[Fiend]

Unfortunately this is yet another incident in the same genre, and unfortunately (for me and my pride - particularly if Dave, Scouse, Bonjoy etc ever meet me in a Sheffield wall again) I have failed to resist sharing it...

#3. In bed, in the middle of the night, fucking. There was a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Mmmmm hmmmm. The next day proceeds without incident or so it seems. I do some stuff, and end up going swimming in the afternoon. I sauna, swim, dry off and get changed. I am just putting my pants on when I notice a brown stain in them. So far, so normal - at least if the freakish confessions on this thread are any benchmark of normality. Except....I look closely....

The brown stain is on the front of my underpants.

Oh no.

I look under the hood and check what colour helmet my brave soldier is wearing today.

Oh NO!

It looks like I got more than just a smug grin from the previous night's shennanigans...

That smug grin is rapidly fading as I dress with appropriate haste and rush home to my own bathroom to have a long over-due "proper clean". Never has a dome been scrubbed so thoroughly! As for the smell....no...best not think about it...

 

Edit: There you go, palo. Oh wait....that means my post stays at the top....dear god!

[Houdini]

Fiend:  you just keep getting better.  I think you're gifted.  And that you're holding back on us.



You just wait a bit, I'm off to sort something out...

[Fiend]

I think you're gifted. 

"Special", maybe Mercifully that really is the last one, my life is pretty tame.

[Houdini]

This is my bike.

And I ride like the wind!

Checkin' dese decals out! 

Hmmm... classy shots!

I found it.  Hundreds of miles away.  This pic is atypical as she is safe under lock and key.  I never lock it, and only lock it at home to avoid a domestic. 

It's always there! 

[Bubba]

Fiend, that is sick man...I mean, didn't you notice the strange smell eminating from your chap's flap when you got dressed that morning

[Houdini]

chap's flap when you got dressed

Such confusion is this day!  I was looking at the saddle of me bike - which is plain nasty, your quote, and thinking also of Yossarians ye new-y Little Red Baloon Cycling Formula at the same time.  Jikes!

I regularly pull up alongside other cyclists on the heap, and they always see me drudgingly envy their wheels - but more often than not, their saddle.  Not far from here there is a cycle shop, Elbe-Coast Psycles, where they film Pimp Mein Fahrad, the German version of Pimp my Ride for pushbikes.  I dream of pimped saddle.

[Yossarian]

this is the saddle on my road bike.  it is pretty uncomfortable, but just as i was about to get a new one the bald bearded drug taking superstar and total hero of mine died rather unpleasantly. i took this as a sign, and the saddle has never left the bike since.

i can sometimes experience a heavenly sensation when i'm riding. it's as if the angel pantani is feeding me a mixture of epo and top quality coke through the conduit of my arse.

[Bubba]

i can sometimes experience a heavenly sensation when i'm riding. it's as if the angel pantani is feeding me a mixture of epo and top quality coke through the conduit of my arse.

I NEED one of those saddles

Houdini, I'm just rendered speechless by your bike. It's kinda retro-cool but I don't think it'd last long if I rode it anywhere because I can't resist jumping off things.

[webbo]

is'nt it a girls bike.

[Bubba]

It would be here, but everyone rides things like that in Amsterdam - their probably less hung up about their gender identity there mind.

[Houdini]

You can't jump off anything on Pegasus.  That's not so good.   The back wheel is not er... unidirectional, and has intermitent wobbling.  Pegasus especially hates cobbles.  Maintenance is limited to air in the wings only, why tinker with perfection? The brakes don't brake so good and then there are the rattles, too.  An MP3-player solves this though.

Clearly Webbo.  That is a question that doesn't need asking.  Indeed it is a girl's bike.  We rescued it after it was abandoned for some time by the train tracks at the bottom of my girlfriends' parents place.  It's embarrassing, sure, but not as embarrassing as say, admitting you'd paid money for it.

[webbo]

its nothing to do with gender identity.its about fashion rules.for instance lance armstrong may have won the tour de france more times than anyone else but those long white socks he wears would have got him disquaified from my local road race league.
p.s. do you bubba and houdini still climb in lycra tights.no i wonder why.

