A Sizeable Population of Mandrills

#1
"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small. And the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all." Jefferson Airplane, 1967

1992 was an odd year, for all sorts of reasons. The old army, which had existed in familiar form for the best part of half a century was rapidly being dismantled. With it went all the old certainties. The Inner German Border, Checkpoint Charlie, Wolfgang, Polish coach drivers-cum-war heroes, all would soon be gone forever. With the paramilitary ceasefires in Northern Ireland and the imminent handover of Hong Kong, the future seemed uncertain to say the least.

But some things never change and, at the end of my first exercise in Germany since I had left Hemer 5 years before, I was looking forward to the Squadron smoker with joyful expectation. We had spent the last 3 weeks doing little other than digging-in and watching the lights of the Hohne pad's estate twinkling away in the distance. Now, with endex having been called, the bonfire built and the crates of pils arriving from somewhere unknown, those same lights that had taunted us now provided a comforting, homely backdrop.

That is, until someone decided to spike my beer.

Difficult to recall now, difficult to recall now. Not so much floating as going round the rim of one of those leather break-dance hats but without the official miners. Erich Honecker, mouth sewn-up from the inside, prawn cocktail sauce from nose down to chin. It's pink roots drink with an almost - get them off me!! - audible gurgle, feeding into the stomach of a salted potato (obese chef starts to wail). Fingers are drawn through the deepening crack - oh my God, they're all over me!! - we exhale and I let her dirt be my sleeve. Roscommon explodes in mauve and I confront the reality that I'll never be allowed to eat weasle-picked corn *sob*. European cultivated cords and the smallest can only struggle - Bacon, West, skin tab, revulsion. His entrails enchant, knowing that the spores eminate from within and are caught like the gas in an NBC suit. Release.

Featherlite voice: someone please get them off me...*sob*...
 

Grumblegrunt

LE
Book Reviewer
#5
just look at it like abstract poetry or picasso like jibberish.

maybe cantona opened a poetry school and we didnt get the memo.
 
#6
Can you just try a few more of those funky 90's pills and maybe push yourself into an overdose.
 
#8
Piss off, jeromesausage you dull cunt.
 

Wordsmith

LE
Book Reviewer
#9
Where did you cut and paste that from you useless bag of shite?
Now I've been wondering that. Its well written and has all the hallmarks of someone's memoirs. Were it his, he'd be taking it to a writers circle for constructive criticism - or trying to interest a publisher.

Instead, he posts extracts in the NAFFI - which is pretty well guaranteed to attract a torrent of abuse. Tis not the action of a sane and rational mind...

Wordsmith
 
#10
Jeromesausage is who he is.

The sad sad man.

The proof?

 
#11

chrisg46

LE
Book Reviewer
#13
Thought ceasefires were in 94, not 92? and HK wasnt handed over until 97, hardly that imminent.

Anyway, what are peoples thoughts on Lemonade? Clear kind, or the cloudy? Fizzy or flat? I prefer flat clear, but fizzy cloudy which is a bit odd i always thought.
 
#14
.... Anyway, what are peoples thoughts on Lemonade? Clear kind, or the cloudy? Fizzy or flat? I prefer flat clear, but fizzy cloudy which is a bit odd i always thought.
In a homemade JC, fizzy cloudy.
In Pimms, fizzy clear.
When hanging oot ma hoop, flat clear (assuming there is no Irn Bru available).
Can't think of any time I would prefer flat cloudy.
 
#15
In a homemade JC, fizzy cloudy.
In Pimms, fizzy clear.
When hanging oot ma hoop, flat clear (assuming there is no Irn Bru available).
Can't think of any time I would prefer flat cloudy.


Somebody mentioned that Crabbies Alcoholic Ginger Beer and Pimms makes an ace mix.

In fact, I'm going to the offy to get some now.

I may be posting pissed later.
 

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