Club Arnage

I'm just home from the pub. It's funny it always seems to be the usual suspects on line this time of night. Pity we haven't got a chat room.

Sorry, just looked again and Rick has obviously called it a day and gone to bed.

I'm in the office (almost as usual) :-\

I just left my office. closing time in the UK is 10:30 on Sunday ;D

I had been at Silverstone for the Britcar 24 hours so guess what I had not got much sleep on Saturday night.

The race was brilliant. I will write a up a bit with photo's and post in the relevent thread.

BTW. Why do pubs have to close soooo early on a Sunday??? (licensing laws i guess but thought they were more flexible)

a few years ago it was illegal to dance in a nightclub on a sun night!!  :o bouncers warning you for even swaying to the music!! :o  now its much better.. sunday nights are the same as any other night.. pubs kick out time of 11.30 and clubs 02.30 am ;)

They don't Rick.  The Licensing Act of 2003 abolished fixed closing times.  If you drink in a pub that still closes at 10.30 on a Sunday this could either be due to clauses in the premises license, or (more likely) the landlord wanting an early night. 

My pub closes at midnight every night.  Great!   ;D

Chris Z and myself nipped into the local yesterday afternoon about 5.00pm for a quick "refresher" following a hard day's car cleaning, his Renault had to be seen to be believed. There were things growing in the boot which I'm sure the British Museum would be interested in cataloguing.

Anyway, we stayed in the pub slightly longer than originally anticipated and the effects of the latest craze for drinking bottled cider over crushed ice are still being felt. There's things they don't tell you about this practice in the Magners TV advert, like don't drink ten bottles on an empty stomach. Nor do they mention about the flying rhinosceroses circling around your head in a rather aggressive manner and shouting out "fishpaste you bastard". I was susrprised too by my repeated failed attempts to reach out and grab at the moon, I can't think what came over me. But I can now see what God got so hett-up about with the carryings on in the Garden of Eden, apples look innocent enough but boy are they the devil in disguise.

There's a point that taking refreshment crosses the line into madness and it's at times like that I wish I were a tramp so I could sleep it off rather than having to come into the office. Now where's that soup kitchen...?

So we are not feeling well today Mr.Zarse? ???

No Randy, I'm not feeling desperately chipper today. :-\

I'm fairly sure the house got broken into last night whilst I was asleep, someone had been in my room and hurled my clothes around everywhere, I'm pretty certain it wasn't like that when I went to bed as I always take them off and fold them up neatly. They carefully removed all the cash out of my wallet too, then went downstairs, piddled all over the toilet seat and cooked themselves a bacon and fried egg sandwich. Who ever it was had failed to turn off the stove, the kitchen was like an oven when I got up this morning; I could have been burnt alive in my own bed. Bastards. I'd phone the police but they're not very interested in burglary these days.

Andy I'm shocked and disappointed.  I thought you were au fait with cider and all the evil it conceals - especially that sweet struff you tried to plam off on unsuspecting bystanders at the Le Mans Classic.  Falling foul of something so commercial as Magners is a schoolboy error and you should be ashamed of yourself!   ;)

ROTFLMAO !

I can picture it now. ::)

Doris, in mitigation I can only say it takes a real professional to get knocked down by the sucker punch; I honestly never saw it coming.

PS, that burglar was a filthy swine, I've just noticed there's a pool of drying vomit in the front garden. Maybe the egg disagreed with him?

Oooooh, Just got back for the Pub (Reading 1 Man City0000), dont think I'll have that sarnie now.

Just back from the pub here too...

Last night I found myself in a pub in Huddersfield where there was a distinctly dodgy bit of karaoke going on. But as it didn't close until 12:15 who am I to complain?  ???

Andy.

I've had a similar experience. I believe the culprit is known as the beer pixie. He makes friends with you in the pub when you are spectacularly drunk, spirits you home (If you get in a taxi with him, the fare is ALWAYS seventeen pounds) he then will wreck your house, from the key scrapes on the front door to the muddy footprints on the sofa. At some point you will upset him, earning yourself a proper beating, the after effects of which linger well into the following day, he puts you to bed in your clothes, takes all the money out of your wallet, and to let the other beer pixies know that he's already friends with you, his parting gesture is to take a dump in your mouth.

