I fucked an amputee…

Last weekend was wilder than a jaguar on crack with its cock into a toaster.
A friend of mine, James, was holding a little B.B.Q. house-warming type shin-dig and invited me along (I very much think he regrets that decision now). I’m not entirely sure why he invited me because we don’t know each other that well, and anybody who does know me, knows it’s better not to invite me to these occasions, regardless he invited me.

I was meant to be there at around 5pm. I showed up at 11.30 in police custody.

I was meant to bring a house warming gift. I threw up in his shoes and punched his friend.

I was meant to help him get into some girl he likes. I fucked her to prove I could then fucked her amputee sister to win £50.

Let me explain. You see I was planning on showing up and being civil as I so often do… However circumstance prevented it. I just so happens that an old ex-girlfriend was in town, so I decided to go meet her, I don’t really know why I did, but I guess I don’t really have to since my cock made that decision for me, as it does with most decision which relate to vaginas.

Anyway, I went out to meet her and all went well, and we’re meeting again next week. I wasn’t entirely drunk when she left and it was only 7.30 and I don’t arrive at parties at 7.30 as far as I’m concerned if a party ends before 4a.m. it’s not a fucking party, so I had a few drinks on my own…

Untill I met some Americans. Now, the Americans fucking love us Irish and it’s pretty much mandatory that we leach the fucking shit out of this one way relationship. And so, like a 13 year old Japanese school girl taking advantage of elderly perverts through the medium of used underpants and up-skirt videos I pounced. They bought me so much fucking drink I went fucking blind. Who would have known that watching Irish people drink is like a fucking Olympic sport to Americans? I was not fucking complaining.

I don’t quite remember how this next part happened, but the bar got shut down… I’m sure I and a rather rowdy crowd of Americans were responsible somehow but I really can’t remember how.

And so, we took to the streets and like freshly liberated Guantanamo inmates breathing fresh air for the first time we threw up, en mass, all over the street, and then all over a police car, then all inside the police car, and a more beautiful sight I haven’t seen since.

The police dropped the Americans off at their hotel. They were actually quite nice about the incident, although, I “should have known better” according to P.C. Jim Davies, or whatever the fuck his name was, who decided to drop me home, needless to say, I lied about where my home was, and told him the address of my friends house.

When we got there, the B.B.Q. had expanded and there were a few smokers standing outside the front door and you could see some people round the side drinking.

“Are you sure this is your house?” He asked, to which I replied,

“Why yes fine sir, I am most sure that this establishment is my home, you may drop me off here sir and I shall trouble neither yourself nor these streets any more with my jovial antics, and here is a tuppence tip for your fine services this eve!” Which translates roughly to “Course, thus is..my?….. house… I KNOW WHERE I LIBE!!!!” (I was still quite drunk, and a little drowsy.)

After a brief conversation at the door between James and the nice policeman I was allowed in on the condition that James wouldn’t let me out of his sight. This is no small task, but neither James nor the policeman though this would be an issue, as both of them thought I’d be passed out in an hour… How wrong they were…

When the policeman had left James escorted me through the hall and up the stairs as quickly as he could to prevent me being seen by his lovely presentable friends, to which I took great offence, I believe my exact words were,

“James! No! James! Look at me! James! FUCK YOU! What? What is it? Am I not fancy enough to be around your friends!? I can be fancy James! Want me to be fancy?! I’ll wear a fucking doily and drink tea and talk about the establishment and lick bums James! Is that what you want James!!!!”

It was at this point that James’ shoes were to become the victims of an oncoming barrage of Technicolor fluids which would make a great excursion from my stomach to my mouth and inevitably into James’ shoes.

On completing the arduous task of vomiting all over my friends household I decided I had become sober enough to join the party, so I cleaned up and went downstairs to chat, I was talking to the girl James wanted into, and for a good 15 minutes straight some long haired hippy mother fucker who dressed almost entirely in fucking hemp was staring at me, needless to say I initiated a confrontation, only to find out, after punching him, that he had a lazy eye, sounds cliche, but this is my life. I was nice enough, I apologised and helped him clean up his bloodied face and we’re good friends now. In so much that I didn’t do any of that he hates me.

