, wives, the whole lot. The usual crew."
"Oh yeah, there's a load of ye go every year."
"Yeah. Every year up until Covid. Should be good though, most of the kids are mid-teens now. No real minding them any more. Handy for me - mine are 16 and 18. Being separated from my missus for nearly two years means that I'll have even more freedom."
"Uh huh" says I - absentmindedly hoping to get off this subject as I am now bored and want to talk about me & my interests.
"Looking forward to it" says he.
"Is Danser going over with ye again?" - Danser being a lad that we work with.
"Eh. No... Danser is not going with us" says Cavs, his eyes suddenly darkening.
"How come - the whole Covid and planes thing?"
"Eh... no. Did he... did you not hear what happened in 2019? Did you not notice that we don't speak much these days?"
"No"
"He probably wants it kept quiet.... Fuck it. He was out Mayrhofen with the rest of us. But sure Danser is single with no kids so while we were doing the ski schools and family things until late - he was coming in from the slopes at 4 in the afternoon and power-drinking his way through evenings. Bladdered every night. Making a fucking fool of himself."
"Christ, really? He seems fairly normal in work."
"Yeah - really! So one night about halfway through the trip he's nowhere to be seen. A few of us start playing Stump with some other guests."
I had to ask him to explain Stump to me. Also known as Hammerschlagen - it's a German drinking game where players take turns trying to knock pre-designated nails into a tree stump. The rules aren't very clear to me but I think if yours is the last nail then you're the loser.
"So anyway Danser arrives in about 2100hrs - pissed up on Jager, schnapps and beer and decides the he wants to play Stump. He takes the hammer and wallops the nail closest to him but which isn't his. Sparks fly out from the nail on impact. And every one roars 'SPARKS!!!'...."
"Sparks?" I ask.
"Yeah" says Cavs "Tis like if you hit the goalpost from 3 yards with no keeper in soccer. Bit of good natured slagging. Danser didn't see it that way though. He got the hump and smashed all the shot glasses with the hammer. Then he threatened to smash one or two lads with the hammer before throwing it at a wall and storming out. Lucky that he didn't kill anyone with it."
"Jesus!" says I
"Disappeared for the rest of the trip. Here, seriously - not a word about this to anyone right?"
"Ah yeah... yeah, of course".
Get back to work and who do you think that we run into first...?
"Alright, Stout? Alright, Cavs?" Danser enquires.
"Alright, Danser?" I reply.
"Yeah, grand. Any plans for Christmas?" he asks me.
"Nah. Probably just get spark-out hammered." says I - while trying not to laugh as Cavs gives me filthies.
"I have to get back there, lads" says Cavs. And he fucks off with a big red head up on him.
"Were you out for lunch with Cavs?"
"Just a coffee."
"He's off skiing again this year..." there's a brief pause followed by him sheepishly asking "Did he, eh.... did he mention the hassle with me and him over there a few years back?"
"No. Nothing about hassle." says I.
"Ah... probably trying to save a few blushes. I mean I thought that I was bad getting demented and losing my temper one night over a game. But getting caught drunkenly shifting the face off some other lad's wife by her husband and a fella that you work with? - That's in a different league altogether... You didn't hear that from me, right?"
:laugh: This thread never disappoints.
Ah christ that is lethal
I'm sure this has already been mentioned, but for the love of God Stout, please write a book of these short drunken stories. Pure quality :laugh:
Jesus what a trip
Lad that I work with had to go to his aunt's funeral last Wednesday. Took a half day for it.
Didn't show up in work until 1145hrs the next day. All he was fit for was to sit down in dark corners of the warehouse and eat crisps & breakfast rolls.
I didn't actually see him until about 1530hrs. He was sitting on a kickstool outside my office near the tool room with a half-mangled hot chicken roll in his paw.
"Alright, Tommer?"
No response. Just a look.
"Must've been some session for the old girl, was it?" I ask.
"If I talk. I'll puke."
"Christ..... em... you didn't drive in this morning, did you?" the fumes of drink hitting me like the stench of jet-fuel in a Ryanair cabin.
"No... hunngh... my... wiiiiiife drove me in. Oh, sweet Christ. I had to go to the cafe up the road for 25 minutes in case I started crying. Sweet Christ, I'm dying."
"Do you need a lift home or anything?"
"Can't talk... hunnnnngh. I'm.... fine."
So I went into my office.
A few minutes later I look out my window and I can see two of my other workmates standing - just staring across the car park.
I pop the head out and ask them what's going on.
"This is Tommer's 5th attempt to get the pallet loaded onto the curtain-sider"
There he is, lads - trying to load a newly built machine worth €250k onto a truck.
The truck driver comes running across the car park. "Get him THE FUCK off the forks! He's drunk or something!"
"The other fella with the forklift is out long-term sick. We only have Tommer."
By this time nearly all 30-odd people are out in the car park cheering him on. It's like Italia '90. A carnival atmosphere.
"G'wan Tommer, yeh fuckin' mad thing yeh!"
Huge cheer when he loads the truck. Tommer gives us a wave.
By Christ, lads. I've seen "Rocky" and "The Karate Kid" but this topped it.
Next day - Friday - I walk into the canteen. Tommer is in there. Green.
"You're still dying?" I ask him.
"No" he shakes his head "went for a cure last night. Got a bit carried away. Didn't leave til closing time nearly."
Tommer is 58 years old by the way.
Some man 😂😂
Great story. Cheers. :laugh:
Had one when I was a student where me and my mate lived in Belfast and would get wrecked on vodka and coke before heading out. One night we figured we could get even more wrecked if we used alcopop as the mixer, Smirnoff Ice, WKD and the like. This worked like rocket fuel (especially for being only 19 or so), and so we stagger on over to the Student's Union to meet a big crowd of other students. I vaguely remember just about getting in as the bouncers weren't warming to our already shit-faced demeanor. I also vaguely remember sitting at a table with about 15 other students, people who were more acquaintances than friends at that point.
