Peter's Fall From Grace
PO'P NOTE: In the "there's always one" tradition, there's always one story that you can't find a good way of telling so that it winds up funny, entertaining, or even pukeworthy. That's this one. I've tried four or five times and the end result always reads like a Jamie Oliver cookbook - absolute fucking shit dished up by some cockney wanker on a scooter, who will be up against the wall as soon as I get a minute spare. But it's getting on my tits, so here goes again.
At the end of the second year at university, the time had come to fly the nest and move out of the large shit-factory we had called home since starting our courses. Proper, real houses were found, rented off dodgy shitbag landlords who you suspected you would one day find stalking round your place, searching through the women's underwear drawers. I was only in there looking for a pen - he was up to no good. But I digress.
The moving experience was somewhat lengthened when the back window of our shitmobile (my car) was inadvertently smashed by AB. Stupid fucking whore. This forced me to stay in the old place for one last night of drinking and ultimately caused my downfall. Exit Peter - off for a drink.
Some hours later, somewhat lubricated I returned to the building and decided that a souvenir was required. A large sign on the wall of the property seemed ideal - its location around 10 feet up in the air just made things interesting.
The first stage of the mission was a perfect success - I rested a divan bed base against the wall, climbed on top and unscrewed the bottom two screws. The action moved on to the top screw - fuck, it was rusted solid and I quickly turned the head into little metal shavings.
LE and his car swiftly came to the rescue and a rope was attached to both the sign and LE's bumper. LE revved his engine and slowly drove away. The rope took the strain. The sign creaked. The rope snapped and flashed past me like a dead goldfish off a motorway bridge and towards LE's car. A new plan was formed.
Climbing the bed base one more time, I grasped the sign firmly in both hands and pulled like fuck. Pulled a little more. Pulled, to quantify, really fucking hard. Finally I was the victor - the target was in my arms. A short-lived joy ensued.
Realising that I now had no purchase on the wall and a fair amount of momentum away from it, I did the only sensible thing and fell down onto the concrete car park floor. This hurt far less than I expected and also seemed to result in my being unable to get up. Still, some panicking females helped me back into the house, where MW kindly assured me that my wrist was fine.
It is a sign of how fucked up I was at that point that I listened to him, as he is a well known retard and normally not a doctor. I set him on fire once and it took around 30 seconds for him to even notice, never mind react. Still, Dr MW's advice heeded, I bent the broken wrist backwards to fit it into a bowl of warm water, passed out, then woke up and popped off to bed.
This was immediately followed by a night without sleep thanks to the now agonising pain in my arm. I got a total of 10 minutes rest that night when I tied a bag of frozen peas around my arm - the pain subsided and I started to snooze. Then get cold and wet as the frozen peas fell out of the open bag and into my bed.
When I eventually visited a hospital the next afternoon, the little piece of bone that sticks out just below the base of my (and I'll assume your) thumb had wandered off and camped out in the divot between my little and ring fingers - it actually looked like a little dome tent made of flesh. Sadly, this meant that the nurse had to move it back into place (by pushing like fuck on my arm) before sticking me in plaster.
Oh and some prick of a doctor smacked me on the broken wrist with that big sheet of lead they put over your nuts to stop your jizz getting fried when they X-ray you. I nearly got thrown out of the hospital for trying to "reason" with him. By which I mean throwing the lead sheet at his face.
AB was the only one with enough presence of mind to collect the sign after my fall and still has it to this fucking day. That fucking bitch broke my arm and stole my sign. Justice will ensue one day.
PO'P NOTE: Yup, that telling worked out pretty shitty too. It was a funny story in real life though and I still can't do anything useful with my right arm. Not a thing. Or my left. But that's probably because I'm a useless shitbag who couldn't be fucked if my cock depended on shit, or something, rather than because I broke it.
PO'P EDIT: In light of today's events I can provide a preview of some upcoming articles:
At the end of the second year at university, the time had come to fly the nest and move out of the large shit-factory we had called home since starting our courses. Proper, real houses were found, rented off dodgy shitbag landlords who you suspected you would one day find stalking round your place, searching through the women's underwear drawers. I was only in there looking for a pen - he was up to no good. But I digress.
The moving experience was somewhat lengthened when the back window of our shitmobile (my car) was inadvertently smashed by AB. Stupid fucking whore. This forced me to stay in the old place for one last night of drinking and ultimately caused my downfall. Exit Peter - off for a drink.
Some hours later, somewhat lubricated I returned to the building and decided that a souvenir was required. A large sign on the wall of the property seemed ideal - its location around 10 feet up in the air just made things interesting.
The first stage of the mission was a perfect success - I rested a divan bed base against the wall, climbed on top and unscrewed the bottom two screws. The action moved on to the top screw - fuck, it was rusted solid and I quickly turned the head into little metal shavings.
LE and his car swiftly came to the rescue and a rope was attached to both the sign and LE's bumper. LE revved his engine and slowly drove away. The rope took the strain. The sign creaked. The rope snapped and flashed past me like a dead goldfish off a motorway bridge and towards LE's car. A new plan was formed.
Climbing the bed base one more time, I grasped the sign firmly in both hands and pulled like fuck. Pulled a little more. Pulled, to quantify, really fucking hard. Finally I was the victor - the target was in my arms. A short-lived joy ensued.
Realising that I now had no purchase on the wall and a fair amount of momentum away from it, I did the only sensible thing and fell down onto the concrete car park floor. This hurt far less than I expected and also seemed to result in my being unable to get up. Still, some panicking females helped me back into the house, where MW kindly assured me that my wrist was fine.
It is a sign of how fucked up I was at that point that I listened to him, as he is a well known retard and normally not a doctor. I set him on fire once and it took around 30 seconds for him to even notice, never mind react. Still, Dr MW's advice heeded, I bent the broken wrist backwards to fit it into a bowl of warm water, passed out, then woke up and popped off to bed.
This was immediately followed by a night without sleep thanks to the now agonising pain in my arm. I got a total of 10 minutes rest that night when I tied a bag of frozen peas around my arm - the pain subsided and I started to snooze. Then get cold and wet as the frozen peas fell out of the open bag and into my bed.
When I eventually visited a hospital the next afternoon, the little piece of bone that sticks out just below the base of my (and I'll assume your) thumb had wandered off and camped out in the divot between my little and ring fingers - it actually looked like a little dome tent made of flesh. Sadly, this meant that the nurse had to move it back into place (by pushing like fuck on my arm) before sticking me in plaster.
Oh and some prick of a doctor smacked me on the broken wrist with that big sheet of lead they put over your nuts to stop your jizz getting fried when they X-ray you. I nearly got thrown out of the hospital for trying to "reason" with him. By which I mean throwing the lead sheet at his face.
AB was the only one with enough presence of mind to collect the sign after my fall and still has it to this fucking day. That fucking bitch broke my arm and stole my sign. Justice will ensue one day.
PO'P NOTE: Yup, that telling worked out pretty shitty too. It was a funny story in real life though and I still can't do anything useful with my right arm. Not a thing. Or my left. But that's probably because I'm a useless shitbag who couldn't be fucked if my cock depended on shit, or something, rather than because I broke it.
PO'P EDIT: In light of today's events I can provide a preview of some upcoming articles:
- Stupid people should not try to discuss global politics with Peter.
- Religion is fucking retarded (and not involved in anything to do with 07/07).
- Why did the terrorists kick off on a day we couldn't confuse the yanks with?
- People who tenuously use global events to further their cause should fucking hang.
posted by Peter O'Phile at
3:14 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home