Anyway, James’ supposed woman to be, Jennifer, was quite impressed by my awesome face breaking skills and we fucked in James’ bed, I felt that if I were to betray him I should at least do it with a degree of class.

This is where we get to the fun part of the story. After fucking she introduced me to her sister…

This was awkward for a number of reasons, the first being that I offered her a hand shake, regardless of the fact she had no arms or legs, the second being that 10 minutes later I did the same thing drunkenly thinking she was somebody else. We did not get off to a good start. Inevitably my male friends started joking about how little Nancy No Legs wouldn’t fuck me if I were the last man on the planet. Needless to say I took this as a challenge and a bet was made, all my male friends chipped in raising a total of £50 if I fucked her I got it, if I didn’t I would be left with neither pride nor dignity.

Truth be told after I got talking to her she was actually quite interesting and I kinda wish I’d talked to her sober and not fucked her for money, but alas, this is life. As it turned out, she had climbed various mountains and on one trip she ended up having to be rescued after getting lost or some shit like that and for some reason (I can’t remember what) that had to take her arms and legs off. Anyway I feigned sympathy and interest for a while and told her plenty of men would like her (she had no self-esteem, which I’m guessing should be fairly obvious considering the fact she’s no fucking arms or legs) and the conversation went a bit like this:

“I have no arms or legs lol”

“That’s awesome, does that make rolling down hills more or less fun?”

“MOAR LAWLAWLAWLAWLALWLWL!”

“Your sister’s a good lay”

“I’m ugly”

“You are…. LOL”

“That hurt :(”

“Sorry, you’re not really, want to fuck?”

“OK!”

Obviously the conversation was longer and more complex but I can’t be fucked going into the whole thing, and also, I don’t remember most of it.

Anyway, I don’t know if any of you have ever fucked a girl with no arms or legs but there are certain things about doing it that can be a little… strange.

We’ll work backwards, from the end of the sexual experience to the start.

When you’re finished you have the option of stealing her clothes and moving her wheelchair into the hallway… I thought for a good 5 minutes about this. On the one hand it’s hideously cruel, on the other, it’s horrendously funny and a once in a life time opportunity. I’ll let your imaginations decide which option I went for.

When you’re fucking, you feel so much bigger in proportion, it feels like fucking a 2/3 human size bag of potatoes with a face.

Undressing her kinda takes the spark out of the moment a little (well,  that’s assuming that the lack of arms and legs hadn’t done that already.) It feels like you’re 7 again and taking the clothes off of your sister’s Barbie dolls to see what’s under them, except at the end you don’t bite the head off and spit it out the window…

The worst part about the whole experience?

Before we did it she wanted me to take her to the bathroom… I won’t even go into what that was like…

Where Did All The Real Men Go?

Real men are still around but they are few and far between. Real men, are men who uphold real values, like alcoholism, being bitter, closed from their emotions, smoking, being epic and of course, being manly through the medium of all these things, violence and more.

What makes a man manly? To be honest, it can be anything, from a fabled neck breaking, “face-fuck” kick, (See Norris, Chuck), to violently and gruesomely destroying the living dead, (See Campbell, Bruce), to cutting your own arm off in order to live, (Ralston, Aron). Or even just something as simple as fighting mother nature, and God’s many creatures in drunken states (Cash, Johnny).

Manliness comes in many forms, sometimes, it comes from the simple things, in small doses, like smoking a cigarette, or drinking a beer in under 20 seconds, and sometimes it comes in big doses of vulva-kicking episodes of facial rape, like when a man fights a shark, just because he can.

Most of all though, it’s the name that says “manly.”