It's here that I mentally check out for the evening.
This one is a fear that repeated on me for weeks, because I'd continually run into the people from the table one-by-one and get to hear stories from that night about the awful glue I talked in their ears and the shit I got up to. At one point one of the guys was slagging saying I'd been trying to come onto some awful munter all night and I thought he was just winding me up because he knew I was blackout drunk and couldn't remember anything. Sure enough he pulls out a photo (like, an actual photo, this was before camera phones. Cunt had a disposable and had actually gotten it developed...) and there I am clearly out to lunch leching onto the love child of the Honey Monster and that one orc in lord of the rings whose face looks like a plate of mashed potatoes. I wonder if he kept it for future potential blackmail purposes.
Then someone else told me was I got thrown out by several bouncers after acting the wanker, pretending to challenge them to a fight and then running away shouting, "I AM ZANGIEF!" at the top of my lungs (we'd been playing Street Fighter earlier in the day at the house). Supposedly they took it in good humour because it was just so ridiculous, which is lucky because I probably avoided a hiding.
But the cherry on top to cap it all off...
I woke up the next morning, facedown in a pool of vomit, all beginning to dry into the side of my beard and hair, utterly wrecked beyond belief. After I've lain there for a few minutes trying to come back to reality I realize my bags are around my ankles. I look back and see a huge shit on my bedroom floor. I realize that I've came in blackout to my room and simply undid the troos, squatted right there in the middle of the floor and taken a shit, and then face-planted forward and passed out, then probably vomited in my sleep. Worst of all though, my bedroom door was open. I lived in a student house in the holy lands with my mate and 5 other strangers, so anyone that walked past my bedroom would have seen me there face-planted in the vomit, with the shit and the bags around my ankles. Didn't last long in that house.
Jesus!!! :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Went to Cape Clear when I was 18 or 19 for New Years with a few pals from college. Two of our crew missed the bus from Cork to Baltimore (the one not involved in this story went on at me for weeks for not 'holding the bus')
We got to the island about 11 or 12, straight down to the boozer, few pints and then up to the hostel to relax for a few hours before the big steam. These other two decided to go to the early house as they had a three hour wait for the next bus. They then consumed colosal amounts of booze on the bus and the boat and essentially fell on to the pier, roaring and shouting 'you didn't hold the bus'! etc.
One of them (he's lucky I didn't tell this story at his wedding when I was his best man, his mother is elderly so I let him off) continued to act the absolute prick in the pub, taking his shoes off and putting his feet on the table, slobbering over middle aged women and roasting the ear off of all and sundry. Then 'poof', he just vanished.
Any of ye have been on that island will know it's not at all lit at night, and after searching the pub worry set in, as he was that demented any stroll he might if taken carried a high risk of death. Walked the road between the pub and the hostel, no sign of him anywhere. Walked back to where we came from fairly shitting it when as we approach the pub, there is the owners son holding up the bould Noel who is wobbling and continuing to garble incomprehensible shite. So yer man goes to me
'Is this eejit with you'?
'Yeah, why'?
'Jesus Christ he's nearly after giving my granny a heart attack'
'He what'?
'He's after wandering in behind the bar and gone upstairs into our living room and sat himself down beside her on the couch talking shite and asking for the remote'
'Sorry about that'
'He's lucky the guard left at 8, she's fucking hysterical'
I was puking my ring up on the boat back the next day and him like Vasco de Gama, can in hand shouting 'land ho lads' with no visible hangover at all.
"Land ho lads" :laugh: :abbath: That's just perfect.
Quote from: Mooncat on January 16, 2023, 07:33:47 PMHad one when I was a student where me and my mate lived in Belfast and would get wrecked on vodka and coke before heading out...
... Didn't last long in that house.
Jesus Christ! That is class - as a story, I mean. Probably traumatic to have lived it! :laugh:
Quote from: StoutAndAle on January 17, 2023, 01:11:07 PMQuote from: Mooncat on January 16, 2023, 07:33:47 PMHad one when I was a student where me and my mate lived in Belfast and would get wrecked on vodka and coke before heading out...
... Didn't last long in that house.
Jesus Christ! That is class - as a story, I mean. Probably traumatic to have lived it! :laugh:
Most of it I just look back on as drunken dumbassery and all you can do is laugh, but the vomiting while passed out part did genuinely scare me at the time. If I'd passed out on my back instead things could have turned out very differently...
One other quick one: I was playing the Whiplash festival in Sligo, which is a good 5hrs on the bus from Belfast (none of us drove at the time). We were playing our night and leaving the next morning because some of us had to get back for work. We arrive and obviously hit the drink, watch the bands, play, have a great time, then head back to an after party somewhere with several of the bands. One of them, can't remember the name but think they had Outlaw in the title, were pouring drinks that were essentially a pint of vodka with a splash of coke for colouring. I don't remember much about that night except I got utterly wrecked, but had a good time and nothing untoward happened.
Cue the bus the next day and I'm fucking spewing every few minutes. One of those hangovers where you just can't stop heaving and throwing up. The other guys have to load my equipment on the bus for me because I can barely function, and they tell me I'm a mixture of pure white and green. So I shuffle onto this bus and sit down, the bandmates all take care to sit several seats away from me, and in the time it takes me to get from the front of the bus to my seat I've already thrown up in a plastic bag I'm holding twice.
I'm already absolutely dreading this bus ride home, but then five girls, all dolled up and looking lovely, get on the bus and two sit in front of me, one beside me, and two behind. I've been boxed in by these hot girls, who are now all turned around towards each other talking. Not only am I trying to hold this bag full of sick under the seat where they can't see, I'm also trying not to throw up any further, imagining the melodramatic shrieks of some teenage girls if I do my exorcist impression. Cue an hours-long bus journey of me twisted into a backbreaking, awkward position, trying to hide my bag of sick out of sight, trying not to throw up, and trying my best to disguise my little half heaves as I desperately try and keep it down, all the while my bandmates are in stitches any time I make eye contact with one of them and they see the purest picture of misery on my face. It was one of the toughest endurance tests I've ever had to face going that long while actively trying to stay on top of the situation, but I made it! I was reminded of this story because yesterday I went through a full day of work hanging out my arse for the first time in years, so it brought me back a little bit :laugh:
The "Nectar Of The Gods" discussion about whiskey reminded me of this little gem.