[Houdini]

I stopped wearing tights after catching a falling, lit JPS between my tights and my leg-loop whilst belaying a mate from the top of the dervish.  I could feel it but I couldn't see it, it was freakish and painful and burning lycra is not nice.

[webbo]

once upon a time many years ago.i went on a trip to the states with a mate and 3 female friends.we ended upon in zion where we spent time bouldering down by the river.this local turned up and invited us back to his place.which was a trailer park and the guy turned out to be the real deal i.e trailer trash.
he supplied us liberally with drink and drugs and proceed to show us his gun collection.after a while this arsehole started to get on my tits so i tried to persude the others to leave.unfortunatley they were all to far gone.so in my drunken whisdom i decieded i would drive calfornia.there were a couple of problems with this 1 i could'nt drive 2 it was my mates car.
anyhow not letting this put me off i set off only to immediatley run in to the parks main electricity pylon.i was arrested and breathalised,drug tested and bundled off to jail.where i was given this real cool jump suit as a swop for my clothes and spent the next day with a cell full off native american winos.
.i was the sent before the judge who gave me a severe bollocking about drink and drugs and charged me $400 for the privalage.i had to borrow some of the money to pay of my mate whos car i'd wrecked.
i belive someone once printed a version of this story in a mag many years ago.this the real version.

[Yossarian]

when you hit the pylon did your hair go like einstein's?

[webbo]

not that i remember.but maybe this is the reason  for my bald spot which apparently is so distinctive that recently friends walking on the opposite side of the river at wetherby were able to identify me.

[Houdini]

History repeats itself....



A Hamburg club, and I'm hunting for illegal substances with my new friend Techno-boy.  The hunt is not going so well, Techno-boy suggests we retire outdoors and smoke a joint away of the watchful eyes of the undercover narcotics police who we know are on the edge of the dancefloor.  I agree and we leave the club.

Outside I spark-up a table-leg sized reefer and chat with Techno-boy.  One moment Techno-boy is excited and animated - in the next moment the colour drains from his face as a hand reaches over my shoulder and with a "Danke" robs my reefer.  I turn round ready to give the joint-thief a piece of my mind...  'Allo allo allo' it's the Heckler & Koch-packing boys in green!  Shit!  I'm clearly talented...

Techno-boy disappeared into the shadows leaving me to deal with the situation.  Don't know about you, but when getting spasticated I tend to leave the passport at home.  This doesn't go down too well with tha Nazis, and my ass belongs to them.  I imagine I was nervous/fidgetty and my body language gave it away - the 'it' being my tobacco pouch with a two killer pre-rolled and a baggy with maybe 2 grams of weed.

They cart me off and slam me in the cells.  It wasn't the first time I'd seen the inside of a police cell, but this one took the biscuit:  4 * 3 meters and painted in a horrific shit-brown hue.  Swasticas and other fascist graffiti adorn the walls.  The filth had already made it clear that the only way I would get out that night would be if my girl found my passport and handed it in...  I had very little hope of that happening as she was getting plastered somewhere, and was unlikely to return home before 7 am.

I sit on the floor of the cell in the Lotus position and summon up some Chi and keep the dope paranoia at bay.  After 15 minutes I'm on top of it and press the emergency button - for some time - till an officer comes to check me out.  An obese and hideous man opens the door and asks me what I want.  I want the officer that arrested me, here, now.  20 minutes later said officer arrives and attempts to scare me into revealing my dealer (a large Turkish man whom I knew carried a knife) I told him right away that he was dreaming and that would not happen, and that he should get me out of here and take me to my girlfriends' flat (as I'd just remembered there was someone at home: I had no keys with me and had forgotten about Marvin, the young impressionable and devout Christian who had just moved in).

They bundle me in a car with 3 armed policemen and we head home.  I need to sit on the doorbell for around 3 minutes before Marvin is woken.  The expression on his face was priceless as myself and 3 pigs enter the flat.  I head to my bag where I take it apart, and then the room hunting for my passport.  After a while of getting nowhere I summise I must have left it at my girlfriends parents' house in Hannover.  Oops!  Pig #1 (the one with some vestige of a sense of humour) gets his cuffs out and spins them on a finger in the air; he's enjoying this!  

We leave and head back to the copshop.  I have no passport and I've just been nicked for possession in Germany, Land of the Caring Public Servant.

