Cigarettes and Alcohol: Confessions of a Stag Weekend (3 page)

‘Catch
up laters dudes,’ we say high-fiving the rest of gang as we wander into the sunlight on our way to see how grotty and quite literally, packed full of grot, The Museum of Sexy Time is.

Like
hard sex with your other half, it doesn’t disappoint!

CIGARETTES
SMOKED IN THIS CHAPTER: 10…..178 TO GO

BOOZE
BINGED IN THIS CHAPTER: 3 PINTS AND A CINZANO BIANCO

Chapter
Six: That Dutch Dog Sure Is Handsome

We arrive at The Museum of Sexy Time to be greeted by two massive plastic cocks as we walk in which make us all laugh and we shout out ‘Helmet!’ just for old times’ sake.

We
have been yelling ‘Helmet!’ for years since school as it was an in joke. We still shout it out now at gigs, in restaurants, bars, nightclubs and even in a church once during someone’s wedding. The vicar even cracked a smile. We’ll never grow up.

For
a Friday afternoon the place is packed with a mixture of nervous looking tourists, dirty old men and pissed up people (us).

We
pay a couple of Guilders and go in with the promise that we will see erotic art (dirty paintings), antique love photographs (porn for the oldies) and unique objects which I’m guessing are going to be whips, chains, vibrators the size of marrows and gimp masks.

It’s
great. As you go up the stairs to the next level there is a plaster cast of an arse hanging on the wall, which farts compressed air at you when you stand on a certain step. This might just be the funniest thing we have ever seen and we march up and down the stairs in our semi-slaughtered state, giggling like a load of four year olds.

Farting
is the ultimate gag and one that lads never seem to grow out of. The smellier and louder the guff you can produce the more respect you get from the gang for quacking it out.

Always
remember not to push it out too hard and soil yourself. So, not a good look my friend.

We
wander about looking at the pornography on display, some of which is kind of titillating, some of it just bizarre, and some that is going to mentally scar me for the rest of my life.

The
majority of the right grim stuff is seen in their recreation of two video booths which have a warning on them that the films shown inside are of a very explicit nature and that viewer caution is strongly advised. This is the understatement of the century.

We’d
seen video booths along the canals and they looked like the 90’s version of the old peep show. For a small bit of change you went into your own private cabin, selected the grot movie you wanted to watch and got ten minutes worth.

To
be honest that’s about all the time you need really. The plot of most sex movies isn’t really worth a wank, but hold on, actually it is!

I
wondered whether office workers in the Dam popped out at lunchtime for a sandwich and a much needed one off the wrist. Was masturbation part of the national culture here or were the booths just for the stoned stag parties?

If
the former it was no surprise that the locals were all such a happy and sociable bunch.

The
Museum had two video booths sitting next to each other so three of us crammed into each one. I ended up sitting in the one with Deviant Boy and Kristall.

Now
this wasn’t a first date, but if it was, it was most definitely not the place to take a lady you wanted to impress. For a start the floor of the cabin was littered with used tissues. Call me naïve, but I liked to think that the last user just had a particularly nasty cold!

We
put some coins in the slot and Channel 1 comes on. There’s a big button under the screen which you press to change the video so you can scan through and find something that floats your boat. Now I’m as broad minded as the next guy but some of the utter filth I saw that afternoon was worse than any horror movie yet created by Hollywood.

On
the screen a woman has just taken her top off and has the largest top set you’ve ever seen. The gang next door are watching the same channel as someone yells out ‘Bloody hell she’s got some shopping on her!’

She
plays around with her top bollocks for a minute and then whips off her skirt, now we’re getting somewhere. But she’s packing meat and two veg, she’s got a cock! A huge groan comes out of the other cabin. This is ‘The Crying Game’ all over again.

In
the movie there’s a knock at the door. It’s the post woman with a special delivery. In she comes, whips off her top as obviously she’s run out of paper so she needs her tits signed as proof of delivery of the parcel. The two start deep throat kissing and soon postie has her skirt off as well.

Who’d
have thought it? She’s got a nob as well. It’s a cock in a frock! What the fuck are the odds of that happening in the real world?

It
seems a bit greedy to have breasts and a penis but let’s face it, if man had evolved both a vagina and a cock, the human race would still be living in caves shagging themselves stupid. There would be no society or inventions like the wheel or the laptop. What would be the point?

Why
bother going out on the hunt for a life partner when you’ve got all you’re ever going to need in doors? You wouldn’t have to tell people ‘to go fuck themselves’, they already would be if they had any sense.