That's the one who spins your bed round and round when you're trying to get some sleep is it?  Have always wondered.

That seems to be the one.

What I want to know is, how does he spin the whole room and turn it upside down while you desperately try to hang onto the pile on the carpet to stop you falling off.



not that it's ever happened to me...

PML at this thread!

Cheers boys (and girls of course!). Been a heavy few weeks at the sharp end of the 'Card Making on Satellite TV' industry and with an impending 5-day lads weekend in Madrid with two of the maisonblanche.co.uk Le Mans possee on the horizon (this weekend!) this has served as a timely reminder of the evils of the wicked juicings. Thanks for the warning!

Shall be sure to avoid all manner of questionable Spanish beverages  ;)

Just a thought though, I know Spain isn't far enuff south for this, but does the room spin the other way round south of the equator?

 ;D

Beer Scooter

How many times have you woken up in the morning after a hard night drinking and thought 'How on earth did I get home?'
As hard as you try, you cannot piece together your return journey from the pub to your house. The answer to this puzzle is that you used a Beer Scooter.
The Beer Scooter is a mythical form of transport, owned and leased to the drunk by Bacchus the Roman God of Wine. Bacchus has acquired a large batch of these magical devices. The Beer Scooter works in the following fashion:- The passenger reaches a certain level of drunkenness and the "slurring gland" begins to give off a pheromone. Bacchus or one of his many sub-contractors detects this pheromone and sends down a winged Beer Scooter.
The scooter scoops up the passenger and deposits them in their bedroom via a Trans-Dimensional Portal. This is not cheap to run, so a large portion of the passenger's in-pocket cash is taken as payment. This answers the second question after a night out 'How did I spend so much money?'
Unfortunately, Beer Scooters have a poor safety record and are thought to be responsible for over 90% of all UDI (Unidentified Drinking Injuries).
An undocumented feature of the beer scooter is the destruction of time segments during the trip. The nature of Trans-Dimensional Portals dictates that time will be lost, seemingly unaccounted for. This answers a third question after a night out 'What happened?'
With good intentions, Bacchus opted for the REMIT (Removal of Embarrassing Moments In Time) add on, that automatically removes, in descending order, those parts in time regretted most Unfortunately one person's REMIT is not necessarily the REMIT of another and quite often lost time is regained in discussions over a period of time.
Independent studies have also shown that Beer Goggles often cause the scooter's navigation system to malfunction thus sending the passenger to the wrong bedroom, often with horrific consequences.
With recent models including a GPS, Bacchus made an investment in a scooter drive-thru chain specializing in half eaten kebabs and pizza crusts.

Another question answered!!
For the family man, Beer Scooters come equipped with flowers picked from other people's garden and Thump-A-Lot boots (Patent Pending).
These boots are designed in such a way that no matter how quietly you tip-toe up the stairs, you are sure to wake up your other half.

Special anti-gravity springs ensure that you bump into every wall in the house and the CTSGS (Coffee Table Seeking Guidance System) explains the bruised shins. The final add-on Bacchus saw fit to invest in for some scooters is the TAS (Tobacco Absorption System). This explains how one person can apparently get through 260 Marlboro Lights in a single night!!!!!!

Don't forget that ever present fashion item, The Beer blanket. No matter how cold or how many times you forget that you went to the pub wearing a coat and walk out without it, the Beer Blanket will always keep you warm.

This amazing piece of fabric has been known to keep the wearer warm in temperatures way below zero and even when using the Beer Scooter in a headwind and pissing rain whilst wearing only t-shirt and shorts.

The only fault in the design as far as I can see is, a third party cannot feel the effects. This can be proven by jumping into bed with ones partner and being told to f**k off because you are freezing.

Nevertheless I am sure we have all benifited from it in the past and no boubt will do again

I know it as a beer coat - when venturing out, my wife will ask why I haven't got a coat. My response that I will buy a disposable one in the pub generally doesn't go down too well.

Beer Coat is manufactured by the same people that make several useful items for the following day.

I'm an occassional user of "Domestic Riot Helmet and Crockery Shield"

Beware of the TAS though nikliv - it comes with some pretty trying withdrawal symptoms including pouring the entire contents of the rubbish bin over your tongue, down your throat and into your lungs.