Names like Chuck, Bruce, Johnny, Aron, Rocky, Hunt, Rambo, Sue, Clint, Russell, “Face-fuck Al”, Tommy Gunn, Apollo Creed, Tom the rapist, and Kurt are all pretty damned manly. So what makes a name manly? Basically, a manly name sounds like a rock, type of metal, or something you use to cut somebody’s head off or shoot somebody with. Names that aren’t manly tend to sound like something two feminists, a member of Coldplay, or Britney Spears would name their adopted kid. Names like Tristan, Berty, Milton, are all pretty weak in terms of manliness.

Names that have connotations to killing or fighting tend to be pretty damned manly too, names like “Ethan Hunt,” which combines the best of both worlds, a short first name that sounds rougher than shaving with blunt rusty knives, and hunt, which implies murderous rage. Which is fucking awesome. If you can imply that you’re going to main and/or kill people, with little more than your name, you know you’re a man.

So now we know what makes a man manly, where did the “manly man” go? It’s simple, they’re a dying breed, being slowly killed off by political correctness, feminist-Neo-Nazis, over-protective mothers, crappy music, being pussy whipped, and just a complete lack of demand for heroes in society.

Political Correctness has killed off the manly man’s ability to make incredibly judgemental, apathetic, and somewhat obnoxious generalisations about religions, metro-sexualism, women, the youth, politicians and pretty much anything we’d like to make obnoxious generalisations about.

The Feminist neo-Nazi, took away the manly man’s greatest tool, his complete disregard for women and their rights. It is this fundamental aspect of being a man that makes them “manly”, it is this pure lack of a desire to care for anybody, or have them care for you, that makes a man. (See Eastwood, Clint)

Metrosexualism has destroyed the manly man’s pleasing aesthetic, a beard that looks like you just shaved with a blunt rock and used gun powder as opposed to the less manly “shaving foam”, right after fighting a bear, and a voice so gritty it could only be emulated by rubbing granite down your throat while you talk.

Children drinking in the streets have ruined the attractiveness of being a whiskey swigging cowboy, since pretty much every 12 year old in this shitty nation already drinks anyway, it’s just not cool anymore. So now real men are forced to drink paint stripper (which probably accounts partially for their decline) or move on to harder things, like heroin (see Scotland).

Over-protective mums raise their little boys to believe that if they’re just themselves women will like them. Which would work if they weren’t blubbering imbeciles who fumbled their words and said ridiculously un-manly things like, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re like a flower, only infinitely more perfect and sweet smelling.” Real men don’t act themselves in front of women, and they certainly don’t compliment them, they say things like,
“Go away woman,” and “Make me a damned sandwich,” or “Iron my shirt, bitch.”
They don’t pander to the egotistical desires of maniac women who thrive on crushing men in front of their friends just for a cheap laugh. If you’ve ever said something nice to a woman on first meeting them, you’re a fucking pussy and it’s because of people like you that men in general have become so fucking needy and weak. Grow a pair.

Women hate you, because you need them.

Crappy music has led to a decline in the manly man’s urge to kill… You can’t kill without good montage in the background, you want to know that when you kill a man using nothing more than a toothpick and a button, that you have some fucking badass music behind you. Not this fucking rap or metal bullshit. Don’t get me wrong, both can be good, but it’s just not quality killing music. The music you kill to should sound like shitting razors while vomiting anthrax all over the faces of small orphaned children.

One of the major contributing factors to the decline of “manly” men, is the lack of need for stealth/guerrilla warfare, with the creation of new weaponry that means entire cities can be destroyed at the push of a button and the turn of a key…

Remember when war was manly? When men shot out 16 rounds of lead into each other in the name of protecting their women and homeland from the enemy…

Or when they fought in a cloud of tear gas, bleeding from their pours, with people of different nations, using nothing but their fists…

We need another fucking war… But a real one, with some proper heroic “defending my homeland and family” man fighting.

