It was 10pm on a Sunday evening; I was aboard a landing flight into Dublin airport following a relaxing week in Madrid with two friends. I had indulged in the usual sea, sand and cocktail experience with great control and calming measure. Yes, I was at one with myself; totally at peace and at perfect zen with my CHI. My friend, sitting to my right turned to me and said; 'I cant wait to get into my own bed again'. I promptly replied; 'yeah me too, im nackered' - with that the plane wheels touched down on the Emerald Isle and 'LETS GET PISSSSSED!' inaudibly forced its way out of my mouth as if I was possessed by some kind of demon trying to tell a priest to shag off in Latin... Within moments of collecting my luggage I had already organised a band of troops for the liver assault. Doing nothing short of driving directly from the airport to the local pub, I met my crew waiting beer in hand at the bar, my spot reserved by their sides; I knew from that moment, that this was going to be a dangerous night...Fast forward to the next morning, I've woken up completely paralised with a hangover. I can feel grains of something chafing against my half naked body in the bed. I look under the duvet and see hundreds of sand particles all over the place. 'Beach party in the nightclub, great'. I instantly remembered that because the nightclub was filled with 30 tonnes of sand I decided to lie down and completely bury myself in the hope that from the outset, my friends would look down, as if in some kind of army movie where the soldiers hunting them have been trained to blend into any surrounding; and see only my eyes right before I would rise from the sand in slow motion and instantly break their necks. Unfortunately, it being a nightclub in which its capacity is somewhere in the region of 500 people, I was instead trampled close to death. Round 1, Alcolor. In round 2, we had all left the nightclub and we were standing outside mingling with the locals in search of a house party. When the hope of continued lunacy seemed all but lost, I decided to bring 4 of my wildly drunken ape-friends back to my house where my father and mother were sleeping soundly against the quiet of the night. We get there and raid the fridge, remaining completely silent. But then Alcolor delivered his third blistering blow; we decided it would be a good idea for some strange reason, to sit out my back garden in the soothing -63 degrees and continue to pluck the alcohol to our veins. There we sat, drinking directly out of a 1962 chevignon blanc bottle and laughing at the moving hallucinations that pitch blackness and stupid volumes of Jesus-juice makes you see. After the next door neighbour shouted out the window 'David will you be quiet, its 4am on a Sunday' and feeling the onset of a sure-fire cold, Alcolor was really winning the fight (yes, I hate it when people get my name wrong. I dont care if my brothers name is David - I AM A LIVING BREATHING INDIVIDUAL WITH FEELNGS AND EMOTIONS). So we moved inside and up to my bedroom, which proved to be the 'game set and match' for the already leading contender. Why? - There, hoisted on my wall, were two professionally sharpened, full tech samurai swords and a set of nunchucks. My friend recounted me trying to display my skill with the latter weapon and described the exhibition as 'spectacular' - not because of my awesome skill but because I let the nunchucks fly out of control knocking myself unconscious for a number of seconds. But like all heavyweights, Alcolor saved his best til' last; so im lying in my bed, theres sand everywhere, im bruised to hell and wait a minute, my arm is stuck to the bed sheets... Then I get a text message from one of my last-night-in-attendance friends and it reads; 'What happened last night? I have stab wounds all over me'. I call him and we simply cannot recall what happened. I turn to look at why my arm is stuck to the bed sheet and then I realise what has happened. I peel the sheet away from my arm to reveal a nasty open wound. I scurry to the bathroom and spend the next few minutes cleaning this 3 inch gaping wound on my arm; As I nurture it with a bandage I desperately go over all of the events of the night; I recall that the beginning of our drunken madness was marked by my best friend doing a handstand into the live singer in the local pub (the twanging sounds of the interupted guitar strings and the distortion from the amplifier still ring in my ear). After that I begin to get flashbacks of me trying to lift a girl on the dance floor, show boating to the lads while I positioned her body in mid air to give her a make-believe spine-buster; only to discover that either she was too heavy or I was too weak as the downward momentum proved too much for me to control; resulting in what others perceived to be as me rugby tackling her into the DJ box. But I just couldnt figure out what happened to my arm. I lie back into bed, now wide awake and feeling utterly disgusting when I begin to look through the media on my mobile phone. I open the video folder and sure enough, there is a fresh recording... With great hesitance I open the video. At first it is just a still recording of one of the corners in my bedroom, TV and guitar in view; but quickly there is movement; From each side of the frame, enters my friend and I branishing the samurai swords. Facing eachother with absolute focus. I could not believe my eyes when I witnessed what ensued.... Alcolor is not evil because of what he does to people; he is evil because of what he makes people do to themselves and eachother. The wound on my arm was too big for me to ignore, so the following day I went to a chemist to buy paper stitches. Upon being quized by the pharmacists as to how I got the wound; I simply told them I saw an old lady being mugged and when I tried to help, I came out of the confrontation with 'this' - as I point to the deep gash. They thought it was so heroic, they gave me the stitches for free. Should I feel guilty? Probably.... do I? - Not in the slightest....
Bottomline no 20 - A drunken, fully fledged Samurai sword fight is neither funny nor cool; Stay in school kids.
Next Post: Alcohol makes us do the 'stupidest' things - part 2; 'The punching game'
Slan mo Chara,
Deco
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