The internet is stuffed to the gills with listicles like ‘what kind of drunk are you?’, ‘the seven stages of drunkenness’, ‘fifteen types of drunk you’ll encounter in fresher’s week’, and if you’ve read as many of them as I have, chances are you’re a hot medley of nearly all of them.
As I sit here at my computer, sweating out my frost bite and sweeping flecks of dried skin that have fallen off my face onto the floor, I can’t help but think that January ain’t nothing but a big bag of dicks. (In this context the bag of dicks is a bad thing.) Continue reading
Image by Richard Matthews / CC BY 2.0
For all intents and purposes Brian van Gellert was a red-blooded male. He had the heart of lion and the throbbing member of a pubescent lad, one with an adult sized penis. He was a kind and gentle man, balding slightly at the sides. Sadly though, in his 42 years on this planet kind, gentle and throbbing Brian had never felt the warm touch of a women, but this would all change this Valentine’s Day, he was sure of it. Continue reading
Image by David Davies / CC BY-SA 2.0
There is always one. One chump who turns up just before mid-night, pissed as a fart, barely able to stand up, who begins commandeering the iPod with his/her own poorly edited electro-reggae-fusion-megga-mix, insists that everyone do shots from Jim’s belly button and then subsequently pukes in a location only to be disturbingly discovered several weeks later. Usually under the guise of ‘party animal’ this tosser successfully manages to ruin what was shaping up to, probably, be one of your best New Year’s parties yet.
Unfortunately it is an inevitability when you combine booze and holiday cheer with a heady dose of that NYE party pressure, that something is going to snap. So, in an attempt to save us all the embarrassment, and cleaning fees, here are some good rules to abide by to avoid starting 2015 sending out hundreds of apology texts (that is, if you haven’t lost/broken your phone in the course of the night). Continue reading
Susie’s arse was starting to hurt. But then, it was that time of year again. The decorations had all been unpacked and it was time for her to take up her usually position. Continue reading
Image by Andrew Bowden / CC BY-SA 2.0
“Oh shit!” buzzed Gary in a panic, as he whirled past the sweaty blue poles and sweaty faces of the Piccadilly line commuters. This was 100% not how he had envisaged spending his Thursday morning.
Generation Fishcake 