Another major contributing factor, around all the others pivot around, is nut job men disregarding all that is manly in the name of peace…

First off, if you disregard man laws, you’re demoted to fucking man bitch. As such, Ghandi is a man bitch. No argument, no discussion, he just is, as decided in the court of man law held by the Miserable Bastard on this day.

Secondly, peace is for fucking queer bait Nancy boys.

Real men kill each other.

War is manly.

End of story.

Like I’ve said before, Ghandi was a pussy and probably a communist. Other weak men include but are not limited to Paul McCartney, Prince Harry, any man who’s liberal about anything.

Ugh…

I suppose I should update this shit.

Cigarettes smoked : Incalculable. Over £300 was spent on cigarettes in the 3 week drinking challenge.

Alcohol Units consumed : Also Incalculable. Over £1300 was spent on drink, and that’s just my money. Friends spent around £700.

Times thrown up : 40+

Stomach Pumped : Twice

Fights Won : 4

Fights Lost : 6

A list of Taxi Companies I am now barred from using:
Fona-cabs, Model Cabs, Orchard Taxis, Apple Taxis, Value Cabs , Phonacabs and quite a few others I don’t know the names of.

Money spent on redecorating and refurbishing following epic sessions of drunkenly trashing friends houses: £300

Police Incidents : 3, all for being drunk and disorderly.

Estimated Damages of Pubs Around Belfast: £200 – Give or take 50.

Time spent Passed out: Over 70 hours.

Days Lost in so much that neither I nor anybody else knows where I was : 2

House Parties ruined : 8

Gay men thrown up on : 1

Number of Moments which made me Drunkenly Re-evaluate my Sexuality : 1

Number of “oh fucking fuck shit fuck that fucking girl is fucking fat/ugly, fucking fuck, what the fuck was I doing, oh fuck I gave it my fucking number, I CAN’T BELIEVE I GAVE THE FEMALE EQUIVOLENT OF JOSEPH FUCKING MERRICK MY FUCKING PHONE NUMBER” moments : Shamefully 7.

Friends assaulted: 3

Friendships ruined : Zero surprisingly

General Notes : I’m too ill to go into the details. But it was fucking worth it.

Health Notes: I’ve lost 2 stone, I was apparently the worst case of alcohol poisoning that Dr. What’s his face has ever seen in the Belfast City Hospital. Hilariously the same doctor pumped my stomach twice and recommended I take part in an alcoholic recovery programme. I did not participate in said programme.

Published in: on 23/02/2009 at 1:07 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Man Diet.

Lately, I’ve been drinking and partying alot… I mean, a fucking lot. So much so that I no longer really appreciate or remember what sobriety truly feels like. I was planning to detox myself for a while, get it all out of my system, but that wouldn’t be very true to my entire life philosophy. As many of you might know, my life philosophy consists of “fuck everyone that isn’t me, I’m awesome” and pivots around the idea of “fuck moderation! I’ll drink till YOU pass out!”

So in order to stay true to my life philosophy I’ve decided rather than detox myself of drink and clean my system out, I should do the exact opposite, and drink all the fucking time.

As such, I’m going to stop eating and drinking anything that doesn’t have an alcohol or nicotine content. I plan to keep this going for 3 weeks. Many of you might be wondering, “does this make you an alcoholic,” the answer to this is of course, “I was an alcoholic long before this dear, now shut up and let me go back to being completely fucking awesome. STOP RAVE BREAK!!! Only joking… THERE ARE NO BREAKS IN RAVE!!!!”

I will of course be documenting this journey for you all to read, although my make no promises that any of it will make sense after day 2, and the spelling more than likely will be fucking appauling. Those who know me are of course invited to be active participants, feel free to come out and drink with me whenever you feel. 12 in the afternoon? Want a drink? Not a problem! I’m on a whiskey diet!!! Everyone wins! If you’re a really close friend, you can contribute in an even more special and meaningful way,i.e., you can stand by my side and keep watch while I drunkenly urinate all over public property at 5 in the morning, load me into a taxi when I pass out, and tell me I’m an idiot, then encourage me to do it anyway.

