Monday, 23 May 2011

Sunday is the new Thursday

Dear all

I write this, as I sit at my desk, sweating, on the verge of death and feeling like my p45 is going to be handed to me at any point. Don't get me wrong, all of these are strong negatives for my career, but as a consequence of the quality of weekend I've just had - it's a conseuence I'm willing to accept.

As 2011 continues it's rapid downward out of control spiral, a few of the key points from the last 48 hours to note back on, are I can't have just one 'social' after work drink, weird fishes on gogle are funny, mangina racing is as hard as it sounds, girls are a pain in the arse, and canadian girls are very easy.

let me explain.

We'll pick up the weekend, where it usually starts. Thursday.

Having jumped on a train up to Liverpool to support Thomas's event he was putting on, Thomas, Neil, Boris and I decide that the only way to deal with a sensible occasion, is to drink as much wine as is physically possible in about 2 hours.

Now, Neil and Wayne are substantially larger than I am, and given that they'd been out for a 3 course lunch 2 hours prior to the event, and I'd only eaten a bowl of Frosties as my pre night out fuel, it shouldnot have been any suprise as to the state that I wuld fin myself in in about 6 hours time.

At the end of the evening, I was taking my pants off in front of a room full of people, prancing round pretending I was a heavyweight boxer, and trying to snog (this is a word I'm going to start bringing back!) the 40 year old waitress (spectacularly unsuccessful it should be added!). brilliant - it was still only 11pm by this point.

Now the account for the next few hours is not something that I can really take all that much credit for to be honest. i only found out how much 'fun' I'd had, when I spoke to Thomas at 1pm the following day. In brief, here is a list of my evening.

• Got naked down to my boxers in a room of 100 people to put on some boxing shorts signed by joe frazier
• Started pretending to box people (still topless)
• Lost the boys and wandered into a club on my own
• They found me eventually in the club, stood on the bar waving my shirt round my head shouting at people
• Passed out in the corner of the club
• Walked round the club in just my boxers for a bet
• Pulled the 3 ugliest girls in the club (so awful Thomas flat out refused to even talk to them!)
• Passed out on a street and had to be carried to the casino by my mates (video being sent to me of this!)
• Fell asleep on the roulette table
• Got back to hotel at 5.30 am. Alarm went off at 6.30am

I’m supposed to be an adult......

Now this would all be fine if it was a weekend, however, I was on the 7am train back to London, and sidling up for a full days work. Needless to say I wasn't pariculary productive.

Danny emails me at about 4pm monaing how he's being sent away for 2 weeks with work, and demands we go for a quick post work beer as he's annoyed. Still sweating out the jaegerbombs from my liverpool trip, I reluctantly agree.

What happens with one after work beer, is that as Danny and Jack (Aka the Perverts Penthouse) get carried away, a few hours slip by, and before we know it we're about 8 pints, 4 bottles of wine and an awkward Thai meal with some rather stuck up girls into the night... So much for a casual Julian Speroni.

Before we knew what's happened, there we are again. Putting on the check shirts, Suede Boots and Cowboy hats (a very camp sounding description admitedly), and marching down to South Pacific. Our favourite haunt.

Now a girl i've been noshing recently has decided that she wants in. She informs me that she'll be coming round. I'm livid.

I'm all lined up to do the shuffle, nosh some birds and spend some serious time pouring drinks on my face. So when a girl, admittedly one who will be blowing me off later, tells me she's coming over, I'm furious. She wants to stay in. I don't. Classic miscommunication.

Danny and I decide that ignoring her texts, and tryign to leave the house before she arrives is the easiest way to solve this situation. We get caught. Right as we;re skippig out the house, Cowboy hats in place, she arrives. Ballbags!

Begrudgingly, we let her come along with us. But like an 8year old child who's not been allowed to eat his bodyweight in sweets, I throw a strop. mature I know. But what can i say, i was livid she was here.

i felt like she had single handedly halted my snogging crusade. As such, I wasn't goign to talk to her, and I was still going to try and face rape a few naughty little numbers.

Now, I felt bad for the sum of about 3.4 seconds. I'd spent 10 days 'wooing' her, this even included cooking this bird dinner. She probbaly thought she'd found 'a nice one'. Wrong - sorry love. Just needed the points, and you upped the average fairly significantly for the year....>!

As we hit South pacific, Danny and I start shuffling, straight arming and noshing. I don't know what it is about that place, but it's always full of women who like lads with questionable dance moves, drink remnants all over their face and check shirts which are aggressively unbuttoned.

The next few hours pass by, and in the meantime I've had to turn down offers from a 31 yr old married woman, a couple of really quite revolting '1 pointers', and one super looking blonde number. This girl has really cost me tonight. Textbook Opportunity Cost. She'll pay for this.

With me having been dragged out the game for the evenning, Danny steps up to the plate, and finds a Northern Blonde bird to go home with. Now for some reason, I'm imagining pity as he looked at the fury on my face at this point, he invites me and the bird back with him and the girl. I aggree - instantly.

As we arrive to their house, bottle of vodka at 3am in hand, we get to work. I ditch the girl who came with me, and begin sidling into this new house of girls. They live 10 minutes away, are hot and have 'bbq sluts' basically tattooed to their foreheads.

Now one chump (Daveo), decides that we're obviously stealing all the attention from him, and he doens't like this (á la Peter), and boldly proclaims that he will 'do anything' for 50p.


First challenge, get ballsack naked in the kitchen, and walk round the house with a mangina. Called his bluff.

To be fair, after 5 minutes of squealing he agrees, and collects his 50p. problem is, this lad does not have the body to do this. He spends this 5 minute period moaning about his insecurties about being fat, and as he finally caved and took his clothes off, one of the girls walks in with the line "Dave, didn't realise you were that fat!!". magic.

Annoyed at his humiliation, Dave challenges us to the same dare. danny and I agree. Guns out, chest out, nuts out. he's annoyed.

Posing with a mangina, while tensing your guns and flirting with a house full of girls, straight out of chapter 3 of the flirting textbook.

The girl who originally came with me, has had to watch all of this and had the indignity of being made to take the photos. She'd been ignored, and shown her place. a strong second after anonymous clunge.

Walking home, danny and I decide to mangina race home. 5.30 am, through a very respectable part of London. Why wouldn't we be doing this?

Arriving home, I now turn some attention to this girl who I've dragged round for the entire evening and ignored. Unbelieveably, she's still talking to me. Fine. We'll soon stop that. I demand a blozza, and again, amazingly she agrees.

Now to top off my treatment of her throughout the evening, without realising, at 6am I pass out and start snoring mid Blozz. Is there a better way to drop off to sleep. I'm not sure there is to be honest.

Understandably she's mildly furious. Nevermind. 1-0 Jack. Turn her over, finish off, chuck her a loo roll and off I go to pass out. And people doubted I had a romantic side?!

Sunday lunchtime rolls around, and one of our housemates has had a bit of bad news, so Danny and I decide to take him out for a few drinks in Covent GArden to cheer him up. And as you can guess, we didn't do so well at a couple of sociable beers.

At this point Bruce has turned up as well, and immediately begins to explain his previous nights antics.

In summary the key points from this anecdote were;

  • She was 41 years old
  • Hadn't seen the inside of a gym for at least 20 years
  • had a vagina that "had all sorts wrong with it"
  • Had nipple like "coke cans", with a har lump in the middle
  • mad bruce do her up the arse both evening and following morning.
Bruce is oficially coming out of his trough. Well done Big Lad!

After watching a street performer throw a hissy fit at a group of school children, we move into a sports bar and begin rounds of lagers, shots nachos and chicken wings.

Now one simple thing is all that it took to tip us over the edge into boozing hard on a sunday afternoon.

A red plastic cup. Supposedly for the chicken wing bones. or....... Flipcup?

A simple game, and a solid way to run up a pretty sizeable bar tab for a Sunday afternoon.

Mid game of flip cup, about 4 Chilean little sloshpots stroll into the bar. Immediately questioning them (flirting), we find out that a pub crawl is due to start in this bar in about 30 minutes time. Well, there we have it. Rather than get some sleep, and iron my shirts for the working week ahead, I'm going to get shitfaced and try and sleep with as many naive tourists as i can. Sorry work! I've got STDs to spread.

Some Canadian girls then head over to ask if we're going on the bar crawl, as they only want to if some hot guys are going. i think 4 lads nearly jizzed in their pants right on the spot. This is excellent news. Girls are basically throwing theselves towards us, and we've not even had to straight arm a drink to show off as yet!!

Signed up, shots in, and a permanent marker pen in hand, we follow the smell of young snatch to the first bar.

Now halfway through the evening, we genuinely face a relatively monstrous conundrum. There's a choice of honeys to choose from. this is a rare occasion, and one that should be savoured. we did.

We all ended up running round the bar trying to talk to all of them, trying to shuffle for all of them, make puns, get the guns out. There was too much choice.

Did we go Canadian, Irish or Chilean? A tough call Comrades. Like going into a cornershop with £1 and having to decide between a carton a Ribena, a Capri-Sun or a Calippo. nigh on impossible.