My brother and a few of his buddies were on a stag in the Canaries several years ago.
Getting bored with the bars in the hotel they decided to go to a place called Hawaii 5-0 American Bar - that's the full name. It was a theme bar based on... never mind - you all know what sort of bar this was.
They got there and bottles of San Miguel were €1 - Jack Daniels and Pepsi was €1.50. I mention the mixer only because I said to the brother;
"How come it wasn't Jack and Coke?"
"You could get a Jack and Coke but it was €2.50."
Anyway - a good time was had by all and they headed back to the hotel at about 0200hrs.
To a man - scuttered.
In this state the very best thing to do is to all decide to do canonballs one by one into the still lit but unattended, very much out-of-bounds swimming pool.
So the brother takes his wallet and phone out of his pocket, runs hard at the pool - "Geronimoooooooo!".
Next up his buddy Jimmy G. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck it!"
Next up Mad Maxer - splash.
They start chanting the "Hawaii 5-0" theme tune.
"Deh deh dehdeh deeeeeeh dehhhhhh!"
Another one of the lads in.
All this noisy revelry has led to two members of hotel staff appearing.
"Senors! Los pool is not open! SENORS!"
Timmy - the groom-to-be is up next - there is no way that he's not going to go. Not when the rest of the lads are in the pool now chanting his name to the tune of the "Hawaii 5-0" theme tune.
He starts off his run only to be tackled by the bigger of the two hotel employees.
"Fuck sake! Get off me! I'm only goin' doin' a fuckin' cannonball!" he protests.
The hotel lad is hanging on but he's no match for a Norrie sheet-metal worker who is fuelled up on San Miguel and Jack & Cok....Pepsi.
Timmy breaks free from the first lad, gets back to his feet and starts on his mission to do the canonball. The second hotel employee is smaller but wily - he forces Timmy into a sideways Axl Rose-like crab run.
Timmy slips the lad a dummy and sets on around the perimeter of the pool.
With the Canary lad nowhere close to gaining on him, Timmy nears the edge and prepares himself for victory.
The two hotel staff members are screaming "NO SENOR! NO!"
Timmy gives his opponents the finger, shouts "REBEL ARMY!", points to the lads at the other end and dives into the pool.
SPLASH!
You will note that I used the phrase "other end" there. This is because Timmy in his excitement/drunkenness has run to the far end of the pool - heretofore known as the shallow end.
He went in, head first proceeding first skull himself on the forehead and then scraping his front teeth off the pool's cement floor.
Timmy didn't drink for the rest of the trip.
He was lucky he wasn't killed, a good few have become paraplegic diving head first in to the sea and hit sandbanks instead of deep water.
Got that music theme in my head now but no harm it's a brilliant tune
Fucking hell :laugh: I'd say Timmy's missus removed the rest of his teeth when he got home.
Fuuuuck! That's the kind of shit I'm always surprised, in retrospect, didn't happen to me more often on nights that would start with a shoulder of Jameson before even heading out :-X
Quote from: Slaughterday on May 06, 2023, 02:01:47 PMFucking hell :laugh: I'd say Timmy's missus removed the rest of his teeth when he got home.
Ah, he's a hard case - that lad.
He was on his way to a fancy dress party one summer's Friday evening down Adelaide St. Fully dressed in his outfit - a carrot (complete with orange tights and spray painted sneakers).
He'd had a few cheeky cans on his way down Shandon St. A couple of lads wearing Munster jerseys on the same street were on their way into town and started to kick him in the hole and try to knock him over.
Timmy headbutted one of them and burst the fella's face wide open. He clocked another lad with his bag of cans. The cops arrived on the scene to find the headbuttee sitting on the pavement roaring.
"Muh fuddin' nodes id brukken over dat cundh dere" through streams of blood and snot. The lad who got the slap of the bag of cans had a caulifower ear and was howling about a broken tooth.
And Timmy The Carrot screaming blue murder at the two of them for keeping him late for his party.
The cops decided to arrest the lot of them but discovered that they couldn't get Timmy into the back of the squad car whilst in costume.
"You'll have to take off the costume, lad." said one of the guards.
"I'm balls naked under it, kid." replied Timmy.
The cop called for a paddywagon.
"Suspect won't fit in the vehicle... he's dressed as a carrot... a carrot...... yes."
They handcuffed Timmy and made him walk to the Bridewell which was the nearest station (5 mins).
When they got there, the desk sergeant looked up and without missing a beat said "Ah, Timmy... what is it this time?"
They left him go less than two hours later.
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
I'm not sure what put it into my head, but I remembered the old thread on MI tonight and decided to come on here for a read.
Some cracking yarns here. I'm pleased, maybe even proud, to see the torch has been passed.
I'm teetotal these days so can't contribute anything new, and much like some of the others here the events from years gone by have been remembered and misremembered so many times they're starting to blur.
If anyone wants a recollection of one of my greatest hits from the MI days let me know and I'll do my best to remember it :)
A Hairy Tale Of New York.
Back in the early 2000s, when I was a young cad and bounder about town I started my ongoing love affair with travelling to the USA for holidays.These were glorious days when hotels/flights were reasonable, the dollar was weak and you could live like a millionaire for 2 weeks if you worked overtime for the preceding 6 months.
New York to me was the dream. It was where most of the best movies of the 1970s were made. US punk rock roared out of the Lower East Side. It was a record and book shopping Utopia too. Before everyone had Discogs and stuff in their pocket and you could get genuine bargains.