They take me in to a private chamber, surgical gloves were donned and once more I removed my clothing in front of 3 strange men.  I chose not to be cheeky with these guys... for there is nothing amusing about being naked in front of uniformed men with handguns and night-sticks.  The fuckers go through all my clothing with a fine toothcomb eventually allowing me to dress.  They take my photo from the front and side, and move onto the matter of finger prints.  Here I had the last laugh:  I'd only just returned from bouldering in Val di Mello for two weeks in shocking temperatures, every single tip was trashed with scab and scar tissue (including my thumbs).  Time after time my prints were taken yet not one looked satisfactory!  I love Italian granite!  Sensing I had the upperhand I proceeded to lie through my teeth at every question they now asked.  With no passport to cross reference, they swallowed my false name and address readily.

Then they let me go, having got nowhere.  I was down 20€ on skunk, but what the fuck.  I had at least put the shit up Marvin, which was worth it.

I hot-foot it back to the Reeperbahn, and make it back to the club to meet up with Techno-boy (who was gobsmacked at where I'd been these past three hours), score, and dance my tits off to some particularly dark, grinding beats.

These things tend to come in three's, they say.    Just hope my next bust isn't in Kazakstan.

[Bubba]

Scary

[lorentz]

Was just thinkin last nite, it's about time this thread was resurrected.

 Houdini I salute thee. A fine narcotic adventure. Waddage will be awarded when I'm next near a PC (blackberry - schmackberry = no dice for such niceties.)

Reminds me of when my spasser mate (who nearly put his shoe thru a geordie's window on a recent post) and I went to homelands a few years back. My folks lived nearby so had a day down there prior to event to organise the infiltration past the sniffer dogs that the police have every year on the gate. At the top of my rucksack (away from canine noses) is a marmite, lettuce and skunk in clingfilm/then coffee/then more clingfilm wrapped sandwich. Sitting uncomfortably up me jacksee are four disco biscuits of tried and tested quality (obviously extremely well and individually wrapped in clingfilm! God the lengths you need to go to these days! Shocking!) All prepartions undertaken and "administered" wearing disposable rubber gloves with a no-caning-the-sensimillion policy 24 hours prior to the event to stop any residual scent traces on skin and in hair etc. Good job that caners are so paranoid as it turns out.

Anyways - we're queuing waiting to get into said festival and punters are dropping like flies to the noses of these bastard sniffer dogs. All these folk being carted off and strip searched just cos fido wagged his tail and barked at them. Drugs confiscated and names and addresses taken, cautions given and barred from entry to festival. All a bit childish really. Why else would someone want to go to an all night rave festival if not to get battered, stay up all night and dance?

We're up next and we slope past the dogs... And fuck me! We're through! The dogs completely ignore us and some blokes just behind us get collared instead. Result - for us at least!

Right then celebrations. We find a portaloo which we take in turns to use to remove our ecstacy enemas. Not a pleasant experience, but once you've removed the outer clingfilm the inner clingfilm is clean and intact.Ok. We buy some ridiculously-pricey- cheap-and-nasty lager and look for a discreet place to wash down our first pill of the day. We sit down in a massive crowd at the side of a dance tent- safety in numbers. I keep watch while unklefukka (my pal) unwraps one very well wrapped tablet. It takes ages and he's less than discreet. With much cursing he gets it out and bosh.

My turn. "Unklefukka, watch my back while I unwrap this bad boy will ya?"

"Yeah mate. Nay problem."

I unwrap. It's awkward but finally it's done. I admire it's crystalline structure briefly and bite down. Just a half for now. Notice that the sun's gone in and then there's a tap on my shoulder. I turn. Some scrawny little cockney geezer says "You don't wanna be doing that 'ere mate."

"Why not, pray tell?"

"Well I don't mind but he's not to 'appy abaht it!"

He gestures to Geoff Capes big brother standing over us, blocking out the sunshine, staring with murderous intent in his eyes with. Then I notice his flourescent jacket with "Event Security" emblazoned across the front. I freeze, adrenaline kicks in like a motherfucker. Without thinking I dry swallow the other half of my pill and stare back at the man-mountain before me. Seconds tick past... Time expands... I feel my heart pounding, the sound of rave music loud in my ears, I feel the grass beneath me. I see only the man in the jacket. I take in his every detail - I will never forget his face, or the fact that he was ginger, or the naval tattoos on his bunched forearms. Everthing is clear. I wink at the him. The spell is broken. He turns on his heel and is gone.