Sensing the fear we were experiencing. One of the Canadian girls really stepped up to the plate. Straight over, cards on the table, pants half unbuttoned. Decision made lads, we're heading towards Ottawa. Cue tedious puns about beavers, wood. Damn they were good.

Right about this point, jacob our housemate who we were consoling sees where this night is heading. Straight back to the Perverts Penthouse. Sensibly, as he wishes to keep his Mrs, he excuses himself.

So wrapped up in the excitement of vagina and Jaegerbombs, we all barely even noticed that our job of cheering him up was almost perfectly negaively correlated with the success of our clunge chasing - and by this point it was going pretty well.

Three 19 year old Canadian Girls, 3 sex driven guys. What else was going to happen?

Some serious snogging now started taking place. I fucking love snogging. I'm not as advanced as Peter to have his own secret snogging place. I'm omore of a freestyler than that to be honest.

Earlier in the evening, Bruce had introduced us to the concept of 'The Blitz'! the concept where once snogging, you bundle the honeys into a taxi as fast as you physically can. 2am rolls round and it's time for the Blitz.

Bless these little Canadians. They'd been suckered in by 'British' accents, 3 boys who had been 'classically trained in hip-hop', and one aspiring weatherman. Before they could even question what was happening to them, they were facing the inside of a 6 seater taxi taking them to a shame filled end to the evening.

Arriving home, we sit sround for about 5 minutes pretending to be nice hosts. At this point, I decide enough is enough, and take mine by the hand and tell her we're going upstairs. She agrees, very willingly (your honour) and almost skips after me. A super egoboost.

Danny folow my lead and practically carries his upstairs.

Bruce has the sofa. Nobody's bothered.

We hear them whinging about condoms, so Danny picks about 8 from his unnecessarily large supply and hands them out to each of us. Right in front of their faces. They know the score. Good girls.

20 minutes later, and the house is creaking like an 18th century whorehouse. 3 blokes, absolutely going to town on these 3 girls.

Now, we had stumbled across 3 screamers. For those of you unfortunate enough never to have heard of a screamer. You'll find one one day, and when you do, you will genuinely love it.

their hunger and love of cock is genuinelymmind blowingly exciting. From the first moment of grabbing your cock, through the initial time you chuck itinside her, right up to the finish, they scream and squeal in delight and sheer joy. it's fucking awesome.

The only thing better than this, is having a house full of them. I was pretty excited about listening to these 3 young Canadians shouting their heads off.

Just as I'm about to go in, she declares to me "This is my last night in Europe, and I've not had any 'freaky' sex the whole time I'm here. Sort me out!".

I nearly came right there and then. This is a little like telling Gary Glitter he's becoming changing room monitor for the u10 boys swimming team.

Now having listened to some of peter and my best friends weird sex they've been having recently, I decided that she was going to remember this incident.

I started slapping her, scratching her, throwing her about and even choking her at times. Chucking fingers in her arse and pinning her against a wall from behind. And with every change in position/attitude, she got louder and louder.

You know what, I was having a fucking brilliant time. I fucking love young, kiny girls. Well done Canada!

I know Bruce and Danny were having as good a time as I was, as i could hear almost every slap, slosh and scream through the walls.

Now, every lad will know that sober, trying to last longer than 30 seconds can be an issue (don't lie lads!), but hammered, lasting less than about 30 hours is a bit of a challenge! Now i was fed up with wearing a jonny, the one freaky thing she wouldn't let me do wa shove it in her arse, and i was about 2 weeks away from finishing off.

So like any responsible lad, i rip the Jonny off and try to carry on. This clever little fucker, even with her eyes shut and scremaing her head off, spots this almost instantly and demands I put a new one on if I don't want a little Canadian Jack.

Giggling, I tell her to blozz me off for a bit, then chcuk on a Jonny and bring out 'The Drill Man' to finish off.

lob the Jonny (full) out my bedroom window, look at the scratches all over the pair of us and congratulate myself on a transaction well completed.

i was quite tempted to play this song

They pick up, drip their way round the house and leave to go catch their 8am flight back to Canada. What a bunch of scremaing 'Good Eggs'. And to boot? they were all pretty attractive. A reall rarity for my 2011!
Now I'll be honest, as I finish this post, I'm not in a good way. I'm sweating, still stink of booze, my STD filled balls feel on fire and have a headache like a thunderstorm - but to be honest, it was all thoroughly worth it. Every last second of it.

In summation? Thursdays are a good night out, Sundays are the new Thursdays, Young girls touring europe are like Vagina on a stick, and never let Bruce sleep with a girl on your couch.
For those of you who like stats? I'm 66% of the way through my 2011 challenge, and we're only 39% of the way through the year. Magic.
Til nex time

Giggles and LOLs


Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Classic Pula - Day 2 Part 2

Boys and Girls

Here is the much awaited Part 2 of the Pula story. Danny Fingers deserves a paricular standing ovation for this episode.

Once again, thanks to Mr. Peter Hunter for this blog post, you can find more of his articles at Peter's Perspectives


Evening gents

We pick up the story again at dinner. We are all completely off our faces. Danny is sitting at dinner swaying. Jack and I sit down, having dragged over the lad we had been talking to. We are going to do everything in our power to ruin his evening. We start by stealing his coat. Wayne has done this by cunningly telling him he is cold. Jack steals his bag, and hides it under the table. He'll never know. Danny mumbles something. No one listens. A jug of wine each? Sure. We need more booze. After dinner, we are all sitting around casually drinking our jugs of wine. The English fella has battled hard and won, he has his stuff back, and has left. Danny again, mumbles something, and disappears. He's probably gone to just take a shit.

Meanwhile, Jack has passed out at the dinner table. He is sitting bolt up right, fast asleep. Wayne and I are slapping him and poking him. We light cigarettes, smoke one puff and put them out on his skin. Nothing, out for the count. Half an hour passes. Danny is still missing, Jack is still passed out. Wayne and I head to the toilets to find Danny. On the way, we casually get naked and show each other manginas in the corridor. Standing in the mens room, naked, knocking on the only cubicle door that's locked, we hear a feint voice from the other side, it's Danny! “Lads, I'm ok, I'll out in a minute”

We take his word for it, and head back out. There are still 2 and a half jugs of wine sitting on the table. We decide we will leave it for Jack and Danny, when they wake up and go to make an exit. Right on cue, Jack has awoken from his slumber, and is very much back in the game. Immediately getting his top off, he heads over to a table of Oxford University students on a weekend break before they knuckle down and revise for finals. We all go over. We really pest them, really start to annoy them, and practically ruin their holiday. We make them introduce themselves to us one by one, forcing each to tell us a funny anecdote about themselves. When we realise they are on our flight the next day, all hell breaks loose. Jack and I start choosing which girls we will have in the mile high club. I take a couple, then we have a wrestle over the last ones. The table of people pay quickly and leave, practically running away. A job well done.
Still no sign of Danny. Jack goes to find him. He manages to get the toilet door open, and the sight he sees is something to behold. There is diarrhoea and vomit all over the cubicle. What has he been doing in there for the last hour? It was probably something he ate. Jack runs out laughing to Wayne and I who are back at the table drinking wine. He explains what he's seen. Half way through the story, out strolls Danny. Through the restaurant, in just his boxers and t-shirt. Shit-stained jeans slung over his shoulder, he sits back down, and nonchalantly picks up his glass. The waitress runs over screaming:
“Get out! Get out! You MUST leave!”

Danny: “I'm sorry, I just didn't want to stain your lovely chairs with my shit!”

She runs and gets the bill, but we aren't going anywhere. We still have loads of wine to drink. In an act of disgust, Wayne pours the jug of red all over the table. The waitress looks at him in disbelief. Feeling a little bad, he pours the jug of white on it, to in his words “cancel it out”. This, for some reason, has not pleased her. He starts to hoover. We all start to hoover. We are sucking wine up from the table cloth. 4 of us. Only 3 of us wearing trousers.

Once it's all gone, we eventually pay our bill and go. On the walk home, we all stand in the street with our trousers and pants around our ankles, showing the locals what we're packing. Jack tries a no handed mangina-what this involves is a huge thrust forward, and a swing back, trying to catch your balls and wang between your legs without the us of your hands. It's a challenging feat, and it really hurts if you get it wrong. Jack gets it wrong, it's hilarious. Wayne gets his mangina going, and Jack and Wayne have a mangina race. About 30 metres with a mangina. Jack dominates. Wayne's keeps popping out, and having to restart the course.

Danny is clueless. The boy is so pissed he thinks we're in London. We head home to get ready to meet up with the waitress we meet at the very start of the day, who definitely hasn't rung Jack. Again, that bugger the casino prevents us from getting home quickly. Danny's had enough, he doesn't come in to gamble, he gets the keys and goes straight back.

We gamble for an hour, and have a couple beers. We all loose a bit, but no one is really bothered. We have a few beers, sitting around on the couches. Mid sentence, Jack passes out. He's fallen asleep whilst in the middle of a monologue, and has started emptying his beer over his trousers. Wayne and I obviously find this hilarious, as he jumps up startled that he's poured beer down his crotch. But this has made us realise: we need something else, a pick me up. The sooner we get to this bar, the sooner we can start drinking gin. We head back-a quick turnaround, and out.