Enjoy the debauchery people.

26th January – Day One

Food consumed : None

Cigarettes smoked : 18

Alcohol Units consumed : 9 units

Times thrown up : 0

General Notes : I’m still relatively sober, not much to report, making a nice easy start to this…

Health Notes: None yet. Predictions: Liver Sclerosis is in at 4:1 with Lung cancer at 4:1 and choking to death on my own vomit at 2:1

27th January – Day Two

Food consumed : None

Cigarettes smoked : 2

Alcohol Units consumed : 3 units

Times thrown up : 0

General Notes : Maybe whiskey wasn’t the best drink to start with…

Health Notes: None yet.

Predictions: Well, it’s 00:11 at the minute, so I predict needing a really massive piss when I wake up tomorrow.

Part II

Times falled down stairs : 1

Food consumed : None

Cigarettes smoked : 18

Alcohol Units consumed : 28 units

Times thrown up : 0

General Notes : I’m quit drunk now, I did have something fumy to put in here yesterday, but i fell aslep and forgot it. AKilso I fell down ym stairs. It fucking hurt.

Health Notes: None yet.

Hindsight: I did really nedd that piss

28th Januagry – Day Three

Food consumed : Bottle of lucozarde this morning, I mixed it with vodka though, so fuck you.

Cigarettes smoked : 38

Alcohol Units consumed : 27 units

Times thrown up : 1

General Notes : It fels like there’s a nest of wasps in my intestings, wasps, with vibrators , fucking themselve senseless, getting their wasp juice all over the show… GET OUT OF MY INTESTED WASP!

Health Notes: I think I have cancer – there’;s a werid lump in my mouth. It’s not getting smaller… Also, when i piss, it feels like I’ve voluntereed for a Bill oddie special on people infested with parasitic fire ants in their bladder. I don’t think this special as a happy ending.. I might get mauled by an ant easter or some shit like that. Also bill ddie’s a wanker. Everynoes like “omg hes cool” no he’s a bastard. Fuck Bill Oddie. I hope Bill Oddie dies alone on a rusty pelican. OH AND THOSE CUNTS AT FONACAB BARRED ME!

Predictions: Wake ing up tomorrow willbe diffiucult to say the least… HOPefully I won’t chock on my own vomit in my sleep, although at least if I didn I’d go down as a hero… Or a dickhead. Eitherway as long as I’m remembetred for being heroically dickheadical I”m happy.

29th Januagry – Day Four

This day is missing. I think it involved a lot of throwing up and passing out though.

30th Januagry – Day Five

Food consumed : 3 “Nice” Biscuits.

Cigarettes smoked : 40+

Alcohol Units consumed : 60+

Times thrown up : 1

General Notes : I don’t remember much of day five, so you’re getting a summary. I started the evening with a bottle of southern comfort and some wine… I then proceeded to throw up all over my friend Alan’s bathroom. Following this we trashed his living room screaming the words to “Rape Me” by Nirvana. When we decided we were done being breaky and smashy and loud in general we finished the wine and went to Whites, a local pub, where I have ritually humiliated myself and others on numerous occasions.

I proceeded to order 10 BOTTLES of Magners,this was not cheap, and shout at the quiz guy, “IS THE ANSWER YOU’RE A BASTARD?!!!!” He didn’t like that… “Can we take part in the quiz” I drunkenly guffawed.
“It’s over”
“Oh I know the answer to this one… It’s you’re a cunt!” Following our little stand off I insisted he make me 6 Irish coffees in a row. I drank them all.

I then proceeded to go outside and start abusing other paying patrons.
“Hey, do you have a light?” asked the dark haired, middle aged woman with obvious father issues.
“Yes, but you’re probably fucking scum so you can just go fuck yourself.”
“Oh My God, how dare you! What makes you think you have the right to talk to people like that?”
“Well dear, some people are just better than others.”
“What’s you’re IQ?!??” She began flailing her limbs in the air as she tried to make words into sentences.
“I think it’s time for you to go home dear…”
“NO! What’s you’re IQ?!??” Her fat friend had noticed the scene and decided to waddle her lard over to my general area.