I did wonder what that strange vehicle was in my garage.  Used to be a beer scooter but is now a wine bike, as this lot can't make beer for toffee.

Mr Rick - you mean the room only spins one way?  Must be a pretty feeble pixie you've got there.

An entertaining thread and no mistake, I'm getting a feeling of nausea, disorientation and deja-vu just reading it:

http://www.clubarnage.com/forum/index.php?topic=299.msg2241#msg2241

The Beer Coat aka Magic Jacket! I recall waking up on one of "those mornings" wearing a jacket that was plainly 25 sizes to small for me, the sleeves ended at my elbows, the shoulders were puckered under my ears and the seam was split down the back. In my state of 'having a nice little beer buzz' I'd obviously tried this on when leaving the pub, and decided that as it was a perfect fit, it must be mine...
H

Crikey! I’d forgotten about that thread H, it’s very funny but it serves as a terrible warning as to how ordinarily-normal folk’s equilibrium can be upset once the demon drink’s involved in sufficient quantities. I’d personally hazard a guess I wouldn’t be embarrassed to go into the household lavatory of anyone who posts regularly on Club Arnage (the Gimp excepted of course) for a random and unannounced General Inspection of the Ablutions and even if I didn't wish to eat my dinner off it I'd likely find them in entirely satisfactory condition. It remains a mystery therefore that by Saturday some of the toilet blocks at Le Mans resemble a bad day at a Crimean War Dysentry Hospital following an especially nasty outbreak of The Liquorice. It’s plastered absolutely everywhere, up the walls, underneath the seat, down the outside of the pan, there's even flecks on the light shade, you name it. Who makes this terrible mess and why? It baffles and upsets me in equal measure, really it does, but being of a charitable disposition I’m always hopeful there’s a logical explanation.

Anyway, to illustrate the point, I’ll recount what happened to my brother a few years go when he popped into one of the long row of Porta-loos the ACO had set up in the field where they held the Jamiraquoi concert. I think he’d eaten some tartiflette that had disagreed with him and which was racing through his digestive tract faster than an Albanian asylum seeker in the Channel Tunnel. Getting his chod over the porcelain, or PolyVinylChloride in this instance, was a necessity so he headed for the first vacant facility, was up the step like a mountain goat and had the door slammed closed in very swift order. The overture began when he went into that well rehearsed simultaneous movement, you know the one, whereby one fluidly undoes one’s belt and buttons, pulls down the strides bends forward and manoeuvres one’s arse over the seat just as the Safety Car turns out the yellow lights and pulls into the pit lane to let the race commence. Well, what could possibly go wrong?

It was at this moment he became aware of a certain coolness on his right foot. Looking down he was aghast to note that he’d trodden in the worlds longest turd and crap was now oozing between the toes of his reef-sandal clad foot. I’m sure I need only mention the phrase “reflex gag” for you to understand the gravity of his situation. The horror of what had befallen him stopped him in his tracks so to speak, so that whilst his backside froze in mid-air before it was properly positioned onto the seat, he was distressed to find himself vomiting into the back of his own trousers. Meanwhile the tartiflette, together with the mortal remains of some prawns he’d eaten on the boat on the way over and goodness knows how many pints of beer, wines, spirits took this moment to make good it’s escape from his rectum and jettisoned itself all up the wall, the seat and even the light shade… It was at this point in proceedings he noticed that, drum roll, THERE WAS NO PAPER and he was obliged to use his teeshirt. Fortunately the organisers were giving out those Audi 24 Hour Jam shirts, so good old VW Group saved the day.

Like I say, there’s always a logical explanation

ROTFLMAO

PS:  Was a certain member of Team Zarse trying to emulate your brother in some way this year perchance??   ::)

You mean the one who ended up brawling with the uncouth branch of the Shitehouse Family?

Hmmm.Lets see,I have to say I like the story of the Beer Scooter better.

If this uncouth branch of the sh*tehouse family you speak of were located somewhere in the village then yes, that one.

I have just had to explain in the office why there are tears rolling down my cheeks (facial I hasten to add) as I try to stifle potentially huge guffaws of laughter. And why is it the more you stifle a laugh, the effect is exponentially applied to the offending laugh as it bangs harder to be released?

Top observations!