Wayne and I head into our room, and hear Jack burst out laughing from his. What's happened? Wayne and I run in, to see Jack pissing himself laughing on the floor, pointing at Danny who has clearly panicked. He's got back, gone into his bedroom, changed out of his shit/vomit covered jeans, put on a rabbit onesy, climbed into bed, and passed out. Brilliant. Where do we go from here? Shall we leave him just sleeping here? Surely we can't waste a beautiful opportunity?

It's 11pm. The 3 of us who are still awake want to go out. But not after we move Danny to the corridor. We slide him out on his mattress, and into the corridor. During the process, we've woken up some of the other guests. They come out, look at the situation, and just head back into their room, barely saying a word. It's a weird situation. 3 lads moving a guy, passed out in a bunny outfit, in his bed, into the corridor. Fun hasn't stopped there. Wayne gets naked, and manginas over Danny. I put on my tiger onesy and spoon him.

Photo opportunity over, we all get ready for the night. Upon leaving the hotel, we have a debate. Do we lock the hotel rooms? Will our bunny security guard have his wits about him enough to not let burglars in? The answer: no he won't. We lock the doors, essentially locking our mate into the corridor for 5 hours as we head out.

We jump into a taxi and head to the bar we were promised the waitress from earlier will be in. We head past two huge security guards, and straight to the bar. We nail 3 double gin and tonics. There are token girls selling shots, the honey shots from earlier. We make good friends with them, buy loads, get our photos taken with them and straight arm the shots. Literally pour them all over our faces. 3 more gins, this time triples. Now we're talking.

We head over and find a table, shit it's reserved. We ignore this and sit at it anyway. We get 3 more triple G and Ts. The barman, Ivan, has promised us that every time we wave at him, he will bring us 3 more. Great! No need to leave this table, and we look like high rollers with the bar man bringing us drinks over. The only problem with this is the fact that we find it hilarious, and wave at him once every 3 minutes. At one point, I look down at the table, and see 5 triple G&Ts each. There's only one way to get rid of all of these: straight arm. However, it's got to the point where I can't really straight arm, I'm that pissed. Instead, I resort to just pouring. Pouring straight on my head. 3 triple Gins. I'm soaked.

There is a dancer on the podium, like a stripper who doesn't take off the two best parts of her clothing. To get a good view, you have to go and sit underneath the podium and watch her dance. To test this theory, we play 5s. Wayne loses, and down he goes, through the crowd of Friday night Croatian punters, and sits, cross legged on the floor, staring straight up at the stripper like a 5 year old school boy. Obviously people point and laugh, and it doesn't last long as he is being tapped on the shoulder by a massive bouncer and being told to get up.

He heads back over, to applause from us. Another round Ivan! We wave. I pour it on my head. A waitress comes and wipes our table down and takes our empty vessels. I head over to the bar, and buy some cigarettes. Heading back over, a fantastic idea comes to mind. We should all refuse to use ash trays and put the cigarettes out on ourselves! Quality!

I am typing this today with what can only be described as leprosy like sores on my arms where I've put out 9 cigarettes. It hurts, but is hilarious. Especially when Jack loses 5s and you get to put one out on him. Or when Wayne loses 5s and he puts one out on his forehead, leaving a permanent scar.

Or when instead of putting one out on me, Jack decides to flick ash from the cigarette over me onto my very flammable gin soaked t-shirt.

The shots girls are back, selling to us again. We have all decided we're a little horney and want some action. We also have decided that in Croatia, we are high rollers and are willing to pay for it. Shots girls=prostitutes? Jack puts the theory to the test. He asks how much. A slap, once she finds out what he's said. Admittedly he started low. The equivalent of £6.50. He raises his price. Another slap. Confirmation they aren't hookers. The don't try to sell us more shots again.

We wave at Ivan and pour more triple gins over ourselves. The same waitress clears it up, and this time brings an ashtray. I have decided I don't use ashtrays. It's my own arm, or the bit of the table right next to the ashtray. The waitress watches me as I tap my cigarette out right next to the ashtray, then pour yet another drink on myself. She clears it all up. Good girl.

A live band has come on. 5S loser sings with the band. Jack loses, his song choice? Jerusalem . It doesn't go down well. Especially as we have been told all night that we can't, under any circumstances use the microphones set up for the band. He heads back over, triumphant. We drink a bit more, and at about 3:30, Jack has clearly had enough, and passes out for the 3rd time in the evening. The bar shuts at 4, and the bouncer comes over, tries to wake Jack up but can't. I know what will get him-a cigarette burn on the earlobe. Sure enough, he jumps up. We leave, having spent circa £80 each.

On the way home, Jack passes out 3 more times, it gets to the point that Wayne and I ditch him and head home. What a sight was waiting for us when we got back. Was Danny still tucked up in bed in his onesy? No.

Picture the scene-a bare mattress on the floor of a hotel corridor, the sheets in one corner of the corrider, a rabbit onesy in another, vomit everywhere and Danny, passed out in his boxers lying half on the mattress. It's almost as if he dreamt that he was being attacked by a giant bunny and fought it off. He definitely looked defeated. Wayne and I bring him into our room. Jack is yet to arrive home, so I am about to go out looking for him. What a great mate I am. We hear noise in the corridor, and Jack bursts into our room. He's been to the casino, bought some soup, and then passed out in it and burned his face. Classic Pula.

Satisfied, we all put on our onesys and head to bed.

Wayne and I make it to breakfast, whilst sheepishly walking past the hotel cleaner cleaning up Danny's vomit. We manage to get through security without a glitch, and onto the plane. A brief stop in duty free to buy some egg liquor to go with my new ink.

On the plane, we see the girls we shot gunned the night before, and ask if they're still keen. They're not. We have a couple beers, and arrive safely in England. Wayne and I head for the train station and back to Manchester
What a ridiculous 2 day trip it's been. One which will long go down in history as one of my favourite holidays ever.

Update: The reason I went for ink over a mohawk, you may recall is because I am seeing someone, and I valued having sex with her the following few weeks over permanently marking myself. Within 6 days of our return, I have ended things with her. I am reassessing if I went for the right option. I've just looked at my inside right ankle, and, do you know what? I think I did.

Happy hunting

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Classic Pula - Day 2 Part 1

Ladies and Gents,

Following on from our destructive first day in Pula, here is day 2. We left you as we had passed out in the Casino after returning from all all night rave in an abandoned Warehouse with our new found waiter friend, Igor.

Once again, I shall leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Peter Hunter.


Written by Mr. Peter Hunter - Peter's Perspectives

Evening gents

4 hours sleep down, and we're up. Wayne and I head down for breakfast. Sit the seats, only to be told we've missed it by 45 minutes as are clocks are still on English time. Good work. Getting back up stairs, I hear some groans coming from Jack and Danny's room. What the hell is going in there? Upon walking in, I am politely informed by Jack that the hotel receptionist was looking for me, and she sounded urgent. I head back into my room and see a sealed envelope on the floor with the words Mr. Hunter written on the front. I start to open it. What can it be? I wasn't expecting any post!

The letter read like this:

Pula Poljski Statičan





Phone: +385 52 538 739 ‎

1 April 2011

Mr Hunter,

Since arrival your yesterday at Pula we have tracked you due to suspicious historic movement on your Passport. Recent visits with France and United States America raise suspicions ours at Passport control.

We had security team follow yesterday you to check you legitimate tourist. I can confirm we happy with this now, and my sincere apologies if this caused you inconvenience.

However, my security team were less than impressed with your behaviour and believe you ridiculed and ashamed our local history and culture. Your behaviour has been unacceptable and you have contravened Regulation 200151 of Zakon o Krivičnom Postupku 2001 (Criminal Procedure Act) on at least 3 occasions. I would like discuss this in person with you to prevent further misdemeanours or criminal proceedings taking place.

Please could you attend the Police Station at the address above at 11.30am this morning, I will ensure your accommodation makes sure this letter reaches you.

Failure to attend will result in serious consequences and your details will be passed onto Passport and Immigration control.

I hope to see you on Friday

Hvala vam

Danijel Ferić

Poljski Direktor, Pula

FUCK!!!!!!!! What the hell had I done the night before? My mind goes into overdrive. How am I going to get out of this one? I've over done it. We won't be able to wear our all in ones. How much will I have to pay out? Do Croatian police accept bribes?

I get the boys up to have a look. No one is pissing themselves laughing, so it must be genuine. My friends aren't that organised, we couldn't organise a hotel for ourselves, let alone an elaborate prank.

I ask the hotel receptionist where this place is, and points me in the direction but reccomends a taxi if I need to be there by 11:30. Fuck. It's 11:20. We run to the taxi stand and jump in. He takes us to the address.

This doesn't look like a police station, but there is a big gate, maybe it's through there. I'm really panicing as it's 11:30. The boys can't control it any longer and burst out laughing.

I re read the date on the letter. 1st of April. I should have know. Jack has got me good. He has been planning this for weeks and got input from the other boys like Jeff, Kelly and Smokey. #goodeggs.