"Fackin ell" the cockney says "That was lucky, wannit!"

"Er, Unklefukka. I thought you were keeping watch for me?!"

"Ay. Wassat mate? Sorry. I was distracted. There's a raht fit lass over there, with just a bikini top on"

Complete

Fifteen minutes later, I come up like I've never come up before and go on to have one of the best nights of life. Unkle (the beats and remix merchants - not my mate) play an awesome, awesome set. I dance til sunrise.

[Yossarian]

two wonderful tales of derring do...

i'm sure i've got another one lurking in a misty corner of my brain somewhere.

[webbo]

a mate of mine had a party trick,which was to shin up a lamp post,mantle on to the cross beam.stand up with his arms out stretched,step backwards and catch the beam as he dropped.how ever one wet evening after a session in the royal park in leeds and in front of large crowd of admirers,he failed to perform it correctly catching the beam with only one hand.which resulted in a spectacular summersalt followed by a hands first landing.
the nurses at a/e were very sympathetic at first,this poor lad with two broken wrists.that was till they found out how he'd done it.

he had to pay another mate blond nik a fiver to wipe his arse.

[Yossarian]

Ok, my best and most painful sleepwalking story.

I am cooking a paella of enormous proportions for my family and friend.  I am in a celebratory frame of mind for a number of reasons, with the foremost probably being because it is only 2 weeks before I am due to leave for a month of surfing in Costa Rica.  (Please don't make the mistake of thinking I'm some rad stoking surfer - my total surfing experience at this point was 2 rather flat and hungover days on a stag weekend in Devon.)  Anyway, in the family tradition, I am getting royally drunk while I dissect chicken and rabbit, crumble saffron, and coo over my Valencian rice.  I don't know what I started with, but I know i finished a bottle of ice cold Fino before i'd finished cooking it.  Keith Floyd, what an inspiration...  The meal was spectacular, and the atmosphere intoxicating.  My old man muttered "Have you taken something?"  to which I slurred some kind of denial.  After that Dr Tom and I stumble off down the road to the pub.  A few pints of Master Brew later and this woman at the bar turns round to Dr Tom and says "You better drink up".  Dr Tom, never a man to let self restraint get in the way of a good argument replies "Do you work here? You don't work here.  Why the fuck are you telling me to drink up if you don't work here?"  To which freaky lady retorts "Don't talk to me like that - you have to finish your drink."  Dr Tom goes red, probably has an image in his head of giving the broad a hip replacement without anaesthetic, and starts shouting at the pub psycho.  Unfortunately the landlord in his drunken ignorance decides that we are to blame rather than the witch, and decides to eject us.  I mutter something about how my bar bill the previous Christmas Eve probably paid for his whole families present assortment.  This unfortunately made no difference... We get home, everyone has gone to bed.  Not daunted by this, we crack open a bottle of scotch and stick on a video of that Leo Houlding My Right Foot thing.  The bottle beats us and it's time to sleep. 