By the time of this tale - I had been to New York a couple of times. My companion on this trip, JB, had never been outside of Ireland bar a few holidays to the Isle Of Man when he was a kid.
Things started off rather well for us - we got to our hotel which was next to the UN building - and immediately got kettled by the cops because (unbeknownst to us) a peace rally/sit-in/protest had kicked off just as we landed. They were protesting against GW Bush's newly-minted War On Terror.
One of the cops looks down at our bags and asked in a Noo Yoik drawl; "Da FUCK is in da bags right deyah, pally?"
"Me clothes, a phone card, em... a book and...." replied JB.
"WHAT?!" screamed the law man over the din.
"We're staying in the hotel there, lookit" says I unfolding a massive amount of printed paper from the trip I booked on Go-Hop dot com - ah the innocence.
The cop looks at it, then at us and says " Naht taday, yah naht! You guys are Irish huh?"
"Yep" we nod and next we know we're being shoved through the crowd and and into the lobby of the hotel - The UN Crowne Plaza.
We approach the desk and there's a fairly harried looking but still polite lady waiting.
"These two guys are stayin' hey-ah" said the cop to the lady "Have fun in they city, boys" he says to us and then heads back outside to clatter a few more hippies.
"Gentlemen..." the words are out of her mouth before she gets a chance to eye up the two gobshites in front of her dressed in a Clash shirt, baggy jeans and skate shoes (me) and a torn RFTC shirt and combats (JB). To be fair JB's shirt was torn in the scrum outside.
"Hi, how are you?" I start off whilst JB looks around at the splendour of a New York hotel rather than a 2-berth caravan in Douglas - "we have two rooms reserved for the next 10 nights".
"Mmmmmhmmm" she kinda looked a bit unsure.
Despite our dishevelled appearances - both JB and I have decent jobs and plenty of money to spend. The fact that we look like time travelling roadies is a mere footnote.
"It's all paid for already" I offered - as I flick through my Go-Hop dot com sheaf.
"Ah, yes. Here were are. Oh..."
"Oh?"
"Well. It's just that the hotel... in lieu of the disturbance outside decided to move our pre-paid long-stay guests to a different hotel."
"Ah here!" injects JB "we paid good money to stay..."
"I see that we've moved you to Le Parker Meridien" she smiled.
"... fucking hotel. And now you're telling us that..."
"Shuddehfugup" I rumbled through clenched teeth followed by "Yes, that'll be fine" - Le Parker Meridien was (and probably is) ultra swanky.
So they got us a cab to take us the 10 or so blocks to the new hotel. Where, for a second time that day, the person at reception got to look at two of the Rebel County's finest exports in their full regalia. But, sure enough, our names were in the system and we were shown to our appointed rooms.
Not sure what the bellman thought about 400 Marlboro falling out of my battered duffle bag with Rebel County Drunk Punx on it.
My room and JB's room are about 6 doors apart. From my room I can hear "Stout! STOUT!" so I open the door and there's JB walking up and down the hall.
"Shhh! What?"
"Sorry, boy - I didn't know how to find you."
"Ring my room, yeh fuckin' dope!"
"How'd you mean?"
"Pick up the phone. Dial my room number!"
He disappeared back into his own room and before I closed my door, the in-room phone rang. "Yes JB?"
"Maaaaaaaad, boy!" he giggled like a 6 year old after seeing a magic trick. "What will we do now?"
"Shower. Change. Pints"
"30 minutes. Downstairs. Over and out." The little fucker can be professional when he wants to be.
Half an hour later I exit the lift - JB is already standing outside on the footpath smoking whilst chatting to the doorman.
".... Nirvana, yeah yeah. Metal too though. So any places like that really." I overhear on my approach.
"I don't really know those kind of places, sir" the doorman, an African American chap, replies "but there's a lot of bars in New York. I'm certain you'll find what you want. Rock music isn't really my scene."
"The hip-hop and that like?" asks JB
"Sir?".
"He likes some of that stuff too" says JB jerking his thumb at me - one of the whitest people on the planet.
"Uh-huh".
"OK then, Dennis - it was nice talking to you. My mate Stout is taking me on a tour now."
"Do you gentlemen want a cab?" asks Dennis - I am assumng JB learned his name rather than just plucking one from the sky.
"No" says I "It's OK. We're going to walk. It's JB's first time in the city."
"OK then" said Dennis - who by now had a look of incredulity on his face as JB tries to high-five him goodbye.
I point us in the direction of the bar we're going to and we set out on the 20 or so blocks to reach our destination - Desmond's Tavern.
Desmond's Tavern was (it's closed now) a shit-hole but a shit-hole of the highest order. Good beer, good specials, wicked strong cocktails, huge pours on the spirits, some decent bar bands and a jukebox. One of the finest bars in New York City. Anthony Bourdain used to drink there after a shift at Les Halles - a fact I wasn't aware of until I saw him mention the place in one of his shows a few years later.
It was nice to wander along the streets and avenues with someone who'd never been there before so that I could see what my reaction was probably like on my first trip. We finally arrived at the door of Desmonds.
(https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5553bc27e4b0e7fa4e49b03f/5553ca5ae4b03e9b3e78b0be/5af250f4352f53d3046460a3/1525922380832/Desmond%27s+Tavern.jpeg?format=1500w)
(https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/1277670/5352960276_fd20fb68cf_o.0.jpg)
It was empty enough but it was barely early evening and midweek. We posted ourselves up on two bar stools. JB looked around like an owl. The barman approached and asked for ID but upon seeing the harp logo on the passports - he said in a Mayo accent;
"You're grand, lads. What'll you have?"
"I'll have a pint of Guinness if there's anyone else drinking it" says I to the nodding barman.
"Gimme a Jack and a beer back... please" says JB.
The barman wandered off.
"The fuck is that?!" I asked
"Dunno. I heard a fella say it on the telly years ago. Al Bundy it was!"
The barman arrived back with 2 Guinness.
