Day 70
I have been inundated with requests to tell you the story of the other party incident that my friend and I were reminiscing over a couple of days ago. Much against my better judgment and on the proviso that no real names are used, I shall bow to your requests…as long as you promise to keep to yourselves.
This is going to be a rather long entry so I hope you bear with me.
It occurred a few years ago when I was in college and is absolutely true.
I had two good friends (Dave and Chris Morris) who were holding a party to celebrate their parents going on a four-week holiday to Kenya. They had an enormous house opposite the park and were told under no circumstances were they to hold any type of get-together.
Their taxi was due to take them to the airport at 7.00pm.
By 7.05pm there were about 200 people in the house.
Prospective guests were waiting in cars, hiding behind trees and peering around walls waiting for them to go.
Enough food was left in the house to comfortably see them through the month…it lasted about twenty minutes. The entire contents of the booze cabinet had a considerably shorter life expectancy and was emptied in less than sixty seconds.
The party progressed well, the bedrooms were in constant use and everyone was generally enjoying themselves. At some stage, one of the guests decided he would try to impress a few of the ladies and started to perform his specialty…lighting farts.
It was at this point things started to go wrong.
Fart lighting is very much a male pastime and if executed correctly produces spectacular results. This particular individual was clearly a specialist exponent of this art form and was drawing quite a crowd. He’d pull his pants down, bend over, light a match and wait for the optimum moment before…
Puuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrp!
His timing was prefect. A four-foot long blue flame shot across the room like an oil well going up. This caused much hilarity to this audience except for one rather drunken person who was transfixed by the display.
The usual danger of fart lighting is having a blowback when, rather than the flame going out, it’s sucked back in. You’ll be delighted to hear that this horrifying possibility didn’t occur.
However, the drunk decided he wanted a better view and got a little too close. A particularly violent fart got the treatment and burned his eyebrows off.
He was rolling around on the floor holding his face and screaming that he was blinded for life. His sight was fine but he’d been quite badly burned. We saw this clearly after we’d finished laughing and wiped the tears from our eyes. We located Chris (who was still sober) and five of us piled him into the car and took him to the hospital.
Having dumped him at the ER department we drove back to the party.
Things progressed into the night until someone thought they’d liven things up by going into the garden and playing ‘Scotsman’s Top’. The rules of this potential Olympic sport are simple. Two people stand ten yards apart and a third person runs from one to other. Once there, they drink a large shot of liquor, are bent over to the waist, spun around five times and made to run back to their starting point.
Of course, the participant is so dizzy from a combination of the booze and spinning that they very unstably run off in a completely different direction like a new born giraffe trying to do a 100m sprint.
It’s hilarious.
People were falling into flowerbeds and ploughing into crowds of observers as we collapsed into heaps of laughter.
It looked like great fun to another very drunk part-goer and he keenly volunteered to be next in line. He was bent over, turned around and ran straight into the garage wall.
In his disorientated state, rather than immediately falling over, he carried on going and hit the wall about ten times before knocking himself unconscious.
We carried him to the car and took him to hospital.
By the time we got back to the party it was the early hours of the morning and the effects of alcohol were beginning to show. I don’t know who it was, but someone suggested we adjourn to the park for a game of soccer.
Great idea.
A ball is found and most of the party wandered across the road to start the game. It was somewhat unconventional in that there were about thirty players on each team and the women were more concerned with catching the ball and throwing it to each other rather than using their feet in the usual manner.
The goals consisted of two standard wooden frames without nets, which would shortly prove to be critical. The goalkeeper was bouncing his weight from one foot to the other, his arms poised in readiness whilst peering into the darkness and trying to spot any approaching players coming of the gloom
One of the guys managed to retrieve the ball and took his responsibilities more seriously than the women. He ran along the wing with some lovely ball control, made a high cross into the penalty area and found his teammate with precision. One of the attacking players leapt like a gazelle and performed a thundering header against the goalpost… the goalkeeper moved backwards in anticipation of making the save; and the crossbar fell off and knocked him out.
Initially we thought he was kidding around. He was splayed out in a theatrical manner with his arms and legs towards the four points of the compass and his face pressed into a lump of mud.
He was out cold.
We put him in the car and made our third journey to the hospital that night.
When we got back the police were waiting for us.
Initially we thought someone had complained about the noise level but it wasn’t the music volume that concerned them as the sergeant explained.
“We’ve received a call from the admissions nurse at the hospital and we thought we’d better come and see if any has been killed yet. She told us she hasn’t seen a casualty rate this high since she was working for the army in Bosnia ”.
He was given an assurance that there were currently no fatalities and, with a promise we would keep the music to an acceptable level, they let us get on with it.
By 8.30am things were beginning to wind down until we heard a very loud and determined knocking on the front door. It was opened to reveal the police sergeant who’d come round earlier. This time no pleasantries were exchanged as from the look on his face he was rather angry.
“Ok, where the fuck are they?” he shouted
We had no idea what he was talking about until one of his junior officers appeared at the top of the stairs in his underpants with a naked woman draped around his waist.
Two of the policemen had finished their shift early and driven back to the party.
I only wish I could provide you with a punch line to this episode but sadly, as in most things concerning real life there isn’t one. I can only say those kinds of parties were commonplace a few years ago. Maybe one day I’ll tell you about the one when we had to call the Coast Guard.
I’ve thrown in an extra-long entry today as I didn’t manage to play any poker and I wanted to try and retain your interest. But there will definitely be some on-line play at lunchtime tomorrow as I shall be alone in the house with only some beer and a bottle of booze for company so the decorating stands little chance of advancement until the weekend.
Mrs. Snowman has a birthday coming up in a couple of months and I thought it would be nice if I invited a few of her friends round for a quiet buffet and a few drinks.