I'm suddenly wide awake.  Well, as wide awake as you can be after that lot.  I notice a chill in the air.  I am not inside, and for some reason I'm crouching down.  I can feel something dripping out of my nose.  It's blood.  And it's gushing quite impressively.  I feel the ground - stone paving.  Interesting.  I stumble to my feet and try and take a step forward.  Though the pain is dulled by the booze, there is an almighty stabbing sensation coming from my right foot when I put weight on it.  So I reassume what I later describe as the Joe Simpson position. I look up at the house, and notice the window of the room I had been sleeping in is wide open. My eyes run down the side of the house - on one side of the dropzone is a large cast iron railing running down from a door, and on the other side is the edge of a pitched roof from an extension.  The gap between the two is just about the width of the window, and the drop is over 20ft.  Oh fuck, that was lucky.  So, I crawl to the nearest door, and start pummelling on it.  My sister is asleep above, and it soon becomes obvious that she is not going to wake up.  Undeterred, I continue my own personal Touching the Void, and crawl off into the night.  To reach what I quickly decided was the best door to bang on I had to crawl though the building site at the side of the house.  Like a infantryman at the Somme, I crawled through trenches, up muddy slopes, and managed to avoid the lumps of twisted metal.  Only the lack of barbed wire and German machine gun emplacements meant that I didn't get the full WW1 experience.  At last I reached the door, and banged on it repeatedly.  At last, a light!  Then the rather hostile face of my mother.  She had seen her son wander off to the pub some 5 hours earlier, and now she saw him barely clothed and covered in mud, blood and sand, shivering uncontrollably, and giving off a pretty potent boozy aroma.  The next bit is fairly hazy in my memory, but what I do remember is somehow pulling myself up, putting my hand on my Dad's shoulder, and the hopping all the way back to bed. Dr Tom is woken, and springs into action.  An ambulance is called.  I get woken up again, and am rolled onto a back-board thing.  They try and carry me downstairs, but my enormous muscular body is too much for the paramedics.  So a second ambulance is called, and the 4 of them manhandle me down to the flashing wagon.  I eventually end up in hospital. My back is fine, but I have shattered the calcaneus in my right foot.  I was watching Leo recover from his broken talus not 4 hours previously, and now, here I am having done almost exactly the same thing.  Oh, you fool.  Luckily for me, Dr Tom's boss at the time was a very fine foot and ankle specialist, so I was carted off to London, and am now the proud owner of a foot full of metal. 

I never did discover how I actually fell.  It's quite hard to tell exactly where I landed, as the blood was spread across quite a large area.  It seems likely though that my nose and my knee collided, and I also cracked a tooth.  So the rather romantic notion of me actually climbing like some kind of James Bond stuntman across the side of the building are rather unlikely, especially as I would've landed on the aforementioned railing or roof.  What is more likely is that I climbed on to the windowsill and jumped.  Maybe I was dreaming about jumping into a swimming pool full of Bollinger and naked dusky beauties.  Who knows.  What is really scary though is that, some three months ago, I was staying there again, and I woke up with the window wide open.  It was closed when I went to sleep....

(I never made it to Costa Rica.  When I woke up after the operation, I asked whether they thought that I would make it to Heathrow in 5 days time.  They laughed and then gave me a big bolus of morphine.)

[Bubba]

That's brightened up my morning no end

[Falling Down]

Brief and to the point...

Me and the then pre Mrs-FD at a 'Hardcore' night (Club Kinetic??) in a nightclub in Stoke circa 1991 with very dark breakbeats and 'ting - for the yoots among us this means pre-jungle and happy hardcore when D&B was just a glint in the Ruffige Krew's eye.  DJ-SS, Andy-C and an young Ray Keith on the bill, strobes on 'Epileptic' mode and sweat pouring from the walls.

The club is full of face-chewing lunatics, petty criminals and nutters.  We encounter an almost full-on strip search at the door but I've taped our evenings entertainment to my 'stinky bridge' and get through unscathed - probably because I'm with am attractive female rather than two pasty faced spotty youths.

Once inside, we pick our way to the Gents where I proceed I drop our £18 a piece 'Rhubarb and Custards' capsules (not tablets mind) sourced from the very best connections in the f*cking mens Urinal.....

To Rinse or not to Rinse - that is the question?  The capsules are already disintegrating and softening up... so the answer was no... a big swig of Red Stripe and a down in one and off we go.

Probably the seediest thing I've ever done (or prepared to admit publicly) 

[Aussiegav]

reminds me of a night i sheff,
in 2001, when foot in mouth rooted pretty much the climbing for that period, i thought, well, going out and getting hammered 3 nights a week would keep my fitness up.
we'd been to 'bed' then not ready yet to turn in, 'niche' was next port of call. we latched on to some vitamins which unknowingly had been spiced up with ket. boy o boy, all i remember was dancing away and then lost 30 mins. i don't know if i was just standing still chewing stupidly or kept dancing. we all kept having these empty moments.
worse still, i had to catch a plane to the canaries at 12 o'clock later in the day. i
just got to manchester in time. walked through customs in a lather of sweat and still chewing with dish pan eyes. i got on the plane and slept and sweated my way to the canaries. a great night but fuck knows what i looked like going through customs..