Utter relief was how I'd describe the wave of emotion that came over me. Thank God. For a while I honestly fell for it. I bet any money that as you read that, you thought “what a prick, who'd fall for that?” A hungover Peter Hunter without a clue what he did the night before. That's who.

We make our way back towards the town, and pop into the Colosseum. It's the 6th largest from the Roman empire and is a sight to behold. Do we buy the audio guide? No. We play 5s. Two losers wrestle. Wayne and I lose, and Jack and Danny head for the stands.

Jack calls out the challenger-Wayne. Wayne nonchallently walks into the centre. Jack the calls for the peoples champion. Peter Hunter. I run out, pointing at my flexed bicep.

Wayne picks me up and slams me into a rock. Ouch. Not great for my herniated disc. Not to be out down, I start performing to the crowd, and tried out some footwork. I dance around, the people's champ. A crowd of school children has gathered to watch the showdown. I clap my hands above my head to encourage their support. About 30 Coratian school children are clapping along with me as Wayne picks me up again and slams me to the floor. We have a winner, and it's not me.

Enough fucking about. It's mid day, time to get a drink. We head down the street via a bakery who gives us free food, charming. Head into a bar, a honey for a waitress. We start the day off with 4 jaegers on ice, with lemon. If you've never tried this, try it. You won't be disappointed.

A couple beers each, and Jack is getting going. He's winking at the honey waitress, and wonders over to pay the bill. He pays, gets the bill, flips it over and writes his number on it. He asks her where she is heading tonight, and gets the details. Thinking he was the big man, Jack has failed to see that she was actually snogging her boyfriend 10 minutes before, and she has literally taken his number and thrown it in the bin. She knows where we are going now, so she will definitely avoid it. Classic Jack.

We head on. Jack and Wayne still have Mohawks to get. This is where the new ink on my leg is going to pay off. When I am texting all our mates telling them what ridiculous haircuts they are getting. And ridiculous they are. Wayne is particularly annoyed by this, since he values his hair fairly highly. Jack on the other hand, already has a shit lid, so it doesn't matter so much. Until she gets it wrong and shaves all of the back of his hair, leaving just a tuft on top. My point to him was this: your lid is now so shit, you may aswell just go for the Lomu approach. He toyed with the idea, but resinged himself to a shit tuft on top. Absolutely ridiculous.

We get to a lovely little square in the centre of town. This is going to be the setting for the afternoon, soaked in sunshine, it is actually very nice. We do our best to ruin the scene. We chose a seat to maximise sunshine. We've picked a bar where a wedding reception is taking place, and have got some beers in. The bride steps out looking glamorous. Only one thing to do really: someone has to make a speech. 5s. Jack loses. Clinks his glass, nods at the bride, and opens with: “I haven't known the bride and groom long, but just looking at them, I can tell they will be happy”. He winks at the bride as she walks off.

Not wanting to be outdone, Danny steps up to the plate and makes a speech, involving as many of the local characters as possible, waving and winking at each one as he tells of their tirals and tribulations, giving them all nicknames. They all look at him funny, but none say anything.

Our waiter, Andreas, is loving us. Probably because we have already racked up a £100 tab and it's 2:30. Time for shots? Yes. Some rank honey shots, cheers Andreas. A few mores beers and we're steaming. Jack reckons he can do 100 push ups in a row. He gets down, to start off, and we soon realise he doesn't actually know how to do a push up correctly . Pathetic.

As a punishment, we force him to strip to his boxers, they are pink and black striped. He is about to do a dash from one end of the square to the town hall at the other and back again. He's off. Jack, running through the town square at 3pm in his boxers is one of the best things I've seen this weekend, people are pointing and laughing as he parades himself about as camp as anything I've ever seen!

The fun doesn't stop there. We look at the pack of cigarettes that I've just bought, and only one thing comes to mind: a smoke off. How fast can one actually smoke a cigarette?

Given none of smoke, what will be the reaction to the nicotine hit? Will this be fun? Well, reader, all three questions answered below.

My idea, so I get to set the pace. A respectable 1 minute 49 seconds. I'm high off the nicotine, but I feel fine, I'm giggling. Up steps Jack. Now the fun starts for me. Firstly, he takes 20seconds to get started. First drag:poor. 1 minute passes, he's coughing and spluttering everywhere. He can't smoke. Let alone smoke quickly. He decides to take the no hand approach, and puffs on it. He's speeding up, but my time has already passed. All of a sudden, the cigarette falls from his mouth and down his shirt, he jumps up in agony from the cigarette burn. He clearly doesn't want to finish it, but he isn't getting off that lightly. We make him finish it, and to his credit, he does, in a time approaching 3 minutes. Poor technique.

Danny's go, and he's put in a respectable effort, just shy of breaking the two minute barrier. I'm winning, one to go, and Wayne can't smoke for shit, I can taste victory behind the smokey flavour.

Up steps Wayne. Lighting time: good. Probably on a par with me. What happens next is amazing. He ploughs through it, taking in huge drag after huge drag. Some quality smoking. He's finished, it's over, Wayne has won in a time of 1:15. Incredible (although to be surpased by Danny back in London, with an incredible time of 1 minute 4 seconds).

Wayne, clearly proud of himself, has hit the deck. His 6'5 giant body can't take all that nicotine. He's withering on the floor in pain, whilst the 3 of us wet ourselves laughing at the sight of a 6'5" man dying from Nicotine poisoning. He doesn't get up for a good 5 minutes, whilst the cold sweats pass. Classic smoking.

A game of 5s is next of the itinery of things to do in Pula. The two losers have to hold hands for an hour. Wayne and I lose and sit there in the sun holding hands, Croatians find this behaviour weird, but we get on with 3 more beers and 2 more shots.

We actually have a very senisble conversation about our jobs, our thoughts about our future and philosophy - given the amount we'd drunk, this was weird.

Meanwhile, Danny has turned to me and said: “mate, I'm so pissed. I have no idea where I am” Classic Danny Fingers!

An hour's up and it's 5 pm. I like, very much, to do something called floor swimming. This is where you lie on the floor and pretend to swim. This obviously means you have to get down there initially. How do you do these? A good swan dive. Only in Pula, we do this from a chair, onto concrete. Jack decides to give it a go first. He's landed on his feet! This isn't how you swim! I'm so angry at him, I thought he was better than that. I get onto a chair. Andreas is shouting at me telling me not to do it. A semi crowd has gathered. I need to nail this swan dive. I dive up, and crash to the floor, mainly on my body and hands. My thumb has swollen up, I think it's broken. Oh well, I showed Jack, I win.

An English lad has just sat down behind us to enjoy a quiet drink before he heads out on a date. We get him over, to give him a few “tips”. These mainly revolve around the word r.a.p.e, as we figure this is the best way for him to get laid. Jack and I sit and chat shit to him for another half an hour, whilst Wayne and Danny have crossed the square to get dinner. Jack and I head over.

What happens next in this story, is epic. I understand I have gone on for a while here, so you will have to wait for the next installment of the Croatia story. It's good. Trust me.

Happy hunting


Monday, 11 April 2011

Welcome to the Penthouse

Ladies and Gents

After the carnage that was Pula, I'll be honest, it's taken my body and mind well over a week to recover from the 5 days of abuse I put it through.

I strolled into work on Mondya morning, with the Mohawk I had got in Pula still very much shaved into my head. Now this is a totally acceptable haircut in the Eastern Bloc, and very possibly even in East London, but I can safely and unequivocally clarify that this is not an acceptable haircut for a respectable office in the City!

Having to spend 20 minutes in front of a mirror gelling a mohawk to your head, and trying to creat a quiff to make it look acceptable, before heading to a barber's at 10am on a Monday morning, to have your head completely shaved is not the ideal start to the working week........

Never the less, I survived the week. Mainly via my countless conversations with both Danny and Peter about the atrocities that we put ourselves through in Pula.

Friday night roles around, and consists of a couple of sociable beers on the South Bank with Danny, Theo and Theo's Mrs (Megan).

Danny's ex walks into the same bar that we're in, and he panics. Now they didn't have a good reak up at all, she didn't want to break up, which makes encounters like this even more awkward.

Not wanting any awkwardness, Danny decides to do what any lad would do - run! he literally takes off at full speed sprinting away from the bar, weaving in and out of the tourists who are queuing up to get on the London eye. his Ex watches this whole thing unfold. Brilliant.

5 minutes later, Danny returns, tail well and truly between his legs. He doesn't speak to his ex, but she knows the score. She stays inside and doens't come to talk to us!

Friday ends up being relatively sensible as Danny and I are doing a 70 mile cycle the following day (agreed, we're pretty much heroes), and don't want to have a heart attack half way round.

having sent at least 4 mildly harrassing texts to girls each, we head home.

Danny and I arrive back in one piece from the cycle, just, and decided that as we have had our first Tit Monday of the year, it is now definitely time for BBQ season to begin.

Our BBQ is pretty wild. we got so excited about having a BBQ that we actually forgot to invite anyone else. Well, aside from the pissed up texts that Danny and I had sent to a few pieces of snatch the evening before.

Annoyed at the  time, that none of the girls had accepted the invite to the BBQ, we were actually quite glad that none of them had been able to turn up, as it would have potentially been one of the most awkward (if not amazing) BBQs of all time.

