Peter Makes Valentine's Day Special For One Lucky Girl

Valentine's day this year did not go according to plan. I'll spell out the plan first, let people realise that it was a poor one to start with and then get to the actual events.

GB currently lives with a male flatmate who has a virtually live-in girlfriend. Given GB's propensity for occasional friendly acts, GB suggests that he, SB and I go drinking Monday night and he uses my spare room, leaving GB's flatmate "peace and quiet".

This was a bad plan for several reasons:

1. PO'P, GB and SB are bad influences on each other and those around them.
2. PO'P, GB and SB have all suffered illnesses due to alcohol abuse and would all answer at least 50% of the "12 questions" in the affirmative.
3. PO'P and GB have to work on Tuesday. SB does not.
4. PO'P reacts badly to excessive public affection (anything above and including holding hands).
5. There will be many people enjoying a "romantic" night out, who will be offended by any abuse thrown at them.

Given this ominous background, things progressed fairly well until around 11pm when the pubs began to close and GB started to whine about calling it a night, going home and pulling on his slippers.

Fortunately, another course of action occurred to myself and SB and we retired to a late bar. I quickly realised that I could take the next day off without reprisal and continued drinking heavily. GB resolved to bitch that he wanted to go home whilst also drinking heavily. SB opted to continue drinking heavily so as not to feel left out.

Around 1am I decided that SB should not be spared the same Valentine's Day torment that myself and GB had put ourselves through at the weekend. Instead, I reasoned, he should be immediately surrounded by drunk women and given his best shot at dragging himself down into a miserable relationship such as myself and GB were already in (with women not each other, fucktards).

SB was also wearing some whiter than white, brand new trainers. I had noticed these overtly fashionable items but not commented as yet. Here was a golden opportunity to take the piss out of SB's taste in stupid shoes at the same time as getting him laid. A plan formed in my mind and I went straight to work.

My tactic of approaching women for fashion advice on SB's choice of footwear and then berating him was inspired. SB was soon surrounded by women defending him against the evil PO'P. Unfortunately one of the less intelligent females took offence to my actions:

DB: What're you trying to say?
PO'P: Huh?
DB: They're LaCoste trainers. Of course they're good.
PO'P: Why does being LaCoste make them good? They look like shit to me.
DB: But they're LaCoste trainers.
PO'P: No, they're shitty trainers made by LaCoste.
DB: You shouldn't be so bad (I swear to God she said bad) to your mate, anyway.
PO'P: How the fuck is taking the piss out of his trainers being harsh?
DB: It's not nice to your friend being racist to him.
PO'P Note: SB is black, PO'P is not.
PO'P: Do you actually know what the word racist means?
DB: You're being racist to your friend. I know that.
PO'P: Wrong. You think you know that, whereas you really don't know a fucking thing. Fuck away from me you dumb bitch.
DB: What's wrong with LaCoste trainers?
PO'P Note: DB was accompanied by 8 large males. PO'P decides to "endear" himself to these people by looking at DB in confusion and then shouting comments at them.
PO'P: What the fuck is this crazy bitch on about? Which one of you fuckers is her minder?

I was then distracted from my mockery by a slap to the left hand side of my face. I looked to my front to see DB's already rather pig-like features twisted with rage. I laughed. DB threw a left jab at me which connected quite well but with virtually no force. I laughed again. DB threw another left jab, this one as ineffectual as the first. I took the time to consider a few things:

1) Was she now more angry that her punches had no effect than I had made her in the first place?
2) Should I hit her back and if so what effect would this have on her companions' choice of action?

Sadly (or luckily), SB and GB chose this point to stop pointing and laughing and intervene instead. We left quietly, with GB constantly asserting that I had done the right thing (always a sign of a cop-out) and myself and SB debating the issue more logically

PO'P: I should have hit the bitch. That would have been fucking hilarious.
SB: Dude. You fucking wimped out. You fucking pussy.
PO'P: Shit. I really should have hit her dude.
GB: No, you did the right thing, we can still go back to...
SB: Shut up. PO'P, you are one fucking wimping out motherfucker. Faggot.
GB: What did you say to her, anyway?
PO'P: I dunno. Some shit about racism, I think.

Well, that's the total of women I've managed to annoy sufficiently to hit me up to three. My aim is double figures before the age of 30.

Unnecessary Lesson 3: No, DON'T Be A Retard

I learned two valuable lessons this weekend:

Firstly, if you have been drinking heavily the day before and are likely to be sick at any point in time, do not drink a chocolate milkshake in order to settle your stomach.

When the beverage is rejected by your innards, the experience and end result is very reminiscent of vomiting out diarrhoea. It's quite unpleasant too.

Secondly, if one of your more retarded friends has been dicking around with a cigarette lighter (e.g. turning the flame up to around six inches in height), do not use this lighter for the first time whilst driving at 60 mph.

By the time I managed to throw the still flaming item out of the window, the car was well onto the wrong side of the road. By the time I got at least partial vision back, it seemed to have steered itself straight again. Fucking KP.