Drunken Promises

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by 29072010, Apr 26, 2010.

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  1. You are at that stage of inebriation where anything is possible. Your aspirations know no bounds and are particularly over the top if there is even the slightest hint that you may get your leg over. You promise the earth and are full of generosity and a willingness to do good deeds.

    There are of course all the usual whispered promises of multiple orgasms and the hardest fucking of your life whispered between urgent breathless kissing and fumbling in the back of a taxi. Or getting on all fours in a hotel room and promising that they can do what ever they like to you, then regretting it slightly the morning when you have a torn chuff, sore arse and more friction burns than an epileptic convention at a carpet warehouse. But these are of course all part and parcel of drunken shagging.

    What about the more obscure promises? The ones with lasting consequences? I once promised to be a birthing partner to a girl I worked with and am forever scarred with the memory of watching her scream her way through the labour and just at the moment I decided to have a gander at the miracle that is “crowning” I saw her gash tear, splitting open like a boiled peanut only with blood and possibly shit and a ripping sound that saw me flat on my back with my legs above my head in a bid to stay conscious. When the blood had returned to my brain the morbid fascination had taken over and i went for another look only to see the infant slither out of her clunge leaving behind a horrific gaping, gulping, blood and mucus rich mess, like a yawning hippo that been slotted by shotgun in its oesophagus.

    Ladies and Gents your promises please.
  2. Ever thought of becoming a Midwife?
  3. old_fat_and_hairy

    old_fat_and_hairy LE Book Reviewer Reviews Editor

    Not an unusual position to find yourself in?

    I never make promises. Just apologies.
  4. I have to admit that you descriptive prose reads like a well oiled engine, with smooth diction and flowing use of prose, nouns and the like! No doubt already asked, have you thought about a job on the labour ward?
  5. I was in Saudi Arabia a few years ago with a few work colleagues.

    After imbibing a few black market beers and tequila chasers the banter, backslapping and all round bonhomie was uplifting.

    As we were due to enter into a fairly significant "war" soon, I made a sombre albeit very drunken pledge to look after my guys and if necessary lay down my life for them.

    Instead, at the first sign of of a pagga I sprinted away like a Kosovan pickpocket.


    Chris Ryan
  6. Aaand Dolly's back with a bang.

    Figuratively, I mean.
  7. In the interests of political neutrality and to give balance, you should say that other wards are available, Tory, Lib Dem, Green and monster raving Loony etc
  8. Don't post politically themed drivel on the thread.

    Share your Drunken promises. Surely you have promised a heroin riddled teenage prozzie a better life whilst carring out a sweaty, arrhythmical, humping session on the backseat of your Mondeo? Pushing her lank hair back with your stubby fingers and telling her expressionless face with the dead eyes that she is beautiful and you will take her away from all of this in an effort to quell your guilt make yourself feel you have something more to offer her than the grateful, sleazy sex purchased with a handful of loose change and three limp £5 pound notes.
  9. Marriage Walt. You're only 15.... and why aren't you in school you skiving little gnome?

    Drunken promises? Everytime I go to The Traf or A v N. "It won't happen again Mrs Sfub, promise...."
  10. This one time, in band camp (AKA Aldergrove)...

    I'd gone out on the lash in Antrim - which for those of you who have not been fortunate enough to sample the mixed loyalist / republican mini-town, it's about as exciting as being on holiday with a load of Germans.

    At some point in the evening I'd met a rather voluptuous young lady who I instantly wanted to invite back to mine for a little bit of parallel parking. Gorgeous, confident, funny, sassy – everything you could ask for in a woman (including domesticated).

    Of course, I’d fed her the usual line of working for Manx airlines, or whatever it was back then – here on a course and come those awkward questions about where I’m staying, what brings me to Antrim etc – I defended myself quite well, managing to (just for fucking once) pick a location that my ‘mark’ did not know of.

    So we swapped numbers at the end of the night, whilst I metaphorically rubbed my hands together at the thought of having the next 5 months of my tour relatively active on the squelchy-squelchy side. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but she’d written her full name and number down on the bit of card she gave me, and when I looked back at it, the name was one of those that you instantly associate with something. Obviously I can’t repeat it on here, but it might have well as read “Lynley McGuinness”, or “Moira Philomena Adams”. Either way, it looked like if I was going to be up to my nuts in guts from this day forward – I would need to reinforce my Manx Airlines story somewhat, and prepare to be boarded by a load of angry republicans.

    The following evening we met up, she decided to bring ‘just a few of her close family’, which in their world meant we needed to book a table for 12 in Fermana’s Chinese restaurant. And all that night came the British insults, and tales of the Potato Famine, Ivan Toombs, Mass (not necessarily in any order), the Marxist analysis of the divide that exists between British ‘interests’ and a United Ireland etc etc etc.

    That I could pretty much handle like water off a ducks back. But then came the personal threats of what would happen to me if I hurt their ‘little angel’, and that if they hear of me using any form of birth control etc, expecting me to honour the relationship should a ‘bey-beh’ come along.

    Well – the only real method of surviving such a meal was to drink copious amounts of vodka, agree to anything, and share the love. I imagine I must have promised the world that night – babies, marriage, no condoms, house, mortgage the works.

    I spent the remainder of my tour either in the Gag & Puke, Dark Side or Rose Bowl.

    Edited to add: I blame Gordon Brown.
  11. No.

    But, I have had a few spacehoppers and Grannys, infact sometimes SpaceHopping Grannies.

    Promise em the world but, never give em your real number.
    Thats the good thing about the Navy, ship comes in to port and Fcuks off after a few days never to return.
    Get a Port in every Girl, do you prefer Ruby or Crusted?
  12. Fugly

    Fugly LE DirtyBAT

    I always used to make the usual drunken promise of "Of course I'll respect you in the morning. I'm different love, honestly. I'm not like all the other squaddies, they're horrible people. You can trust me, we don't even have to do anything tonight".

    Fast foward 5 hours, to find me wiping my cock on the curtains, sneaking out, doing my best swastika impression and vanishing for the horizon.

    My surprise departure would always backfire the following weekend, when I would usually take a vodka+coke to the face for trying to chat their mate up.
  13. Once (well several time, actually) got mullered in the Drummer in Tidworth and made a rather rash promise.
    The following morning I was turfed from my pit, hangover and all, and driven to a church in Andover where I was to become godfather to a bloke 10 years older than me, in order for him to get married in church.
    The vicar didn't look to pleasedto hve my beery breath wafted around his church, and it began to go down hill when it became apparent that we had to have holy communion as well.
    The alter wine nearly made me ralph and it was all i could do to stop from passing out. couldn't get back to the pub quick enough for a livener

    silver lineings, though. At the wedding I got to proper snog the bride's divorced mum, and get a good feel of her tits before her sense of occasion got the better of her
  14. I'd rather not say. :oops: But then, any promise you make only counts if you make it in English. :p Spanish may be the language of love, but it won't hold up in court. :p