We head out later in the evening, after a brief cameo from Bruce, and decide not to head to our local club. My first night out in a while which hasn't been to our local club.

Slightly concerned, as I have an excellent pick up record in there, that picking up girls may be mildly more challenging, I put on my 'Party pants'.

Not the Dublin Party Pants, but the tried and tested, Orange Y Fronts. They have a 100% pick up ratio. I'm confident that I will continue this ratio once more!!

Now the club we head to is a slightly trendier version compared to where we normally hang out, and as such there are good looking girls EVERYWHERE!

Danny and I panic! We've been on a sparkling run of form of late, but I'lll be honest, the quality hasn't been that high.

In retail terms, I'm a high volume producer of poor quality goods. High revenue, Low margins and high stock turnover.

We've basically moved from Lidl to Waitrose. This is concerning, as i don't think my classic, 'Drop the chin, double row in tactic is going to work here.

But, as with any shopping trip, you've just got to hunt around a bit and find the bargains. Even waitrose has bargains.....

Whilst waiting for our drinks, and scanning the room for noshable victims, Danny and I do what we do best. Body pop. This always gets the girls interested in our local club. 5 minutes later and after some superb moves, there is still a worryingl large gap around us on the dance floor. None of the minge is biting on the bait we're throwing out.

Concerned, we head to the bar and begin chinning shots. May as well lower the standards, even further than they begin at.

Right about now, a big crowd of people we know from Uni turn up. Interesting. Girls, who we have a link to, but don't know well enough so that it would be awkward if we nosh. We have an in!

Now Danny and I are chatting away to one girl, who we know, but don't really know. She is widely accepted as being a honey, and as such danny and I are taking no chances.

We start double teaming her with gags, bringing out 2 man body pops and generally play off one another until she is putty in our hands. Danny is going ot enjoy this one! have we finally worked out the best way to chat up good looking girls? This is yet to be confirmed, but the tag team body pop approach has a 1 from 1 sucess rate so far.

I head outside into the Kill zone or 'Smoking Zone', to both cool down as my face is on fire with sunburn from earlier in the day, and to get talking to some nosh. I succeed in both.

Cool face in place, I openup with a girl who looks like she has a relatively epic set of cans. I'm excited.

After a few cheap jokes, we're discussing the merits of chest hair, or lack of in my case, and before I know it, I'm making my pecs dance for her and getting her to rate my nipples out of 10. (If you're interested, they got a solid 8.5).

Danny arrives, and so do some of the girls friends, I'm going to call her Ursula, the one that I was talking to.

I say a cheap pun, and she laughs. Inspired, and wildly overconfident, I tell her that I can make a pun on ANY TOPIC that she gives me. I've backed myself.

now don't get me wrong, I love a good pun, and have a real penchant for Dad based humour - but ANY TOPIC, really? jack's only gone and bloody backed himself into a corner here!

She accepts the challenge;

Ursula "Ok, your topic is boobs - go!"

Now this is a favourite topic of mine, and if i were ever to sit in the Mastermind hot seat, i would strongly consider this alongside Capital Cities as my specialist subject.

Jack "i told you i CAN make puns on any subject, i'm going inside to buy a jug, i'll stop now, i'm just milking it, no i'm really going to stop, i'm making a tit out of myself!"

Some beautiful dad puns.

not convinced on any topic, she challenges me again

Ursula "ok - topic is your face"
Jack "i nose loads of puns for this one, some area bit cheeky though, and yes -they are all tongue in cheek. Come on, you're nostril trying to make me crack puns are you?"

she's giggling. Now this went on for about another 20 minutes, and after the volume of puns I was flying out with, I'm seriously considering creating a low quality christmas cracker aimed at single fathers, who'll be spending Xmas on their own and will appreciate humour like this.

We head back inside, and I promise to find her later to go and dacne with her. I'm lying, she's pretty rank, despite having a good sense of humour.

i head upstairs and find everyone else, i've lost Danny by this point as he's busy getting his game on with the girl from Uni. I'm not going to initerrupt that, I know the rules, so head upstairs.

Both of Danny and Theo's (my 2 housemates) ex girlfriends are here tonight, and while they are all on fairly good talking terms, what happened next is still pretty weird.

We were dancing away in a harmless enough circle, arms interlocked, looking a little like an NFL team psyching themselves up to take the field. Excited about this, and given that my nipples have already had some air time this evening with a positive result, i rip open my shirt, and tell both Danny and Theo's ex girlfriends to suck on my nipples. In a weird moment, they both agree, so for a full 10 seconds, i have both my housemates ex girlfriends sucking on my nipples, while I celebrate. I really enjoyed this moment.

Not content with this moment being weird enough, Danny's ex suggest that we have a 3 way pull. I'm game. jack's always game, even if it's definitely with 2 people I probably shouldn't be doing this with. We all lean in and have a solid little 3 way kiss. Super.

Right at this point, Danny walks in, is he mad? Shocked? No. He wants in as well.

So we elevate froma 3 way to a 4 way pull.

It probably should have stopped there, but it didn't. Danny and I want to see the 2 girls kiss. They agree so long as Danny and I kiss.

They think that this is going ot be a deal breaker, sorry girls, but I've kissed pretty much every male friend i have, including one too many a passionate one, and a very passionate weekend with Kelly, Robin and Peter in Birmingham, for this to even remotely bother me.

After our kiss, Danny and I stand back as we watch the 2 girls kiss. I'm really excited. For about the next 5 minutes we carry on, and I have both Danny and Theo's ex's sucking my tongue. This was a real highlight of the night, I've got to be honest!

As we leave the club, I'm all lined up to go back to an after party with a very good looking girl, a solid 8, who I've been flirting with for a lot of the night. I feel that this is going well, and I'm expecting big things.

That is until I bump into Ursula downstairs by the exit. She asks me why I didn't come and dance with her. I mumble my apologies, grinning about the togue licking which has just happening, and not explaining that ursula was not very attractive. She forgives me and we head outside.

i ask where Ursula lives, and when it turns out that I live closer, I tell her she's coming back to mine. Once again in a moment of panic, I've binned off a good looking girl, to take the sure fire option with a rank one. Classic Jack.

danny stumbles over and informs me that the girl he was pulling has gone home, so i tell him Ursula has a friend. He's keen, despite the fact she's about 35 and rank.

We jump into a taxi, and as we do so, Danny's ex is still trying to convince us to go back wt=ith them to the afterparty - there's about a 5 - 10% part of me that genuinely believes me that we'd ahve ahd some sort of orgy had we gone back there.....

Danny shouts out the window if Theo wants to come with us. He asks where we're going, and when we reply that we're going back to ours for an orgy, he declines the offer. Wisely.

When i actually look round the cab to see who i'm actually with, I see me, Danny, Ursula, Ursula's rank old mate, ursula's cousing, and Ursula's cousins boyfriend. This is fucking odd. But as always, in for a penny, in for a pound!

We arrive home, and This is the state of the girl that we've managed to bring back as she passes out with an Irish hat pulled down over her head.

After some more puns around menthol cigarettes - (they're mint, you must be menthol to smoke them, i'm running out of puff with theses gags), I take Ursula upstairs.

While she's in the toilet, Danny runs up to me and tells me that she's from a family where she has 12 brotheres and sisters. This implies severe fertility. Something of which I want no part of.

Now a stat about Jack, is that he's not worn a condom since 2006! A stat of which I am rightly very proud.

In this ensuing 5 years, I have had a lot of sex, and a fair amount of this has been with girls from relatively dubious locations. Now, STD's don't phase me, but the thought of a young jack really does. So, incredibly begrudgingly, and furious that my record is coming to an end, I slip on a Jonny.

I start going to work. Now I usually expect that with a Jonny on and being shitfaced will lead me to lasting longer, possibly even a respectable amount of time. I was wrong.

I came while drilling her with her legs pinned by her ears. But, by no means was she done. She wanted to carry on. Fuck.

Now did i just lay down and go to sleep? Tell her to fuck off? No, I though she would rob me if I did this. So i did what every bloke has done at some point. I faked it.

I spent the next 20 minutes banging the shit out of her with a relatively limp dick. It would be like using a 'giant' marshmallow as a dildo. Pretty ineffective.

To be fair, she rode the absolute shit out of me for about 15 minutes, and as she was scremaing I decided that despite the belly she possessed, the sneakily small chubby boobs she had  and the fact she was riding my marshmallow dick, I was actually having a fucking good time. So good, i passed out right there.

Well done jack.

The next morning, I wake up and contrive to kick Ursula out as quickly as I can. This takes a lot longer than I owuld have ideally liked - but in this time, she gives me one belting idea.

A guest book!

Much like a hotel, I now have a guestbook, that I will make each girl I sleep with sign, and leave a comment. Or as Robin describes it 'Positive criticism'.

My coment from Ursula was the following

"Definitely laughed me into bed, ha ha!
Could improve his cuddling technique
and the snoring was very off putting while I was trying to ride him Dry!"

I'll be honest, I was fucking happy with this. She'd laughed at my puns, didn't get cuddled, and I'd fallen asleep while pretending that i hadn't already cum. Classic #Goodegg.

