Cigarettes and Alcohol: Confessions of a Stag Weekend (15 page)

However
my
fuck
habit
was
getting
way
out
of
hand
.
One
night
one
of
my
regular
bits
of
slap
and
tickle
came
round
for
some
horizontal
action
.
Before
we
got
down
to
it
she
asked
to
use
the
bathroom
. ‘
No
worries,’
I
replied
‘
but
use
the
toilet
in
the
spare
bedroom
as
the
one
in
the
main
bathroom
is
broken
.
’

To
which
the
prossie
replied
‘
Bloody
hell
mate
that
lavvys
been
busted
for
months
now
.
You
said
you
were
getting
it
fixed
last
time
I
came
round
why
haven’t
you
had
it
sorted
yet
?
Nice
house
like
this
you
should
be
looking
after
it
.
Get
the
plumber
round
tomorrow
.
’

Fuck
me
I
was
getting
nagged
at
by
a
call
girl
about
domestic
chores
.
I
finally
realised
it
was
time
to
get
my
life
back
in
order
.
I
started
using
the
escort
agency
less
and
less
.
One
night
the
lass
who
had
moaned
,
about
the
bog
and
not
my
performance
,
called
up
to
see
if
she
could
pop
round
as
she
was
only
down
the
road
.

To
get
rid
of
her
I
told
her
that
I
was
defrosting
my
fridge
,
which
thinking
about
it
sounds
like
a
great
euphemism
for
knocking
a
quick
whitey
out
.
It
was
probably
the
lamest
excuse
she
had
ever
heard
in
her
life
for
not
wanting
to
get
laid
but
the
sad
thing
was
it
was
true
.

There
was
water
all
over
the
kitchen
floor
and
I
just
could
not
face
getting
my
lug
holes
nagged
off
by
that
escort
again
.

I
decided
at
that
very
moment
that
I
may
as
well
get
married
again
and
get
moaned
at
by
a
woman
I
was
actually
in
a
genuine
relationship
with
and
not
one
I
was
paying
to
get
my
ears
bent
.

So
I
gave
up
all
my
slutting
and
three
months
later
met
my
beloved
and
now
can’t
wait
to
get
wed
all
over
again
.”

After
hearing all this old toffee, if second time stag boy had suddenly developed the power to read minds, the exact same thought was going through all the nine lads heads around the table at the same moment, ‘I give your marriage six months tops before it all ends in tears.’

We’ve
all met wife number two who is the very definition of ‘high maintenance’: designer frocks, over-priced shoes and no wrinkles on her forehead thanks to her new mate Captain Botox. Once his bank account is bled dry she will be off to the next middle aged sucker.

But
who knows, only time will tell if they are happy together, although even the local bookies are only offering twenty to one odds against them lasting a full year of matrimony. Certainly it is worth a punt at that price.

After
a short break to breathe in some more nicotine, take a Jimmy Riddle and get yet another round in we move on from a ridiculous conversation about fucking to a fucking ridiculous conversation about having a vasectomy.

Gap
had been snipped a week ago and was complaining about how painful it had been. His cock was really bruised up and half of his shaft had gone black.

He
did offer to give anyone who was interested a quick peek in the toilets but unsurprisingly no one took him up on his very kind offer. A glimpse of your mates’ ‘Old Bill’ injured or not, is something to avoid at all costs.

Gap
was happily banging on about how, once all the swelling had gone down he had to have twenty ejaculations before going back to the quacks to have a sperm test to ensure that the vasectomy had been a success.

As
one of the lads kindly pointed out, twenty spunks was at least three years of his sex life with his Mrs so what was the point of getting your ball bags fixed?

During
the conversation Village is looking more and more bemused. ‘So when you go back to the Doctor’s what exactly do they test then?’ he asks with a confused look on his mug.

‘What
do you mean?’ asks Gap.

‘Well
if you have had the snip you don’t spunk any more right?’ Village enquires.

‘There
is no more sperm in my jism if that’s what you mean,’ Gap answers.

Village
still looks dumb. ‘But I thought that there was no fluid produced at all and that when you came just air flew out of your cock.’

There
is a stunned silence from around the table. Nine lads look at each other. Tumble weed drifts slowly across the bar room. In the distance a lone bell tolls sorrowfully.

Then
there is a huge eruption of booming laughter.

‘What
the fuck planet are you on Village? You really thought that you could spunk air? What is there a loud sound like PHHHHFFFTTTTTT as you come, like an odourless fart? That is the craziest talk I have ever heard. Did you take Biology in school?’

‘I
must have been off sick that day,’ moans Village. ‘How was I meant to know what happens? I haven’t had me bollock tubes sliced.’

Gap
retorts ‘You could use your common sense. Hang on I’m just wasting my breath here aren’t I?’

One
of the boys makes a loud PHHHHFFFTTTTTT noise again followed by a daft looking ‘vinegar strokes’ face and again we all roar with laughter.

That
is why Village Idiot Version 2013 at over forty years of age still carries his nickname with pride. He really is as thick as two pieces of shit nailed together. He is as mad as a box full of badgers’ bum holes.

CIGARETTES
SMOKED THIS IN CHAPTER: 8…..47 TO GO

BOOZE
BINGED IN THIS CHAPTER: 2 PINTS, A PINOT GRIGIO AND A LONG ISLAND ICED TEA.

PART FOUR: BEXLEY VILLAGE

Chapter
Twenty Three: The One Hundred Metre Dildo Relay

With another huge leap, we jump back through time to return to the early nineties on a Sunday afternoon in Amsterdam. The guys from the last chapter instantly regain hair and lose pounds of ugly fat from around the waistlines of their future selves.

