Day 67
I met a friend today who I haven’t seen for about ten years.
Whilst queuing in the newsagents to purchase my monthly magazines (poker ones, not those involving naked jello wrestling - I get those sent mail order). I got a tap on the shoulder and found myself staring at the grinning face of my buddy.
The usual pleasantries were exchanged and we adjourned to a nearby pub to catch up on old times.
Large quantities of beer were ordered and we had a wonderful few hours reminiscing about our younger days.
One story in particular was the source of much discussion which I though you might like to hear about.
A few years ago we were at a party with a group of friends and having a generally nice time drinking into the small hours. One particular individual who was renowned for having a low tolerance to alcohol was with us and after a while he began to show signs of being very, very drunk.
Propriety forbids me from divulging his identity so I shall refer to him as “S.P”. (Steve Parsons, Holdenhurst Road, Bournemouth, Dorset, England).
Rather than having him dampen our spirits, we sat him at the bottom of the stairs and returned to the main group. Every now and again one of us would check-up on him and it was during one of these assessments that my assistance was called for.
With a semi-coherent drunken slur, he informed us:
“Oh God…I think I need the toilet”
He’d already shown his colors on a previous outing when he shit himself in a crowded bar and we definitely didn’t want a repeat of that in a more confined space.
After some struggling we got Steven to the bathroom and managed to get him adjacent to the toilet, standing upright with his arms draped around our shoulders to prevent him from falling over.
Although I can just about cope with fumbling around and unhooking a woman’s bra, undressing a man is both something that I don’t have a lot of experience with or indeed place anywhere near the top of my list of priorities. However, the alternative was having a drunken individual soiling himself in the middle of a party gathering so I persevered.
With some difficulty his belt was unhooked, his trousers and pants were pulled down to his knees and we sat him on the toilet. We decided to wait at the bathroom door until he’d completed his dump, not least so that we were able to ensure his targeting was accurate.
He gave a little groan, narrowed his eyes as his face strained…
And was sick into his underpants.
Both of us jumped back in unison like a couple of fish trying to mug an electric eel and watched in horror at the scene unfolding before us.
We couldn’t leave him in this state, not least because other people would need to use the bathroom facilities for less repulsive things.
So, with his pants swaying back and forth like a bulging hammock we started to clean him up. Eventually we dressed him in some new underwear and a fresh fair of jeans borrowed from our host and left him perched on the edge of the bath with his head in his hands.
The party continued downstairs without further mishap and to the best of my memory didn’t involve any similar incidents although I do remember losing a bet and having to perform a streak to end of the road and back.
I’m not sure which is the more unpleasant image.
Needless to say, by the time I got a taxi home after saying farewell to my friend, I was in no fit state to continue either the decorating or play any online poker. So for yet another day, my bankroll remains at zero. I really must make the effort to play a couple of freerolls tomorrow.
Mrs. Snowman was surprisingly relaxed when I arrived back drunk which makes me think she’s up to something, although I did receive a mild lecture on irresponsibility. All-in-all I quite enjoyed my day and even managed to tell a couple more anecdotes to the wife later in the evening. Maybe I shall even put another one down in this diary…although the one involving a bottle of vodka, a goal post and an off-duty policeman could be a little tricky to explain.
There again…
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0
Whilst queuing in the newsagents to purchase my monthly magazines (poker ones, not those involving naked jello wrestling - I get those sent mail order). I got a tap on the shoulder and found myself staring at the grinning face of my buddy.
The usual pleasantries were exchanged and we adjourned to a nearby pub to catch up on old times.
Large quantities of beer were ordered and we had a wonderful few hours reminiscing about our younger days.
One story in particular was the source of much discussion which I though you might like to hear about.
A few years ago we were at a party with a group of friends and having a generally nice time drinking into the small hours. One particular individual who was renowned for having a low tolerance to alcohol was with us and after a while he began to show signs of being very, very drunk.
Propriety forbids me from divulging his identity so I shall refer to him as “S.P”. (Steve Parsons, Holdenhurst Road, Bournemouth, Dorset, England).
Rather than having him dampen our spirits, we sat him at the bottom of the stairs and returned to the main group. Every now and again one of us would check-up on him and it was during one of these assessments that my assistance was called for.
With a semi-coherent drunken slur, he informed us:
“Oh God…I think I need the toilet”
He’d already shown his colors on a previous outing when he shit himself in a crowded bar and we definitely didn’t want a repeat of that in a more confined space.
After some struggling we got Steven to the bathroom and managed to get him adjacent to the toilet, standing upright with his arms draped around our shoulders to prevent him from falling over.
Although I can just about cope with fumbling around and unhooking a woman’s bra, undressing a man is both something that I don’t have a lot of experience with or indeed place anywhere near the top of my list of priorities. However, the alternative was having a drunken individual soiling himself in the middle of a party gathering so I persevered.
With some difficulty his belt was unhooked, his trousers and pants were pulled down to his knees and we sat him on the toilet. We decided to wait at the bathroom door until he’d completed his dump, not least so that we were able to ensure his targeting was accurate.
He gave a little groan, narrowed his eyes as his face strained…
And was sick into his underpants.
Both of us jumped back in unison like a couple of fish trying to mug an electric eel and watched in horror at the scene unfolding before us.
We couldn’t leave him in this state, not least because other people would need to use the bathroom facilities for less repulsive things.
So, with his pants swaying back and forth like a bulging hammock we started to clean him up. Eventually we dressed him in some new underwear and a fresh fair of jeans borrowed from our host and left him perched on the edge of the bath with his head in his hands.
The party continued downstairs without further mishap and to the best of my memory didn’t involve any similar incidents although I do remember losing a bet and having to perform a streak to end of the road and back.
I’m not sure which is the more unpleasant image.
Needless to say, by the time I got a taxi home after saying farewell to my friend, I was in no fit state to continue either the decorating or play any online poker. So for yet another day, my bankroll remains at zero. I really must make the effort to play a couple of freerolls tomorrow.
Mrs. Snowman was surprisingly relaxed when I arrived back drunk which makes me think she’s up to something, although I did receive a mild lecture on irresponsibility. All-in-all I quite enjoyed my day and even managed to tell a couple more anecdotes to the wife later in the evening. Maybe I shall even put another one down in this diary…although the one involving a bottle of vodka, a goal post and an off-duty policeman could be a little tricky to explain.
There again…
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0