The guestbook will be filled in going forwards and I will of course be updating you all with the comments.

To prove how my 2011 is going, I have a spreadsheet tracking the rankings of girls I've ever slept with, and as you can see, being a good egg is costing me points. A trade off which I'm more than happy to accept.

jsut to prove that I'm not the only one of my friends who is a dick (loveable twat!), here is an extract from Kelly and Peter about the weekends that they've just had.

From Kelly

1.       Summary of Fri Night: Me and friend dominating Fez then pulling two big rough birds who then threw up and left
2.       Summary of Sat Night: Leaving The Ship circa 0030 with friends etc. Find it funny to pick this girl up and put her on parked car. Carry on walking while she tries to jump off. She stacks it off the car onto road and feels pain in wrist. I feel guilty and take her back to hers. She goes to the bathroom to throw up lots. She comes back and we play touch. She throws up more. She comes back and I put in a big hit – we play full contact. Wake up next morning. She doesn’t remember me putting her on the car. I tell her she climbed up and jumped off. She apologises for being ridiculous. I leave. She goes to A&E and wrist now in a sling with ligament damage. Oops!!

This translates into him dominating a girl in the street, taking her home, fingering her, she throws up, then he smashes her. Real evidence of a good egg!

From Peter

1.       Me and my housemate pulled two girls and got them back on Saturday night. After realising they weren’t going to put out, I went and put a tiger onesie on and lay on the floor whilst I roared at them for half an hour. I really got into it and bit one on the leg, and clawed the other one.

Just a bunch of good eggs having a bloody good time.

Until next time

Kisses and LOLs


Classic Pula Day 1

Ladies and Gents,

Following on from 'The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse', I am proud and giddy with excitement to explain to you that the next 2 days of the trip will be explained to you by Mr Peter Hunter himself.

His own bog can be found here, but fear not - for the lazy among you, I have included his post below.

We pick up the story at 6.30am in Stanstead Airport - enjoy. Pictures to follow!

Post by Mr. Peter Hunter - Classic Pula

Evening gents,

Turning up at Stansted airport, still absolutely wasted from the Wednesday night at 6:30am on 45 minutes sleep should have really, in hindsight, been an indication that the next two days in Pula (a small town on the coast of Croatia) were going to be out of control. The touring party consisted of myself, Jack, Wayne (mate of mine from Manchester) and Danny.

Having somehow got through customs in pink cowboy hats, Wayne and I turn around to see Jack having his bag searched. The security man starts looking through his stuff. First thing he pulls out: a tiger print all in one. A slight smirk comes across his face. Next: a fluffy pink wig. He bursts out laughing, "these lads are out for some harmless fun" he thinks to himself, and lets Jack through, wishing him all the best for his boozy weekend. He has no idea.

Wayne and I have been suckered into some baileys tasting at quarter to 7. The next thing I know, we have bought two bottles, and are chinning shots between the three of us. Hazlenut? Sure. Only the best for the boys. Is this the right thing to be doing? Probably.

On the plane, we have finished our first bottle and are cracking into our second. Things are going down hill. We are all shattered, but no one dares sleep for fear of what the others will do.

Clearly, we have not booked anywhere to stay, so after landing, the sensible thing to do, is clearly to walk through the centre of Pula in pink cowboy hats and fluffy pink wigs, looking for a bar. We sit at the first one we see, it's 11:30am, but it's a scorching day. So scorching, Jack kindly purchases every tourist a pair of flair sunglasses, something we are all more than happy to wear. Sitting there in our love heart shaped sunglasses, chinning beers, waving at local honeys and talking nonsense really gets me going. I'm excited, a little too excited for the next few hours. Looking around, all the locals are smoking. So as not to disrespect their culture, we all decide we chain smoke in Croatia. Danny gets the first round of cigs in. A 20 pack, gone within 30 minutes, some pretty epic smoking.

All of a sudden, the only sensible decision of the holiday gets made-we should probably eat something as we don't want to be so pissed we can't talk by 4pm. We spot a lovely little place up on top of a building where we can sit in the sun, eat, chin beers and stare at the local clunge. Our waitor, Igor, was a lovely chap. Recommending us meals, bringing us beers on demand. Having stayed for 2 more hours, we are all comfortably full, boozed and ready to go find a hotel. We realise we have no way to stay, so we ask Igor and he points us in one direction. We trust him, it's Igor for Christs sake! Bad move. He's pointed us straight at a casino. Cheers Igor. No one had to be told what would happen, we all knew. We don't even look at each other, not even an affirming nod.

We start playing 5s for bets. This is clearly not the first game of 5s we've played, but I honestly can't remember too much about the holiday. Wayne looses and places £50 on red. A loss. We all casually lose about £100 each, but no one thinks anything of it. It's monopoly money! A few beers in the casino and we are ready to find a room.

Further up the street is a delightful little hotel, thankfully they take our passports as we walk in-my ticket home safe, we head up to the rooms. To celebrate our passports being safe, Wayne and I decide to have a little wrestle. He's 6'5' and built like a brick shit house. I'm not small by any means, but within 20 seconds of walking into that room, I had been slam dunked into the cupboard. Wanting revenge, I dip my head and charge at him. 6'5 of timber falls onto the bed, which instantly snaps in one corner. Classic move. Satisfied we've broken enough in the room, we head out, not to find dinner, but to get ink.

Earlier in the day, we had made a pact of ridiculous proportions. We were all going to get either ink or a mohawk. The sensible men (Jack and Wayne, well, Jack only went for the mohawk as he already has ink from the last time he lost a bet read about it here) choose the mohawk-granted you look like a cock for a day or two, but after shaving your head, hair grows back and in a month, no one will know. The not so sensible men (Danny and myself) viewed this pact a little differently. See, we both like sex. We are both having regular sex, and although we a both very much unattached, having the regularity is something not to be sniffed at. This for me was the difference between sex the following week, and no sex the following week. So I took the short term view, and went for ink.

We had seen an ink parlour earlier in the day, and head there. It's shut. A sign? No. We jump in a taxi and head 20 minutes to the next town over, to a run down resort where everything was shut. Apart from one ink parlour. A sign? Yes. We should go through with this. A woman was lying in there, naked getting her back done. He asks us to come back half an hour later, so we do head out to find more beer. After chinning a pint, we head back. Danny's up first. He chooses to get the nuber 76 inked on him inside a black circle, on his inside ankle. A testament to the house he lived at whilst at university. “All the lads will get one!” he proclaimed. (Upon returning to the UK, none of the lads are getting one). Whilst Danny is getting inked, Wayne has clearly had enough. He has passed out. Granted, we are 26 hours into what will turn out to be a 36 hour bender, just taking a breather. I take the opportunity to stick my cock in his ear. It's funny isn't it? Why was that so fun? Why did everyone get so much enjoyment out of watching me put my penis into another man's auditory canal? Either way, I got one over on him.

Danny's done. I'm up. What do I get? Esteemed readers, now is the time you cross my mind. I want to get #goodegg inked on my ankle, for you lot. I spend 10 minutes deliberating over the font, and get it done. Although it looks a little like #goode 99, I'm pretty pleased with it, I must confess.

We jump in a taxi back to Pula, inked up, and search in vein for a restaurant. Nothing. This town is tiny! We all know where we are going. We head back to Igor. He's happy to see us. He brings us out four meat dishes, and shit loads of wine. Now this is where we start to hit it hard. Really hard. We nail a bottle of wine, very quickly, each. On top of the 27 hours previous, this tips us over the edge. Igor has brought us some B52s. We are sucking fumes through a straw. We are chinning pints. We are having a good time. Danny and I head out for yet another cigarette. When we get back in, Wayne and Jack are chatting to Igor.

Wayne: “where's good to go tonight?”

Igor: “what you want? You want to fuck Croatian girls?”

He says this very aggressively. Emphasising the fuck. Then he does something strange. He spits in his hand and slaps it against his other one.

YES IGOR! This is what we want to do! We want to FUCK and SPIT! YES!

Igor: “Go to Ulyesis, I see you in there later, we fuck Croatian girls”

He spits in his hands again, classic Igor.

The time has come, we are all wasted. We tip Igor probably more than a week's wage, and leave. We have vague directions to Uleysis and start following the noise.

Uleysis turns out to be in a disused factory. It's 1am and it's empty. We start talking to the limited amount of clunge in there. Nothing. We need a new tactic. We play 5s, losers had to befriend the skin head lads in the corner, and get them to introduce us to some of the honeys. Wayne loses and off he trots, only to return having had death stares. We are going to have to do it the only way we know how. A dance off. Danny and I go for it. We are pulling out all the moves. Danny has decided he's done enough to score. The best way to approach a Croatian girl: lick there face. Foolproof. Only if they don't have boyfriends. Danny gets slapped! Slapped by a man. Shame on both of them really.

We see Igor, and he introduces us to some clunge. I nosh one, Jack and Danny get one each. Wayne is no where to be seen though. They are all hideous. Do we care? Of course not! It's 2am, and they open up the doors to what turns out to be a giant rave. It's packed. The rest of the night is a blur.