"That's yours" he says to me "and that's yours" he says to JB "because I haven't a bull's notion what it is you asked me for."
"Sound." We both swig deep and heartily on the pints. Next round. The barman is back.
"Same again?"
"I'll have a 7&7 please" requested JB.
"Sure - and another Guinness?" he nods and goes to fill the order.
"Do you know what a 7&7 is?" I ask my pal.
"DeNiro drinks it in Goodfellas"
"Right but do you know what it is?" - it's clear that he doesn't have a fucking clue what he's after ordering so I explain "It's Seagram's and 7-Up".
"Oh right...."
.......... and then after a beat JB followed up with;
"What's Seagram's?"
"Whiskey"
"I don't drink whiskey"
"You shouldn't have ordered a 7&7 so!"
"How was I supposed to know what it was?!"
Turns out that JB does like 7&7 - although the barman told me while JB was in the jacks "I put a fair amount of lumnade in that lad's drink. He's alright, is he? No trouble, I mean? He seems a bit... excitable."
"Him?! Ah Jesus, no. He's grand. First time in New York for him. We'll be no bother to you."
Famous last words.
We shovel a few more pints/7&7s respectively into ourselves and discuss settling in at Desmond's Tavern for the rest of the evening. Twas a long day - flight from Shannon, taxi, the thing with the hotel - sure we have the bones of two weeks to explore New York.
"There's a jukebox over there" observed JB.
"I know yeah. I've been here before"
"That's a new machine" interjected the barman, overhearing us - "best in the city."
Turns out to be one of those new fangled (for the time) hard-drive jobbies. There's thousands of tunes on it. Everything. Dolly Parton. The Jam. Little Walter. GNR. Pixies. Tool.
"Any requests?" JB asks me as he heads in the direction of the machine which is flashing the words EL D.J.!!! on it.
"If there's Sabbath - will you stick on Supernaut or something? Not Paranoid though"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Let's pause here for a second. I assume that we are all familiar with this Black Sabbath track. If not - stick it on, it's deadly. In fact listen to it while you read the rest of this tale.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Hairy Tale Of New York - II
Previously...
"Any requests?" JB asks me as he heads in the direction of the machine which is flashing the words EL D.J.!!! on it.
"If there's Sabbath - will you stick on Supernaut or something? Not Paranoid though"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few seconds later I hear the unmistakable hi-hat cymbal intro of Bill Ward followed by the razor fuzz of Our Lord Tony Iommi.
"Yes boy!" I nod across the bar "now we're cooking!"
Just as I'm about to order another drink - the barman says that happy hour is starting. All Pints are $2. Ditto some cocktails like Cuba Libres and the like.
"Sure we'll have a few Cuba Libres so" says I.
JB is back on his stool - "You get a rake of songs for a fiver" says he.
"I ordered you a rum and cola"
"I don't think I've ever drank rum" shrugged JB happily.
Those sugary bastards arrived and they were going down like the Titanic - icy and dark. The tunes are deadly, he's chosen well. Desmond's Tavern is filling up behind us. We order two more and two more and two more and two more Cuba Libres.
After the fifth or sixth round of cocktails I realise that I haven't been to the jacks since we arrived and I am bursting for a piss. The floor feels a bit spongey and mobile but I make my way to the bogs and relieve myself. On the way back I go to the jukebox and stick on a few songs and then head to my stool where there's a lovely fresh Cuba Libre waiting.
As I plonk my hole down on the stool I hear the unmistakable hi-hat cymbal intro of Bill Ward - tsktaataatsktaataatsk - followed by the razor fuzz of Our Lord Tony Iommi - dennannennenneneh nah nah ninnle ninnle nah.
"D'ju push on Supirnawsh ag... hic again?" slurred JB, Christ, he's locked.
"I, fuggginn diiiiid!" slurred I in response. Christ, I'm locked too.
"Heh heh! TUUUUUUUNE! Sure we'll have another so." says JB
2 more Cubbsie Libraries. My head is swimming a bit when I hear the unmistakable hi-hat cymbal intro of Bill Ward - tsktaataatsktaataatsk - followed by the razor fuzz of Our Lord Tony Iommi - dennannennenneneh nah nah ninnle ninnle nah.
"Heh! Tuuuuuuuuuune!" JB says.
"I fugggggin love dis shong!" I must've put it on twice by mistake. "Two mo-are Cubrasgh Librez, please!"
A voice in the wilderness of the bar room pipes up "Dis fucken' sawng again? Jeeziz Christ! It's been on like 10 times!"
"Three times" I roar over at him - raising my glass. "The fuckin' Sab, boy! The FUCKIN' SAB!" I am SCUTTERED.
JB meanwhile has gotten up out of his seat and is flamenco dancing to the mid-section breakdown of "Supernaut". Clicking his fingers and trying to get ladies to join him. No takers.
"I dawnt give a good GAWD-DAMN who it is, motherfucker - it's been on all night!" comes the voice from the bar.
My tone turns into my mother when she's dealing with her grandson - "I think you'll find that it has been on 3 three times. Not all night as you say".
JB is back on his stool. "I'm fuggin' langersed on those things. Will we head off?"
Of course - the spirits have put the big, saucy head up on me and I'm not leaving this unseen Yankie cunt off with disrespecting Sabbath.
"In a few minutes" I say to JB and very deliberately march to the jukebox feeding in a note and making my selection. Then I head to the jacks which begins to spin uncontrollably as I enter. I get a hand over my mouth and run to the first stall.
I begin puking my guts up just as I hear the unmistakable hi-hat cymbal intro of Bill Ward - tsktaataatsktaataatsk - followed by the... "Huuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaghhhhh! Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuagh!"
.... reach out and touch the sky....
"Huaaaaaaaaaagh!"
...... climb up every mountain of the moon.....
"Huuuuuuuagh!"
I finish puking just in time to get out of the jacks and see JB back out in the middle of the bar flamenco dancing to the breakdown again. There's more gawk bubbling to the surface. I have to run back and start puking.