All this lavatorial stuff, and H's post from the past, reminds me of a similar incident I recall witnessing back in the dark days when I was at nautical college and staying in the halls of residence.

A number of us callow youths decided we'd have a boozy weekend away from Plymouth, staying in a beach hut near to Fort Bovisand dive centre (with bar etc.)
Having drank rough cider all the way there on the bus, then drank various fluids in the beach hut, we decided to make the short(ish) walk to the fort along the coastal path to have a few more bevvies that evening.
This is where my memory gets a bit murky, but I recall one of our breathren had his birthday that weekend, so we comprehensively Mickey Finned him.
Later, he could not be found, so we drunkenly searched the fort for him, only to find him asleep on the floor of the shitehouse, naked and covered in his own excrement and vomit.
It transpired that, whilst sat having a dump, he felt the need to chunder and slid off the seat and rolled around to barf down the pan.  In doing so, he layed a turd on the toilet seat, which he then put his arm on, and most of his upper torso - it was not a pleasant sight.
He then chundered over himself and continued to shat on the floor - suffice to say that we refused to allow him back in the beach hut that evening.

Oh happy days  ::)

Andy,
I read your post with a grim expression, nodding sagely. It's a sad tale alright, but reading between the lines I can tell that special warmth of brotherly love has not left Chez Zarse. He's a very lucky man...
I must admit though, the state of the bogs on the nations motorways has always perplexed me. 'Spread and scatter' is normally a term reserved for military usage, but there are some fantastic textbook examples and many (presumably) psychedelic driven specimens in plenty evidence in the 'restrooms'of the A1. Not to mention "carpet bombing". In fact, "restroom" seems a bit of a misnomer if you ask me, you're not going to get a coating of the processed remains of last nights cod, chips and picalilli on the ceiling and adjacent fixtures by having a rest. I'd say some poisoned runaway from the Cirque-du-Soleil must top the list of suspected culprits. Some of these places even have signs saying "Toilet of the Week" for Gods sake.
These thoughts, and your poor brothers unfortunate experience brings us round to natures design flaw here. There's just no rearward vision, God and his pearly design dept. have let us down badly on this one, even the boys at Morgan would have come up with something. A macro eyeball in a buttock (which would, I suppose, need a bifocal monacle as we grew older), or the biologically evolved equivalant of some of those reversing sensors would do the trick. Once, when preparing for a "sit-down" I'm absolutely sure a big bluebottle flew out of my ar**hole. - A little disconcerting, I think you'll agree, and although I'm 99% sure about it, I really would have liked to have been the complete 100% before going to see my GP about it.
H

It's not only motorway services lavatories that can turn the stomach, not to mention other parts of the anatomy. I had the misfortune to visit an elderly neighbour in the Royal Sussex Hospital in Brighton recently. It's a huge old victorian building and it's like a rat's maze inside. I got lost on my way out of Men's Surgical and I have to say taking a wrong turning is not recommended, particularly if you end up as I did in what I can only imagine must have been the Gender Realignment Dept. My naturally sensorial nature prevents me from telling you what I witnessed, suffice to say, I'll never again be able to eat steak and onions in front of Casualty, it's the noise of the electric saw that lingers so terribly in pshyche.

Beer Goggles explained at last, but then we already knew they were for real.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/manchester/4468884.stm

there you go.. i know where i went wrong......


wasn't squaring the thingy me jiggy






(http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/41057000/jpg/_41057834_equation203.jpg)

I am glad to see that this study was done in Manchester -  ;D

Planning meeting tonight. We met  at 8:30 and started off talking sense and having a sensble conversation and coming up with good ideas but you know what it's like we need another meeting in a couple of weeks to try and make sense of what we discussed tonight. Oh well such is life.

I've got the answer!  I don't know which way the room spins in the Northern Hemisphere but in the Southern Hemipshere the rooms spins clockwise.

I would like to thank my sister in law for getting drunk enough to make the room spin whilst remaining sober enough to have the where withall to remember which way it went.  Also thanks to my brother for remembering that I had asked him to do the research for me.   ;D ;D

Hi Doris, Thanks for clearing that up. However it is perhaps not very scientific to rely on just one experience ...can you get her to do it again and see if the result is repeatable ???
Phil