On leaving at 6am, we can't find Wayne. We look everywhere. No one has seen him for 3 hours. We head back to the hotel, but that bugger the Casino catches our gaze and we head in. Upon walking in, Wayne chants his own name. We run over. He got kicked out the club after he pissed in the sink

Bouncer: “would you do this in your own country?”

Wayne: “actually, yes

He was out and had been half gambling, half sleeping since. We head back to get some much needed sleep, tomorrow will be a big day.....

Happy hunting


Thursday, 7 April 2011

The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse Part 2


So we'll pick up the story where we left off.

Myself, Peter and Wayne are marching, literally marching, to a student club in the centre of London. I'll be honest, in this company, I could not be happier with the company that I'm in.

We join the queue and suddenly think that we've not got any student ID and we're going to get binned off, with all this naive clunge swarming around us. Wayne even takes his pink cowboy hat in a panic. Furious, Peter and I lambast him and he wisely agrees that we can do this.

Convinced that we're on a hen do, the bouncers let us in. Bags, coats and pride checked into the cloakroom we stroll to the bar.

For those of you unaware of this little Oasis of a nighclub in central London - it's 90p a drink, and £1 a shot. We go mental. Wayne has to buy the round on his car - £10 minimum. All in.

We find ourselves a nice little dark spot away from the bar and close to the dancefloor. Perfect lurking territory.

We play a game of 5's and decided that all of us, not just the loser, but all of us, have to chat up girls by not saying a single word to them.

Now, in a normal night club, if you grab a girl by the hand and pull her over to you, you're likely to be told to fuck off pretty sharpish. Not in a student club. They're fucking keen!

Peter's up first, and he pulls a solid chubby looking 6/10 over to him, rather than waddle away, she smiles touches his arm and tries to talk to him. Now Peter has a fucking conundrum - does he become a shit lad, break the game of 5's and probably nosh this bird. Or does he, stare at her, not say a word and try and chat her up and not say a word? Being the man he backed up good egg in true style later in the story, he obviously doesn't say a word. She looks confused, throws out a few more flirty gestures and eventually leaves a few minutes later, frustrated. Peter's fuming, but pissing himself.

This goes on for a good 20 minutes, until we've exhausted all of the available stock within walking distance from us. WE move on. Unsuprisingly back to the bar.

Whilst throwing double rums all over our face, I tell Peter that I can pull any girl in this club. Classic arrogant Jack.

Peter as ever, pounces on my arrogance, and rather than let me off with this outrageous statement, he challeges me.

Peter: "I bet youcan't pull someone int the next 2 minutes Jack.
Jack: "2 minutes? deal!"
Peter"Clock starts......NOW!"

Now, do I sprint off in a moment of panic to find myself some absolutely rank bird, to win the bet? NO. Not Jack. Jack backs himself. Classic Jack.

I sip my drink and chat with Peter and Wayne whilst looking st my watch. 30 seconds - still relaxed. 45 seconds, still relaxed.

Wayne "Jack, what the hell are you doing?"
Jack "There's no way I need 2 minutes, I'm better than that!"

Bang - clock hits 1 minute in. I go to work.

Straight to two fairly good looking girls, ambitious. I've waited a minute to be arrogant, I can't back down now......!

Straight to the point. I tel her that if I can kiss a girl in the next.... 54 seconds, my friend over behind my shoulder will jump straight on the first train to Glasgow, a 8 hour train. I stand there, smile at both of them - classic eye flirting. Going well. Or is it? No more action, no words, nothing! I'm panicking, furious.

I speak to her again, and she tells me she's not heard what I've been saying. Shit - 35 seconds wasted. I look at my watch. 1 min 41 seconds gone. 10 seconds of fast forward chat, followed by a quick smile, and BANG!!

1 minute 53 seconds down, and Jack is in, face deep. I only needed 44% of my allotted time. Classic winner.

I pull her for a minute longer, say thank you, and walk back to Peter and Wayne. Both impressed, despite Peter being clearly annoyed, he straight arms his drink as agreed. Good man.

We now head onto the dance fllor to throw down some serious flair. Well that is, until Peter rips off his top, grins at me and long arms his drink. Well i say long arm, he just pours a drink all over the top of his head and over a group of guys behind him.

They look angry. But when you have a 6'5" man in a red check cowboy shirt and a pink cowboy hat, there's no way anyone is going to kick off. We're ok.

In honour of Peter's selfless act of genius, we order 3 more bottles each, take our tops off and pour them all over ourselves. That is until a bouncer grabs Wayne's hand and glares at hime.

Shit, we're done for. Fair enough, god night lads. C'est la vie, Auf Wiedersehn, adios. Home time?

"Put you shirts on lads. And have fun!"

What, we're staying in? here we go lads, life line!!

I look around and I've lost Peter. Sod it, he'll be out with his waders on in a river of clunge somewhere, let's move on lads.

I find Wayne sat on a sofa talking to a girl we'd tried to silently chat up earlier. I waltz over, confident.

I sit down and begin to work. Chatting away, turns out Wayne isn't actually mooching, but talking to a family friend. I'm in!

Now that's until I see family friends hammered mate staggering in. Winner, I've found my target.

I beckon her over and begin tlaking to her. we go to the bar and i impress her by buying two drinks. £1.80, and she's mine.

We sit back down, and she sits on my lap. I can feel her wet snatch through her pants, on my thigh. No joke. This girl is prettyrank, but I'm so excited about this.

After pulling her, she tells me she wants to be an actuary. I tell her I know one and that I'll drop him an email tomorrow and get her an internship. Classic lie! She falls for it, and straight ack into noshing and rubbing her wet fanny. I'm high as a kite by this point.

Peter texts me asking where we are, the river must have run dry on the dance floor. I let him know we're by the front door, and he heads over to find us.

Impressed by the situation I'm in, he tells me about the birds that he's been noshing. We're both impressed with each other. Classic Good eggs.

Peter, is obvioulsy disappointed he's been left out at this point, and grins. He grabs her hand, and starts rubbing my dick with her hand. Unashamedly I get a semi. 2 of us are happy one's not. is it me who's got a semi from effectively my mate rubbing my knob, or Peter wh's effectively rubbing his mate off? Neither, this rank bird who can barley stand looks quite ashamed. Still wet as i can feel it on my thigh, but a bit ashamed.

At least I thought it was shame until she wobbles and tells me she's leaving. I'm pretty sure that this is a sign for me to go and finger the shit out of her outside. Fortunately this coincides with the club kicking us out.

We walk outside and are confroned by this mess who I've been pulling.............

A girl sat on a step, covered in vomit. epic. Classic end to a night.

Peter was lunging for her mate - Wayne was still lost inside, we didn't care, we were going to nosh the shit out of her.

Peter, spots family friend looking at the sloshpot that I got with, and debates whether to look after her. Turns out that she's not all that interested in helping her mate out at all. Sensing this vulnerability, and potentially without a place to stay, Peter pounces. he realises that Wayne has drunk himself out of the game and sees this as his opportunity to go in for the pull..........

Awkwardly she actually seems to be enjoying this moment. However, I can safely tell you that she was not having as good a time as it may at first appear.

At this point, I now see Peter on the verge of nosh and I'm staring at the abyss of a walk home and McDonalds on my own. I'm livid at the snatch that's covered herself in vomit sat looking at me with puppydog eyes.

Peter and I look at each other,

Jack "Mate, can I really take her home after she's just been chucking up for the last 20 minutes and looks rank?"
Peter "it's not the throwing up that's made her look rank!"
Jack "fair point"
Peter "You can definitely still take her home, I defintiely would!"
jack "yeh, you're right, it'd be worng to say No. Let's get a cab!"

Right at this point, where it's been agreed that i'm going to nosh a girl, who at best is a 4/10 (and I use a fairly generous grading system!), she throws up all over her legs and shoes. Pretty rank.

Peter and I look at each other again, and just nod. We both know the score, sometimes you've got to sacrifice a few things to get nosh, tonight, i was going to be sacrificing basic human sanitation and pride!

however, what tipped it over the edge was when she tried to stand up to get to the cab with us, and just slid face first into 30 minutes worth of vomit lying all over the floor. Now ont even Peter and I are going to be minge dinving in that!!

Fortunately Wayne is being thrown out the club, as the last man standing, and tells us we're leaving. We all agree.

After a brief trip through McDonalds, and the mandatory 20 McNuggets stop, we arrive home at 4.15am.

Our taxi to the airport leaves at 5am. No point sleeping, let's go rumble my housemates.

Now I should explain here that, we are all hugely committed to fancy dress and pranks (see Pula blog!). So Peter and Wayne had brought with them some costumes.

3 good costunes, and one booby prize. 3 tiger romper suits, and one bunny romper suit. We'd decided that as Danny hadn't come out for the evening, due to being on a date with is ex girlfriend, he was going to be the bunny.

We all climb into our Tiger suits, prowl upstairs, and dive all over Danny. The poor lad shits himself. 3 Tigers launching themselves all over you at 4.15am will do that to you.....

We decide tha the next logical step will be to go wake up the rest of my house. Obviously.