I’m
not sure this movie has got the mass masturbation appeal for it to ever cross over to the mainstream. Seems the only people likely to enjoy watching it again are the two bods starring in the frigging thing anyway. Still live and let live! They’re enjoying themselves and who is anyone to judge what turns others on. Let them get on with it.

Just
as they are about to get down to some serious action, the gang in the booth next door shout out to whack Channel 5 on pronto.

Kristall
turns the channel over saying, ‘I’ve seen that movie a couple of times before anyway. Honestly it doesn’t really get any better. It was on the TV at home the other night. My parents were watching it.’

The
next channel is showing another head spinner called ‘Grandmothers Lust.’ Don’t even want to describe what was going on in this one. But it did what it said on the tin. Just leave it. This wasn’t exactly ‘Help the Aged’, more like ‘Hump the Aged.’

On
Channel 3 there are two individuals dressed up in overalls and they are slowly unravelling a huge plastic sheet and covering up the floor of a large room. Think that some DIY programme has slipped into the videos by mistake.

‘Move
on geezer,’ prompts Deviant, ‘I want to see some real muck. This has been well tame so far!’

We
flick over to Channel 4 in the booth to catch a bit of ‘Anal Action 17’ just in time to catch sight of a huge bell end coming out of the place where the sun don’t shine, covered in what looks suspiciously like bits of sweetcorn. By now my guts are well turning.

Can’t
believe this film has had more sequels than ‘Police Academy.’ That just doesn’t seem right somehow.

We
turn back to the DIYers on Channel 3 but they are still unrolling loads of sheeting. There’s no action whatsoever.

Channel
6 is showing a straight fuck flick. It’s almost a pleasure to watch two people of different sexes having sex and I must admit to getting a bit of a lazy lob on. Crammed into this tiny booth sitting next to Kristall is definitely making the blood go south.

We
see the ‘cum shot’ which instantly turns the models face into a plasterer’s radio and then press the button back over to Channel 3 to find out what the hell is going on with the painters and decorators. Wish we hadn’t.

The
sheet is now in place covering the carpet and the bloke is lying down on his back looking up at the woman who is squatting over his head. She then unloads the contents of her bowels all over his face. From the looks of it, she has not made a Number 2 in about 6 weeks and will be considerably lighter in weight, very soon. She is shitting like a race horse all over the fella’s mug and he looks as if he is proper loving every minute of it.

This
is all wrong. How can this be pleasurable? The stench alone would put me right off, let alone the feeling of being covered in someone else’s faeces. I got a massive bollocking for doing a ‘Dutch Oven’ on the Mrs at home once.

A
‘Dutch Oven’ for the unenlightened, is where you release an anal hand grenade (fart) in your bed and then hold your other half’s head under the duvet to let her ‘enjoy’ the aroma of your back door wind. Why this is called Dutch or an Oven is anyone’s guess. It’s not very good foreplay is all I can tell you.

The
movie is unsurprisingly called ‘Shit Lovers 5’ and I can’t believe there are four other movies with the same theme before this one. If I was a porn star (some hope with my tiny wedding tackle) I’d sack my agent for getting me a part in this monstrosity.

Deviant’s
had enough. ‘Turn it off for fucks sake, there’s a woman present.’ Although worryingly Kristall has said nothing and actually seems to be enjoying this particular film more than any other of the hideous, kinky stuff we have sat through. Bet she’s got a glass coffee table in her home, say no more.

I
turn to the last channel, number 2, to see a woman on all fours with an Alsatian behind her. The dog is well excited and his little red lipstick is hanging out, ready for action. All I’m worried about is whether the dogs had his nails clipped or there’s going to be some severe back scratching going down.

This
unfortunate chick is about to quite literally get it ‘doggy style’. She must be high as a kite on heroin or been fucked into insanity to even consider a bit of canine intercourse. The title of the film comes up on screen.

It’s
called ‘Handsome Dog.’ To be fair, the dog has a rather fetching grey beard look going on, his teeth look clean and he has a nice luscious coat of fur, so it’s a great title.

Luckily
at the very moment when the bestial deed was about to be performed the screen goes black. Our money has run out. What a touch.

We
pull out a packet of smokes and light one up each.

‘Was
it good for you too?’ enquires Kristall of Deviant and myself, with a big smirk.

The
three of us look at each other and crease up. The gang in the second booth come out and hear us all howling with laughter and think you lucky, lucky bastards! What have you all been up to? Bit of mutual masturbation? Spit Roast?

After
sitting through those vile videos, I decide there and then that my relationship with HCP (Hard Core Pornography) is well and truly over.

Well
at least until tomorrow or maybe the day after.