The dark haired idiot still continued to scream at me. It was then that I turned my back to her and ignored her completely and joined a circle with my friends. She continued to shout like a pissy little 3 year old who’d just been told she can’t have what she wants.

She started to pull my hair, it was at this point I shoved that drunken bitch on her ass. Her fat friend saw this as a call to arms.
“If you touch her again, I’ll get you beaten up, we’re here with friends.” Now, anybody who knows me should know that the threat of violence, when I’m drunk, usually just makes me even worse, it’s not that I like fighting, well actually in part it is but mostly it’s just that I like pissing people off, and quite frankly it makes me feel like a smug fuck when I can push somebody into trying to swing for me, so needless to say I got worse.
“Listen you fat bitch, I don’t know how to put this, but you and your friend couldn’t be more retarded or ugly if you were violently molested in a dungeon for 3 years by a fucking horse, now get the fuck out of my face, before I falcon punch you in the baby maker, doing what society should have done years ago.”
She went crying to her man at this stage, who came over and asked if there was a problem.
“Hell yea, you’re going out with a fat chick” was my response. Rather than swing for me though, he decided I was hilarious…

I win fat girls. I win.

Some immigrants came over asking if we wanted to buy roses. I pretended I was interested,
“How much for a rose?”
“3 pound.”
“Only joking, go fuck yourself”

I did this to the same guy 5 times in a row… I’d say I felt bad, but I’d be lying because it was fucking hilarious.

Anyway, after a bout of power drinking and pretty much refusing to leave till around 3 in the morning we decided that the night should end in Thompsons… ( A local rave and a running joke, ending up at Thompsons as a general rule, is how you know it’s time to go home.)

I got rejected from Thompsons for being too drunk. This might have had something to do with the fact I tried to pay some guy in the queue to get in…

Went to the apartment, where Alan proceeded to throw up all over my trousers… That was nice of him…

I think I pissed on a church.

I’m fairly surprised I wasn’t lifted by police to be honest I did a fair amount of shouting and breaking on the way back to Alan’s, and I’ve been banned from another taxi company, so that’s Model, Value and Fonacabs I’m barred from using now…

I got home at like 4 in the morning and made pizza which resulted in severe burns on my right hand…

Health Notes: It wasn’t cancer, also, I’m shaking uncontrollably, my lungs feel like what I imagine a Jew in a Ziclon B shower would feel like, and in general my health is disintegrating, I’ve lost 4 pounds in 5 days and my heart rate has increased by about 7 bpm. (it was 83 at rest when I started this)

In terms of appearance, I’ve started to look quite pale and sickly, patches of my skin are yellow at times, or maybe I’m just not seeing colours properly anymore It’s hard to tell at the best of times, if I get up too fast I get woozy and disorientated for a minute or two.

I’m also aware that I just told you I made a pizza, and I’m sure you’re thinking, “Doesn’t that mean you’ve failed already,” the short answer is no, the slightly longer answer is that I drunkenly decided the only way for me to eat and stay in the running was if the food had an alcohol content, as such my pizza was cooked in wine….

Predictions: If I haven’t died in my sleep by tomorrow I’ll be very surprised. Things learnt : How to make a quick escape after a friend throws up all over a classy joint. Proper glass throwing etiquette. Pizza in wine is actually quite nice.

31th Januagry – Day Five

I’m branding this as a “recovery day.”

Food consumed : None

Cigarettes smoked : 2

Alcohol Units consumed : 3 units

Times thrown up : 2

General Notes : I think I might have thrown up a good half of my intestines.
Health Notes: All the previously mentioned problems combined with a new one, I slept for 15 hours and still feel tired.

Predictions: I think I might quit this before I actually die.

Published in: on 31/01/2009 at 3:27 am  Comments (1)  
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