We chase Danny round the house for a bit, the old classic Tigers chasing a rabbit routine, and launch ourselves into Theo's room where he's fast asleep with his Mrs.

Theo loves it, his Mrs is less keen. Classic Tiger manouvere.

I head upstairs to grab my passport and pink wig for the trip to the airport and leave Peter and Wayne furiously wrestling in the living room. I come down 2 minutes later and find the pair of them spooning upside down on the floor. HWo said big cats aren't cute.

So day 2 ends with all round nosh, a 1 minute 53 win, wet student snatch, long arming, a girl lying in her own vomit, and 3 Tigers and a Bunny Rabbit wrestling.

48 hours into a 5 day trip, and we're on 2.5 hours sleep, and it's only going to get worse.

Arriving at Stanstead airport is where I shall leave you loyal readers, and I will leave you with this image as we entered Duty free at 6.30am

We have a real treat for you now readers. The next 2 days carnage, in Pula (Croatia, obviously), will be explained to you by none other than Mr. Peter Hunter himself.......!

This is the first guest publication from Peter's Perspectives

Ladies and gents - enjoy

Kisses and LOLs


Wednesday, 6 April 2011

The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse Part 1

Boys and Girls

I can safely say that the blog post that myself and Peter, and I are going to put up, is all about 5 of the most ridiculous days of my life. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of it, but it ended up, with 2 tattoos, 2 Mohawks and some severly deppleted bank accounts.

an example of the Shit Lid that I turned up to work with..........

Now I'm going to be writing about the build up to Croatia, and the come down, with Peter, telling you all about the carnage in between, sharing the blogging workload #Goodeggs.

So, the story begins on a Tuesday - obviously. Why would a 5 day bender not start 2 days into the working week?

I got a call from Danny in the middle of the afternoon to tell me that Sargeant was down for the evenin on leave from the Army again, and wanted to meet us for Beers. All very civilised sounding, I thought. Sure.

So we meet up in Covent Garden at about 6pm, and have a few civilised beeers, whilst talking about the last time we all saw each other. A couple of other lads from Uni joined us, who to be honest, I don't know all that well, and think they're pretty fucking awesome for no reason. Largely ignoring them, we concentrate on chinning beers.

Given that Danny and I are on holiday for Thursday and Friday, we decide that tonight, is actually our Thursday night out, and everyone who works, knows that Thursday is the new Friday. So we decide to get on it.

As ever, with Sargeant around, this is a shit idea, as that boy can really handle his drink.
Beers turn into Jaegerbombs, Jaegerbombs turn into more Jaegerbombs and more jaegerbombs turns into Tequila.

Leaving the bar we're in, and leaving the dickheads behind (he's just said, "there's no need for me to have a hangover tomorrow, can I have a blackcurrant squash please" - Fag), we head to a local student club where they serve £1 Tequila shots - we're almost bubbling with excitement at this stage. There's going to be student clunge everywhere. I can barely hide my rock on as i strut into the club.

it's fucking empty. Not a single person in the club.

Fuck it, let's ride it out. It's student prices anyway, and we've all got jobs - so if nothing else I'm going to feel like a fucking big deal while I order excessively large rounds.

45 minutes later and having actually spent quite a lot of money somehow, we stroll outsside, and decide to go to another club which is notorious for having drunk tourists in. Even better - they won't know what I'm saying, so my chat can be as shit as I like.

Instantly we target a group of brazilian girls - not your typical good looking brazilians with their ghetto booty's, flowing hair and delicious accents, no. These ones looked like they'd been dragged along on the side of what ever homemade shanty town raft they'd caught across the Atlantic. Fuck it, a brazilian girl is a brazilian girl. I'll retell the story, and let people conjur up their own images about the beauties I was getting with.

After a couple of jokes go flying over her head, she tells me she is going outside for a smoke. In sober terms, this probably means "fuck off you shit faced arsehole!", in drunk terms "Hey Jack, I know you don't smoke, but do you want to come outside with me and have 10 minutes stuffing your fingers in my fanny?"

I obvioulsy took it to mean the latter.

Now, let me tell you, I don't smoke. Not because I have any moral obligation against it, but more because I physically cannot do it, and in the process I look like a coughing, camp retard.

Was this going to stop me in my quest for nosh? Not a chance!

We strut outside to the smoking zone, or the 'Kill zone' as it's been aptly renamed, and I begin to get my flirt on. Well, I take a cigarette and instantly have problems lighting it. So i get her to show me how to light one. I smile (drool), as she helps me, and she giggles.
By this point, her friend, who's probably a 4/10 (compared to the 3/10 I'm chatting to) comes and joins us, aong with Danny and Sargeant. I'm instantly jealous.

I now see this 4/10 as the pinnacle of all my sexual desires, i can't stop thinking about her, and the terrible terrible sexual things that I would do to her. I'm furious. Why did i deal so early and bundle outside with the swamp donkey? Idiot.

Danny is cracking onto the 4/10 and I'm livid. I start to navigate myself away from the Beast and try to get chatting. we both start joking around and it's going well. Except the Beast has now got lonely and decides to join in. Bugger.

Danny and the 4/10 head back inside and I'm left outside with a half smoked cigarrette, a burning in my throat and a rank Brazilian Bird. Sod it - let's get it over and done with.

I look at her, and just face plant straight into her, before she even knows what's happening to her i've basically already cleaned out the inside of her mouth with my tongue. Winner! expecting to be pushed back, and probably slapped, she grabs my arse, and carries on.

Now, as soon as someone shows interest in me, I'm instantly attracted to them - it's a brute fact. (see screwing up my chances with my future Irish Wife!)

Now I'm stood outside in the killzone really going to town on this girl and i'm having a fucking fantastic time. People are right, smoking really is cool.

I go back inside, and she gives me her email address - I hadn't realised we were 14 years old, as she asked for my MSN address as well. I'll follow up on this point later, as I'm going to have some serious fun with this email address.

Once back inside, I find Danny and Sargeant at the bar with a collection of drinks around them. we chin them. Goodeggs.

I smash the top of dannys beer to make it froth up, and it goes all over his face. pissing mimself he does the same to mine. By this point, I'm so hammered that I don't even notice that he's completely sheared off the top of the bottle, and i'm about to drink from it. Fortunately i was stopped, otherwise I may have disfigured myself to the same point as most of the girls that I pull.

A&E visit avoided we decided to hit the dance floor, which almost instantly parted. 3 lads with a look of genuine aggression mixed with sexual intensity will do that to a crowd of girls.

never the less, we grab a couple each and begin a furious dance off against them. Weirdly they love it.

10minutes later, I'm face deep in a girl. Was she attractive? I genuinely don't know. All i Know is that i rubbed her boobs for a good 10 minutes while we basically became one entity the noshing was that aggressive.

Happy with my saliva exchange, I leave the dancefloor to go find Danny. I see himsat on a stool with a ginger girl straddling him - classic Danny!

We leave the club at about 3.30am, and we live a 20 minute walk from this place. Are we going to walk home? No chance, we're going to hire a fucking bicycle home and share one.

For those of you not in London, there is a scheme where you can hire a bike for a day for £1. This is cheap, and always cheaper than a cab.

Unperterbed by the fact we may kill ourselves, in a fit of giggles we withdraw one of these bikes.

Danny sits on the seat, and I stand up and pedal. We are absolutely pissing ourselves by this point and we are weaving all over the road as we fly past Trafalgar Square and the Houses of Parliament. As we round a corner on the pavement, we almost run over a copper. Shit - this is it, we're fucked!

We start bumbling out aologies, and how we're sober, and that Danny has hurt himself. Does the Policeman care? does he bollocks. He tells us to get on the road where it's 'safer', and have a fun journey home. #Goodegg.

I make Danny take the pedals as we cross the bridge, whcih turns out to be fucking hard work. We finally arrive back to ours at 5.20am, and as we've got some speed up on the bike, Danny thinks it'll be a funny idea to slam on the brakes. I couldn't disagree at the time.

The pair of us disappear over the top of the handle bars and land about 5ft away lying on the floor covered in bruises but absolutely pissing ourselves. A brilliant if not painful end to the night.

Wednesday was one of the most painful days of my life. Full of meetings and work to do, i think i must have genuinely offended about 60% of the people I work with given how much I stank of booze, and how much I didn't care that my farts must have been smelling like Josef Fritzl's basement!

I finally leave the office at 8.30pm, reeling after my 2.5 hours sleep and head to meet Robin, Jeff, Kelly, Smokey and the boys for an all you can eat Fajita eating contest. this is eactly what I needed.

As expected, true to form - Smokey dominates the race eating over 3 full plates of food.

I leave the restaurant, jump on a bike and pedal back to the centre where Peter and Wayne are waiting for me.

Now we all know Peter (If not, click on his name and find out more about him!)

Now Peter's friend Wayne, who I was meeting for the first time, defined the term Goodegg.

He was 6'5", dressed in a tight red check shirt, and a pink cowboy hat - if you can't imagine, he looked awkwardly similar to here). Absolutely superb, I was delighted with this effort and could not wait to take the pair of them to the infamous student night on Wednesdays in London - Cheapskates!! 

Ladies and Gents, get ready for day2!!

Kisses and LOLs