CIGARETTES
SMOKED IN THIS CHAPTER: 6…..172 TO GO

BOOZE
BINGED IN THIS CHAPTER: ZIP…..NO BAR AVAILABLE…..SHOULD HAVE TAKEN A HIP FLASK FULL OF WHISKEY TO KEEP US GOING

Chapter
Seven: Somewhere A Village Is Missing Its Idiot!

Now is as good a time as any to introduce Kid C who is already a legend in his own right. He’s a top fella to have about as he’s always got a great story to tell and gets his round in. We’ve found the Joker in the pack!

While
sober he could hold a conversation, charm the birds from the trees and was centre of attention.

However
tip alcohol or illegals down his ‘sheep and goat’ and he became the modern equivalent of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde….simply fuel Kid C with excess loopy juice and he changes into The Village Idiot!

Kid
C was also known as The Beer Messiah, but his was no second coming. The state he would get in, by closing time, his girlfriend was lucky to get the first!

Here
is a choice selection of some of the Village Idiots Greatest Hits so you can appreciate the full extent of his lunacy:

1]
One night in the local he had necked some E’s like smarties and was way off his head. He was walking around the boozer on his own trying to talk to people who were avoiding him like a dose of the clap. He finally pitched up at one end of the bar and sat there talking to a painting that was hanging on the wall. The portrait was of some lord or other in all his 18th century finery. What he thought of The Village Idiots rant we’ll never know. Eventually after half an hour of trying to communicate with an oil painting The Idiot bellowed out ‘This bloke is a fucking arsehole and won’t answer any of my questions!’ and went wandering off to the kebab house. He returned a full hour later with a bag of Jelly Babies. Still don’t know why.

2]
Village is always the first to down the shots. He does the full lick of salt off his arm first followed by the Tequila and finally chomps down on a slice of lemon shouting out ‘You fucking love it!!’ However once he was a couple of bevvies over his limit he was prone to strip off in the pub. He would stand there completely starkers with everything hanging out. People would laugh hysterically and point, because Village is hung like a hamster downstairs which is probably doing the hamster a disservice. Why he feels the need to show the world his tiny old chap, is just one more reason to love the guy. If the Government really want to put the general public off binge drinking, they should print a photograph of Village in the nude on every beer bottle, with the message ‘If you drink to excess, this could be you.’

3]
His pissed up attempts at chatting up the ladies were always a disaster and often ended in a black eye or swift kick to the groin area. One night on the tube in Central London he was sat opposite a good looking girl who had a big heavy coat and a skirt on, so you could see she had a great set of pins, but the top half of her body was a sight unseen. Village was trying to make conversation but was making no sense whatsoever. He finally leant over and touched her ankle, then her thigh, saying ‘From here to there, I like. The rest I don’t know.’ Then he shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it was her loss that he could not give her the full once over. The poor girl just did not know what to say and got off at the next stop. I wish she had lashed out at him, would have served him right and more importantly, made me laugh even more. Village should not really be allowed out in public unattended as the fella is a total fucking liability.

4]
After a week away in Ibiza with the lads on a boozy holiday, he was feeling in a terrible old state and went straight from the airport to the Doctors with heart palpitations. He was in a right mess, sweaty, feeling faint and had convinced himself he was going to die. The Doc took his blood pressure first using a Sphygmomanometer - I had to look this up - which is that cuff thing they attach to your arm to test your blood pressure. He looked at the reading, frowned and took the device off his arm muttering that it must be broken and pulled a second one out his drawer. Again the cuff went on Village’s arm and again the Doc looked confused and said ‘You seem to have the blood pressure of an eighty year old man. What have you been up to?’ Village explained that he had been away with the lads for a week and had probably drunk in excess of fifteen pints of beer. The Doc says that fifteen pints over a week should not get your body in this state. Village said sorry Doc, that’s fifteen pints A DAY! This fella read him the riot act with a major tongue lashing. Your liver will be fucked [am paraphrasing here] think of your health lad, you just can’t go on like that. Cut down now or you will be in all sorts of bother later in your life. Village took the rocket, left the surgery and went straight to the nearest public house to get a hair of the dog. Men of medicine know nothing about hangover cures!

5]
When he DJ’ed on a local hospital radio station on Sunday afternoons he always started his show with the tune ‘Don’t Fear The Reaper’ by The Blue Oyster Cult. He also pretended he had had a request for a Mr Richard Head (think about it) who was having a vasectomy that afternoon. It made him giggle as he never actually had a request for real the entire time he worked there.

So
Kid C, even though you are certainly a sandwich short of a picnic and a couple of drops short of a piss, we now salute you evermore as Village Idiot!

You
are officially FAF [Funny As Fuck!]

Keep
on Keeping on dude. Don’t go changing.