"Huaaaaaaaaaaagh! Oh Christ!" Then I hear the unmistakable hi-hat cymbal intro of Bill Ward. "Huuuaaaaggh!"
I can hear angry voices from the bar, just outside the jacks door ".... Just turn it OFF for Chrissake, Daw-min-ic!!!"
And then a Mayo accent saying "I can't. I was warned not to touch it. It's brand new."
..... I've crossed the oceans, turned every bend....
I get out of the jacks and try to act as normal and nonchalant as I can - nodding along to The Sab. The barman calls me over and asks if I just vomited.
"Yeh.. yep... but I cleaned up after myself" - which I did. "I think that I drank too many rum... and {dry heave} coooooooookes"
"Ah Jesus, god almighty".
Through puke teary eyes I can see JB - still up dancing and trying to get someone to take the floor with him. He does a little bit of a spin and then with the utmost precision hares out the front door of Desmond's Tavern. I start thinking that's he's after grabbing the wrong woman. But then he arrives back in the front door.
"Woooooooooooooo!" - this would be cooler if he hadn't got a load of puke in his shoulder length hair and beard and then promptly fell to the floor. "Stout! Geh muh coah!" he shouts at me.
"Ged your own fuggin' coah! An' mine!" I roar back trying not to let the shout bring up anything else.
Then I hear the unmistakable intro to... Ricky Martin's latin-pop banger "Livin' La Vida Loca".
Coats aquired we get outside where the cold February air hits us like Mike Tyson after catching someone scratching his car in a parking lot. JB tries to steady himself by using me as a ballast. The two of us end up in a crumpled heap about 8 feet from the bar door.
"D'ju put on Ricky Martin?" JB asks.
"Yeah. But Supernaut is coming back around again".
Brilliant. :laugh:
:laugh: :laugh:
Thanks for typing all that up!!You have a right knack for painting a picture :abbath:
Ah class, you've certainly the knack for telling em'.
Ah fuck that was the best thing I've read in ages, properly howled laughing
Quotethe unmistakable hi-hat cymbal intro of Bill Ward - tsktaataatsktaataatsk - followed by the razor fuzz of Our Lord Tony Iommi - dennannennenneneh nah nah ninnle ninnle nah.
:laugh: :laugh: just pure gold!
Top marks for the punchline. :abbath:
Philistines not appreciating the best Sabbath riff ever
Great to see this thread is back.
The original can be (at least partly) viewed here:
https://web.archive.org/web/20170615141805/http://www.metalireland.com/community/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=31696&sid=c0717edf92109b3f0f6b65531700da14
Stuck at 10 pints out stout into me in about 3 hours last night and rapidly felt the damage this morning. Listened to Orinoco Flow so much yesterday that it was loudly stuck in my (pounding) head this morning while vomiting my guts up. Working from home with intermittent breaks to lie down and feel bad. Not a particularly exciting fear but a common one, cured by almost crying all day and ateing ice pops.
A Hairy Tale Of New York: CODA
The rest of that evening belongs to the ether. I have vague recollections of JB asking me "Are you sure this is the way?!". One thing that NEVER falters is my sense of direction. I leave auto-pilot come on and it doesn't fail me.
Of course with auto-pilot engaged, the brain is allowed to go to beddie byes. Nevertheless - the next morning I awake in my room. The only thing out of place is the chair where I tried to hang my clothes. My parka is hung from the bathroom door. I note that it has lovely vomit tracks down both sides of the zip. I spend several minutes wondering how I managed this feat until it dawns on me that it was zipped up when I puked.
My brain is screaming. My body is broken. I feel terrible that I've missed out on a whole day cos of this hangover. Then I see that it's only 0830hrs. I flick on the TV to make sure that it's the next day - and not that I've slept through 2 days. I haven't.
I get into the shower, then have a bright idea - I put parka on me, zip it up and wash the gawk off it. It smells lovely now because of the swanky lemon verbena shampoo that I used but it's going to take an age to dry.
I call JB's room. He picks up on the second ring. "Alright?" he answers.
"I am fucking dying. But I need to go buy a new coat."
"I think that I need to buy you a new coat. I puked on yours."
"You puked on my coat?"
"Yeah, 'member when I said I needed something eat?"
"No"
"I said I needed something to eat so you found a McDonald's. Remember?"
"No"
"And we got to the door and I puked down your coat just as I was about to ask you if you wanted something. When you were holding the door open for me."
"Right... did I go into McDonald's covered in vomit?"
"Ah no! You stood outside smoking. One of the staff did get annoyed though cos you never let go of the door after you opened it."
I have a vague memory of holding a door handle cos I thought I'd fall if I didn't hang on for dear life.
"So hang on, JB" says I "do you remember the rest of getting back to the hotel? Cos I definitely don't."
"Some of it, yeah. You insisted on taking photos of the Muppet beanie baby yokes that came with my McDonald's"
"Muppet beanie.... You ordered a Happy Meal?!"
"I did in my hole. I gave the fella behind the counter $15 for the 3 of them - for me niece, a present like. You said it'd make a great photo with them all lined up in the snow."
"It snowed last night?"
"Started to, yeah."
"Fucking hell. OK I'm going to go get a coat."
"I'll come with you. I pissed my combats. I fell asleep with them on. Fuckin' soaked now. Jocks, the whole lot are in the bath, steeping."
Turns out that the snow which began to fall last night turned into the biggest blizzard New York had experienced in 14 years. And there's me with no coat, only a reed-thin Nike hoodie that I used to wear under the parka. JB appears in the lobby in pair of tracksuit pants and a Republic of Ireland jersey.
"There's a blizzard outside." says I. "You're gonna need a coat."
"Fuck that, sham" replied JB "I'm roasting. The drink is sweating out of me."
I feel that we are getting odd looks from the front of house staff. So I offer up a cheery "Alright?!"
