Cigarettes and Alcohol: Confessions of a Stag Weekend Read Free Page B

and check that you were OK. You said all was good, no damage to you or the bike and we shook hands. No harm done. However there is the small matter of the dent and scratch your bike put in the side of my jam jar though, but buy me a pint to call it quits.’
    Kid H can’t believe the gall of Kid I. They eye each other up warily and then crack up laughing.
    ‘Fuck me. It is a small world huh. I was almost killed by Kid G’s cousin. Is that how you find new mate’s is it? By running them off the road you crazy fool?’
    At that moment Kid H becomes ‘Hit’ and Kid I is nicknamed ‘Run.’
    The ‘Hit & Run’ lads are still good mates today, nearly two decades later and the story has become so embellished by now that Hit’s head actually came clean off as the bike went straight through Run’s engine block causing a massive explosion. After all, what is a bit of exaggeration between friends?
    “ PISSED UP CONVERSATION # 1 : ‘ Let’s open up a bar exactly like this one when we get home , it’ll be the mutts nuts ! ’ shouts one of the lads , Kid F .
    ‘ Well two things are going to knacker that idea straight away , ’ says Mule . ‘ First we’d drink all the profits and second drugs are illegal back home . Don’t think the local police are going to be too happy about a bar full of kids stoned outta their heads . ’
    ‘ But everyone would be so chilled out that they wouldn’t be arsed about fighting . Check it out here in Amsters . It’s only the English acting up and getting out of control . ’
    ‘ Yeah the English disease they call it . Can’t handle our mind altering substances or our drink , cool ain’t it ? Get another round in son .” END OF CONVERSATION….
    Although it’s only early afternoon, two of the single guys in the stag party have disappeared off to the red light area for a bit of window shopping and maybe [this means definitely] sample a bit of the old ‘in and out.’
    For the record I have never paid for sex although I have the sort of boat race that would suggest that I have to.
    The ladies always look red hot all togged up in their full kit and webbing but I just can’t indulge because of the mathematics of the game as follows:
    Let’s be generous, very generous in most cases and say the average bloke’s penis is six inches [half a foot] long when erect.
    Say Hooker X entertains eight clients during each working day, 8 x 6 inches, this is four feet of cock per day.
    Suppose she works five days a week this becomes, 4 x 5 = 20 feet. After three weeks work in the month, due to nature, this becomes, 20 x 3 equals 60 feet of nadger each month.
    So the grand total of nob in one year, would be 60 feet x 12 months = a massive 720 feet of man meat.
    To put that into perspective Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square in London, England is only 169 feet tall. Therefore your average brass gets four times as much ‘Man Column’ over the year than Lord Nelson!!
    That’s what puts me right off and why I don’t join the two lads on their jolly. They have convinced themselves that by going on a Friday afternoon they will end up on top of a cracking bit of MILF (Mum I’d Like to Fuck) who only works while her nippers are at school.
    She only shags a few select punters during the daylight hours and then disappears off back to her ideal home, hubbie and 2.5 children of an evening.
    This idea is the exact opposite of the ‘go ugly early’ theory when out on the pull in your local night club.
    If you’re into a bit of Hermann Goering [Whoring] fair enough, I’m not the shag police, just rubber up and dive on in!
    I’m certainly not disrespecting Prostitution as a career choice. It is the oldest profession on Earth and hookers are clearly doing something right by providing a most pleasurable experience. It’s just not my cannabis-laced cup of tea.
     
    Back at the snake bar, we’ve got chatting to a great bunch of local girls and lads. They can’t believe the state we are all in so early