Having
sat in a bar getting stoned for way too long, the gang are now rushing to catch their plane home that leaves in less than an hour’s time. We’ve managed to grab four cabs that are speeding us towards the airport. It really is ‘touch and go’ if we are going to make it.

We
have big plans in place for the stag, Kid J, once we get back to England which will very obviously be knackered if we miss the flight. As the taxi zooms through the city centre someone screams ‘Stop the cab matey! Stop now!’

The
driver puts on the anchors and pulls over fearing that one of his passengers is about to spew their ring up. He certainly doesn’t want to be cleaning up someone else’s vomit this early in the day.

He
needn’t have worried though as it’s only Kid J who wanted the cab to stop. ‘I’ve forgotten to get a wedding present for the Mrs. She will go bat shit if I don’t bring her something back to give her on our big day. So I’m just going to pop in here.’

Kid
J points out of the window at a shop called ‘Pillow Talk’ which advertises itself as ‘Europe’s Largest Warehouse of Sex Toys: Home of The Anal Intruder!’

‘What
the fuck are you going to buy for your bride to be in there?’ demands Amnesty. ‘We can’t hang about waiting for you, we’ve got to make tracks or we are going to miss the plane back.’

‘Look
I’ll meet you at the airport. I’ll grab another taxi, no worries. I’ve got to get her something, I’m off!’ and with that Kid J darts out the sherbert and into the shop of love toys.

‘Nuts
to him then. Come on driver, let’s get to the airport and don’t spare the horses!’ cries Amnesty to the cabbie and we speed off again.

We
arrive at the airport with barely minutes to spare, sprint into the terminal and what a surprise, the ‘kin plane is delayed by half an hour. We could have smoked a few more spliffs before flying, thanks for nothing bastard airline!

We
get our tickets, go through passport control and wander up to the departure gate. Luckily there is a bar there so we grab some liquid refreshment and smoke hard before we have to catch the plane.

Time
slides by way too quickly, it is time to make like a banana and split, yet there is still no sign of Kid J. Other folk start to get on the plane. It is going to be gutting if the stag misses the flight as he is the star of the grand finale we have planned for him back home.

Minutes
tick by. Finally an announcement blares out ‘This is the final call for all remaining passengers for Flight Number 69 to London Gatwick. Please go to the boarding gate now as your service is ready to depart.’

It’s
now or never for Kid J. It’s time to shit or get off the pot! He is going to miss the plane and the torture planned back on home turf.

All
of us grab our bags and make for the gate. We’ve lost one. We are a man down and it is the stag. How we going to explain this to his fiancé?

Suddenly
someone yells at the top of their voice ‘Hold that plane, I’m here!’

At
the other side of the terminal we can see Kid J come legging it out of the metal detectors at security. In his hands are two of the largest vibrators I have ever seen. One is a bright red colour and the other is transparent with flashing lights inside of it looking like a huge cock lighthouse.

He
is holding them above his head and waving them about for all to see. If he smacked someone over the head with one of them he could easily be up on a murder charge.

Judging
by the size and girth of them, they are more likely to cause massive internal injuries rather than any kind of sexual fulfilment.

As
Kid J runs towards us these two humongous dildos are wobbling all over the shop and we can hear them buzzing happily away, even from where we are standing.

He
is running his arse off to get to the gate and looks like the only contestant in some bizarre one hundred metre relay race but instead of batons to pass on to his team mate he has two massive plastic knobs!

In
my head time seems to freeze and Kid J appears to be running in ultra-slow motion. His arms are pumping and he is getting his knees up well high just like a sprinter giving it their all.

Time
slows down. Kid J’s long brown hair bounces around wildly as his legs power him towards the gate, the plane and home.

He
looks like he is in that cool scene in ‘Chariots of Fire’ as all those serious running dudes peg it along the beach, but obviously without two massive wobbly plastic cocks in tow.

I
start to hum the theme tune from the film out loud. It’s a classic.

I
can’t write sheet music at all, but you know the song I mean. It’s a fantastic piece of stirring notes that really gets the heart going as it builds to an amazing crescendo of sound. Mr Bean played it with one finger at The Olympics 2012 Opening Ceremony.

Other
lads hear what I am humming and they start up as well. We sound like the most crap choir in town who have forgotten the words to the tune but we get louder and louder as Kid J legs it towards us.

He
is proper going for it but on hearing the tune we are humming he slows down and runs in ultra-slow motion like he has suddenly beamed up to the moon where he is legging it, through less gravity. He looks like he is running in treacle as his arms and legs move through the air.

It
is at that second that Kid J gains the nick-name Chariots. As he reaches us we break into a huge round of applause. What an entrance, beat that!

We
overhear a small lad nervously ask his dad standing nearby ‘Daddy why does that man have two big plastic willies in his hands?’

The
father gives the standard and in this case very appropriate answer of ‘Go and ask your Mother!’

The
two vibrators up close are just obscenely big. Surely more useful to give pleasure to a horse or an elephant and not to re-bore Chariot’s dearly intended.

Amnesty
takes one look at them and says ‘Chariots please tell me those dildos are not your fiancé’s wedding present. You can’t give them to her in front of her Mum. That’s just not correct.’

‘Yep
they sure are,’ replies Chariots wearing a big shit eating grin. ‘One up the front bum and one up the back door. She will love these Furburger Helpers! I’m telling you she’s got an elastic arsehole.’

Amnesty
replies wearily ‘Fuck me fella are you sure that she wouldn’t have preferred some nice perfume or some chocolates?’

CIGARETTES
SMOKED IN THIS CHAPTER: 11…..36 TO GO

BOOZE
BINGED IN THIS CHAPTER: 2 PINTS, A LAMBRUSCO AND A SHERRY