Someone stop me wearing white trousers!

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by crispy_haddock, May 29, 2005.

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  1. There's something wrong with white trousers. Maybe it's the bleach on the fabric or maybe they're impregnated with stupid-hormones.

    Last night, there's me off to a wee partay at a mates and I says to meself, hey why not wear these. White. White. Trousers.

    Everything's going hunky-dory - well actually it was quite dull but hey I'm grateful I'm not in a biffa bin. However after a few pints of wifebeater I suddenly get these twitchings in the legs.... somethings not right. Seems like the demon living in RTFQ's independant member has taken control of the lower limbs.

    We're all round the tele watching the music channel when Zap! on comes Saturday Night Fever. Oh bugger. The legs are twitching away.

    A little inebriated by the lovely green-bottled juice I'm propelled upwards and before I know it I'm spinning around pulling the worst moves seen this side of the equator. But hey I'm drunk and I don't care.....

    So far not so strange - well except that everyone else is thinking, "what the hell is that twat doing all on his own". But anyway, I'm there swinging away happily in my little bubble when in walks the girl next door. You know the one you look at through binoculars as she has her shower in the steamy upper window. No? You don't? Must be just me then.... So in she comes, looking absolutely stunning, she's gorgeous enough without the effect of alchohol but the extra 75% sex appeal given by the stella propells her into the heavenly arena - bust the size of my primary school teacher's arse. And that's saying one helluva lot.

    In the dizzy haze of my skewed vision the angel appears before me and the only natural thing to do is to grab her quick and dance the night away..... as one does.

    However my influenced vision and co-ordination had other things in store and two possesed hands go straight for the tits. Wasn't bad for as long as it lasted, a full two milliseconds but a sharp crack around the face ended my hopes getting further introduced to those two marvels. The woman slaps me again and belts me in the chin with her handbag - hell those little black leather things are harder than Mini RTFQ on holiday. Slightly confused and unaware as to why exactly my graceful advances are repelled in such a way, In I charge, white trousers and all for another go. This time I bounce off the tits closely followed by an enraged slapper who charges on top of me.

    Me, tits, girl next door and handbag fly across the floor straight towards the huge ornamental urn. My head reaches it first and gets intimately aquainted with the damned thing in one almighty gong-clash. 20 mates all cringe in unison as the vase slowly tips and comes thudding down onto my unconcious face.

    After a parting slap the girl next door runs off, and I'm left to come round to the sounds of a roomful of laughter.

    All because of a bloody pair of white trousers.
  2. White trousers, bad dancing, public drunkenness and going straight for the tits?

    Perhaps she thought you were an Aussie on holiday.
  3. I don't know, sounds like most of the men I met in my 20's.
    Except not all of them were Aussies.
    Well OK, there was one... :oops:
  4. Auld-Yin

    Auld-Yin LE Reviewer Book Reviewer Reviews Editor

    Sounds like you have a long memory :wink: At least they weren't flares :!:
  5. I believe Fosters also found its way into my blood stream, maybe that was it......
  6. Err, they were actually :oops: -along with kipper ties :!:

    (Theres no memory loss here,yet, although sometimes it might be a blessing!)

    I'll collect my cloak on the way to the exit
  7. If it was before you got dressed, that explains it all. If it was after, then there's no telling if that was the cause or the symptom.
  8. Kipper ties? Am having no luck with Google image search.... :?
  9. After. But it's convenient to blame the ozzie-piss so I will.......