There's a bit of a stiff smile and a clipped "Yes sir" from your one at the desk.
The FEAR starts kicking in. What did we do? What did we do? I can't handle it so I approach the desk.
"Em... sorry... hi, how are you? Eh... did we do something stupid last night?"
"Not that I'm aware of, sir. I wasn't working last night but I do know that Dennis, our doorman, said that there was an incident involving some Irish guests."
Shit.
"Oh...? What happened? We're from Ireland ourselves actually." says JB
Shit.
"Indeed, sir. Perhaps one of you is the gentleman that was attacked by a vagrant."
"A homeless person got sick on me!" I blurt out - the memory of my horseshit story flooding back and firing my synapses.
"I am so sorry that happened, sir - do you need to organise dry cleaning? We'll comp that - naturally."
"Eh. No. I...sorted it myself. Thanks." and I back away from the counter and head towards the revolving door. We are stopped in our tracks - literally - I had never seen this much snow in my life.
Look up New York Blizzard February 2003. This was before the Beast From The East obviously. I'll try to dig out photos that I took. Here is a photo I found online.
(https://forum.metalwarfare.com/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.whodany.com%2F2003%2FIMG_2410.jpg&hash=05a48b591acf335345eb2cd0f8d89a8a5679e704)
We started wandering - looking for a clothes shop that might be open. Everything seemed to be closed - desolate. We happened upon a open army/navy surplus store near Times Square where I promptly bought a warm Carhartt coat, combat boots, Levis, gloves and a hat. JB bought some gear too.
"Can I put on a pair of the jeans in here? I'm freezing my bollix off in these trackies!" he inquired of the surly gent at the till.
"Whadevva ya fuckin' want!" was the answer.
Warmth attained - next we required sustenance. And by sustenance I mean several pints to make the marching band in my head disappear.
We found a shitty dive spot open not far for the hotel. It was perfect. 2 pints and some hot dogs (I didn't give a fuck that they were probably cooked in toilet water).
"Feel better?" I asked JB after we'd gotten a beer into ourselves.
He nodded but with a faraway look in his eye.
"I feel better anyway" I continued. "I was ropey there earlier but I'll tell you something - we might have to go to Desmond's to apologise or whatever."
"The snow..." muttered JB
"Hah?"
"The FUCKIN' SNOW!" he repeated at full volume causing a load of heads to turn in our direction.
"What about it?" says I
"I didn't piss the bed! I sat down in the snow for a photo with those fuckin' MUPPETS!"
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
Oh man I've been crying laughing a few times during that excellent follow up! :laugh:
What a way to finish the working week 👏
:laugh: Oh please let there be more of this.
"Stout's Stories" needs to be put into print :abbath:
Perhaps a little booklet and sold in all good bookstores!! Time for the ideal xmas present to be put together?
Nothing gets me clicking on a thread quicker than seeing Stout has posted in The Fear, fucking quality :laugh:
Ah I live for these
Stout always delivers the goods :laugh:
Stellar. :abbath:
Excellent, got a great lift outta that. Fairplay. :laugh: :laugh:
By a mile the best thread on any forum ever
Just read this entire thread and I'm in literal tears laughing - had to register an account just to say thanks to Stout for the finest and funniest storytelling I've ever seen!
I may as well share one I don't think I put in the old MI thread.
A good few years ago myself and the girlfriend at the time went to see Manowar somewhere in England. She wasn't much of a boozer so we didn't have a particularly huge carryout before heading to the gig.
We weigh in and hit the bar, I order a pint and get about £2 change from a fucking £10 note. The bar prices are beyond extortionate.
I have a look at the other options and see that quarter bottles of wine are a couple of quid cheaper so think bloody right, I'll just go on the wine, be grand.
The thing is, quarter bottles of wine in the bottle aren't like quarter bottles of wine in a glass, bottles can be skulled with minimal effort whereas you'd sup a glass of wine a little more politely.
We enjoy the gig, and I end up needing a little assistance from herself to get myself back to the hotel in a straight line.
Into the hotel, and I realise I'm more rightly than I thought, so figured I'd do some sensible hangover prevention before falling into bed.
I remember that a pint of water before bed will do you wonders the next day, so I reckon horsing two pints into me will negate any sore head caused by the hefty number of quarter bottles of red wine.
All good, precautions taken and I go to sleep.
I wake up and begod I don't feel too bad at all. Hangover level about 4 out of 10.
I look over to see if the missus is awake. She is. Fury level a solid 10 out of 10.
I ask "Is everything okay?"
She says "Do you not fucking remember what you did last night?"
I think back and remember going to gig, wobbling home, getting into hotel... wait! I got into bed successfully, I didn't do anything!
I tell her "Sure I went to bed and fell asleep, was I snoring?"
Says she: "Not just that, but you fucking got up in the middle of the night, got out of bed and flung the curtains open and started pissing on the windowsill. Then I had to steer you bollock naked, still pissing, into the bathroom."
I sleep in the nip BTW. Ladies.
She continues, voice raising: "You then managed to finish pissing into the bog and went to go back to bed. I said 'Are you not going to wash your hands?' and you got down on your knees and washed your hands in the bog full of unflushed piss. Then you dried your hands on the bathroom towel, went to bed and fucking snored like a chainsaw the entire night!"
I should have been contrite and apologetic, but I had ZERO memory of this so the story felt like it was about a mate of mine and not me, and all I could do was giggle like a twat, which pissed her off even more.
I was in the doghouse for a fair while after that one.
At least I tried to wash my hands after a slash while steaming though. I'm not that clatty a hoor.
Ah Donal, me auld flower. Was only thinking about you the other day. Hope you're well mate. I too am a firm believer in the "can't remember so it wasn't me" school of denial.