Now, if only I can find Dave or Chris’ telephone numbers…
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0
This is going to be a rather long entry so I hope you bear with me.
It occurred a few years ago when I was in college and is absolutely true.
I had two good friends (Dave and Chris Morris) who were holding a party to celebrate their parents going on a four-week holiday to Kenya. They had an enormous house opposite the park and were told under no circumstances were they to hold any type of get-together.
Their taxi was due to take them to the airport at 7.00pm.
By 7.05pm there were about 200 people in the house.
Prospective guests were waiting in cars, hiding behind trees and peering around walls waiting for them to go.
Enough food was left in the house to comfortably see them through the month…it lasted about twenty minutes. The entire contents of the booze cabinet had a considerably shorter life expectancy and was emptied in less than sixty seconds.
The party progressed well, the bedrooms were in constant use and everyone was generally enjoying themselves. At some stage, one of the guests decided he would try to impress a few of the ladies and started to perform his specialty…lighting farts.
It was at this point things started to go wrong.
Fart lighting is very much a male pastime and if executed correctly produces spectacular results. This particular individual was clearly a specialist exponent of this art form and was drawing quite a crowd. He’d pull his pants down, bend over, light a match and wait for the optimum moment before…
Puuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrp!
His timing was prefect. A four-foot long blue flame shot across the room like an oil well going up. This caused much hilarity to this audience except for one rather drunken person who was transfixed by the display.
The usual danger of fart lighting is having a blowback when, rather than the flame going out, it’s sucked back in. You’ll be delighted to hear that this horrifying possibility didn’t occur.
However, the drunk decided he wanted a better view and got a little too close. A particularly violent fart got the treatment and burned his eyebrows off.
He was rolling around on the floor holding his face and screaming that he was blinded for life. His sight was fine but he’d been quite badly burned. We saw this clearly after we’d finished laughing and wiped the tears from our eyes. We located Chris (who was still sober) and five of us piled him into the car and took him to the hospital.
Having dumped him at the ER department we drove back to the party.
Things progressed into the night until someone thought they’d liven things up by going into the garden and playing ‘Scotsman’s Top’. The rules of this potential Olympic sport are simple. Two people stand ten yards apart and a third person runs from one to other. Once there, they drink a large shot of liquor, are bent over to the waist, spun around five times and made to run back to their starting point.
Of course, the participant is so dizzy from a combination of the booze and spinning that they very unstably run off in a completely different direction like a new born giraffe trying to do a 100m sprint.
It’s hilarious.
People were falling into flowerbeds and ploughing into crowds of observers as we collapsed into heaps of laughter.
It looked like great fun to another very drunk part-goer and he keenly volunteered to be next in line. He was bent over, turned around and ran straight into the garage wall.
In his disorientated state, rather than immediately falling over, he carried on going and hit the wall about ten times before knocking himself unconscious.
We carried him to the car and took him to hospital.
By the time we got back to the party it was the early hours of the morning and the effects of alcohol were beginning to show. I don’t know who it was, but someone suggested we adjourn to the park for a game of soccer.
Great idea.
A ball is found and most of the party wandered across the road to start the game. It was somewhat unconventional in that there were about thirty players on each team and the women were more concerned with catching the ball and throwing it to each other rather than using their feet in the usual manner.
The goals consisted of two standard wooden frames without nets, which would shortly prove to be critical. The goalkeeper was bouncing his weight from one foot to the other, his arms poised in readiness whilst peering into the darkness and trying to spot any approaching players coming of the gloom
One of the guys managed to retrieve the ball and took his responsibilities more seriously than the women. He ran along the wing with some lovely ball control, made a high cross into the penalty area and found his teammate with precision. One of the attacking players leapt like a gazelle and performed a thundering header against the goalpost… the goalkeeper moved backwards in anticipation of making the save; and the crossbar fell off and knocked him out.
Initially we thought he was kidding around. He was splayed out in a theatrical manner with his arms and legs towards the four points of the compass and his face pressed into a lump of mud.
He was out cold.
We put him in the car and made our third journey to the hospital that night.
When we got back the police were waiting for us.
Initially we thought someone had complained about the noise level but it wasn’t the music volume that concerned them as the sergeant explained.
“We’ve received a call from the admissions nurse at the hospital and we thought we’d better come and see if any has been killed yet. She told us she hasn’t seen a casualty rate this high since she was working for the army in Bosnia ”.
He was given an assurance that there were currently no fatalities and, with a promise we would keep the music to an acceptable level, they let us get on with it.
By 8.30am things were beginning to wind down until we heard a very loud and determined knocking on the front door. It was opened to reveal the police sergeant who’d come round earlier. This time no pleasantries were exchanged as from the look on his face he was rather angry.
“Ok, where the fuck are they?” he shouted
We had no idea what he was talking about until one of his junior officers appeared at the top of the stairs in his underpants with a naked woman draped around his waist.
Two of the policemen had finished their shift early and driven back to the party.
I only wish I could provide you with a punch line to this episode but sadly, as in most things concerning real life there isn’t one. I can only say those kinds of parties were commonplace a few years ago. Maybe one day I’ll tell you about the one when we had to call the Coast Guard.
I’ve thrown in an extra-long entry today as I didn’t manage to play any poker and I wanted to try and retain your interest. But there will definitely be some on-line play at lunchtime tomorrow as I shall be alone in the house with only some beer and a bottle of booze for company so the decorating stands little chance of advancement until the weekend.
Mrs. Snowman has a birthday coming up in a couple of months and I thought it would be nice if I invited a few of her friends round for a quiet buffet and a few drinks.
Now, if only I can find Dave or Chris’ telephone numbers…
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0