Years ago a load of us had been out on the session and ended up back at a gaff a mate was sharing with another girl. At some point I retired to a bedroom to have a little snooze for myself. Upon waking I joined the mates in the living room who were in the middle of discussing ordering a take away. I was told quite abruptly that I had to leave as I had taken a shit in the housemate's clothes basket. I thought they were taking the piss and proceeded to try and get my order in for the takeaway. No, they were fairly adamant that I had to leave and had to take the shitty clothes basket with me. I admitted defeat and left, basket in tow. Whatever way I tried to leave the apartment complex, I ended up locked in the car park with the basket. I can't remember exactly how I got out but I remember just saying fuck this and leaving the basket behind. That must've been an odd find for someone but at that stage I didn't give a, well, I didn't care.
Fast forward a few months and another session in full swing at a different location but who lands in but the housemate. I made my apology and she was sound about it and we had a laugh. That went a bit further as the evening went on and at one point I had to politely refuse her advances. That was far too weird a situation to get myself into.
Chicks love a regular guy!
Great story Donal! :laugh: And what a killer first post! :abbath:
Quote from: Dark Stranger on February 06, 2024, 09:12:11 PMAt least I tried to wash my hands after a slash while steaming though. I'm not that clatty a hoor.
:laugh:
Yes biys! Deadly!
Welcome back Donal!
Quote from: Dark Stranger on February 06, 2024, 09:12:11 PMI may as well share one I don't think I put in the old MI thread.
Read all that in your voice :P
Welcome back lad!
Aye welcome back Donal. I think you put up a story (might have been someone else) about how you had the fear so much one day after drinking you started crying when the postman rang the doorbell. That old thread was gold.
I must tell that story too, it's particularly pathetic. :laugh:
Went to Vegas 13 years ago, 12 of us go. About 3 lads went that I didn't know at all. One of them I could tell was a disaster waiting to happen.
Every morning we'd meet at Earl of Sandwich for some breakfast. One of the mornings we arrive there 8am (timezone still fecking with us)
and he's already there, conked asleep with a Dublin jersey, one oversized UFC glove on and an empty bottle of Bacardi beside him ->
(https://i.ibb.co/zh5hS2X/301668-2001337078829-1997180474-n.jpg)
We all just sat around him and ate breakfast while he was comatose - then everyone got up and left. I checked - he was breathing, I tell him the plan for the day and he grunts a few times in acknowledgement not once raising the noggin.
3 hours later he resurrects and goes full hog at the yard drinks (think huge slushies with plenty of spirits chucked in) ->
(https://ugc.production.linktr.ee/VOu5cbrxSMKppGYYWqtN_6O9A6229.JPG)
He then disappears for most of the afternoon - We booked P.F.Changs for dinner before we had head out for the night. He shows up late and whispers the order into the bemused waiters ear. He walks in with the biggest cheesiest grin which seems to be taking most of his energy as he was struggling to keep his eyes even half open.
Once he sits down - He doesn't speak a word and just sinks into the booze netherworld. 15 minutes later his dish is placed down, everyone else is in good spirits chatting away while he's staring like a zombie at his plate. I was expecting projectile vomit at any moment he looked that bad.
"Cul, you alright? You haven't said a word and you haven't touched your lettuce wraps."
"Toilet." he mumbles. Everyone quietens down to try hear what he just said.
"Wha? Speak up Cul!"
"Need...the toilet." He gets up and leaves. He isn't seen for the rest of the night.
We see him the next day with a black eye and a big busted lip.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"I got robbed."
"Where? By who?"
Cul shakes and holds his head then proceeds to finger wag at his friend.
His friend that was staying with him in the same room begins to explain that he saw Cul chatting to police at half 5am in the morning outside the hotel room when he was coming back from the night out.
A curious lady of the night took interest in poor aul drunken Cul down at the casino, brought him back to his hotel room, while he was undressing she took all the cash out of his wallet and she proceeded to leave, he runs with his pants half the way down, tries to blocks the door but she hits him twice with her long doxy stilettos bursting open his lip and she escapes to victory.
Luckily for Cul - the police were able to recoup his money because she made the silly mistake of staying in the same hotel on a different floor so they were able to track her movements with CCTV. Unfortunately for Cul the last night while waiting for a taxi to get back into the strip, he decided to jump over a bush Jackass style and landed fully on his face against the corner of the pavement, busting open his lip again. After that trip we never saw or chatted to Cul again. Probably the best for all concerned!
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
It's so good I'll come back :)
:abbath:
Glorious 😄 :abbath:
Absolutely tremendous! :abbath:
Went to Onslaught in Sydney last week and got absolutely embarrassingly locked, one of those there in body but not in mind situations. I didn't even plan on drinking in the first place, was only to have one or 2 but i'd been off the drink a few weeks and hadn't really eaten, but once I get the goo I'm a bit of a demon, no stopping me then. I Woke up the next morning with 2 setlists in my pocket, opened my phone to see pictures of me doing the Manowar pose in front of the band as they were playing, then photos of me getting them in headlocks after the show and a load of pictures of randomers I've no recollection of even speaking to. I barely remember being at the venue. I just remember trying to get in a strangers car after the show to head to another pub, thankfully that didn't happen.
The worst was I was walking through the city a few days later an hour away from where the show was on and I hear someone shout from across the road "MITHRANDIR, FROM DUBLIN!!" It was some bouncer outside a pub, I got the fright of my life, I don't know anyone in Sydney. Turns out the it was the bouncer from the show who I also had absolutely no recollection of. He actually seemed delighted to see me so even if I was a mess at least I was a friendly mess but having to pretend I knew who I was talking to brought all the fear rushing back.
Took me 2 hours to get back after the show, I kept getting in Ubers to the wrong address :-X
Far from my finest moment, need a long spell off the drink after that one. :-[
:laugh: :laugh: long time since I've been in that kind of state, thank Satan. You have to share the headlock photos!
Ah once I'm in a better mental state over the whole thing I will :laugh: To add to it I'm living in a van at the moment (by choice :laugh: ) which is why I haven't been drinking. That kind of hangover in a hot van was the closest to hell I've ever been.