Author Topic: I call shenanigans  (Read 10172 times)

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Offline WarNick

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #50 on: August 07, 2009, 07:42:31 AM »
Nah, I never paid the bills. :P

I put it all down to 30 hours travel and jetlag, finally to be finished off with a bottle of Jack or Jim or something of the sort.. And then those manky bottles of schnapps that someone supplied.. Apple schnapps..  :sick:

That said, I'll be in Darren's debt for a long time, being the most responsible one there.

Not the best way to start off the holiday, ending up in hospital after being in Hamburg for about 8 hours.

Hahah.. yeah I was the first one that rushed into the toilets after seeing you fall like a stiff board flat on your back, cracking your noggin. I see a pool of blooding expanding from the back of your skull and quickly grab some paper towels and hold them against the wound to stem the flow, but there was just so much coming out.. typical head wound. So ended up with heaps of blood soaked paper towels and blood running down my arms.  :err:

Then the ambos eventually rock up and the two dudes try to get a bandage around your melon, failing repeatedly, so I end up having to wrap it around myself! Then we get you up and lead you outside to the ambulance and they are like, are you coming to the hospital? I'm thinking, err, well I'd like to stay here drinking with everyone else, but I guess Nick will end up in some fucked up predicament or being sold off in some 'Hostel' like scenario, so I jumped in as well.

The ride itself was just as eventful - no more than 2 minutes into the trip Nick starts vomitting all over himself and the ambulance. I look at the paramedic and his face turned to pure rage. All I could offer was a "Sorry about this mate". We get to the emergency room and they transfer him to the bed and the doctor comes in. Nick vomits some more, his WF shirt and denim shorts already caked in blood and chunks of spew. Then the questioning starts from the doctor, to which Nick was in no state to give any meaningful answer, between the blood loss and extreme enebriation.

"What is your name?"
"Ummm.. urrr... "

"Where are you from?"
"Seven... three..  eight.."

Hahaha  :rofl:

Anyway they stitched up his split head and then wheeled him into the next room for an x-ray and I could see him puking some more. X-ray is clear and eventually they let him go, so we get a cab back to the hostel and of course Nick doesn't have his room key, so I had to let him crash on the floor in our room. Probably a couple of hours have passed but I figure I'd head back to Headbangers ballroom (haha ironically enough), and walk through the mean streets of Hamburg back to the bar and try to enjoy the rest of the night.
Fun times.  :o

Aaaaaahh you're a Gem mate, a real lifesaver. ;D

You should be proud of your efforts!

Were they actually the numbers I said, do you remember? 'Cause if so I could have been semi close to giving them my home landline number.  :rofl:

Offline hatefueled

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #51 on: August 07, 2009, 07:52:15 AM »
haha that'd be even funnier than what i was thinking. i thought you were starting to tell them your street address in case they'd have to mail you home! gotta love it when a half asleep drunk starts muttering things like that randomly.

-Wednesday.

Offline TnT

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #52 on: August 07, 2009, 07:55:44 AM »
Aaaaaahh you're a Gem mate, a real lifesaver. ;D

You should be proud of your efforts!

Were they actually the numbers I said, do you remember? 'Cause if so I could have been semi close to giving them my home landline number.  :rofl:
Haha.. nah, I can't remember what random string of numbers were said.. in fact they could have been said in response to what your name was. :P
It was all a bunch of abitrary nonsense, but it was amusing enough.  ;D

Offline Nosaj

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #53 on: August 08, 2009, 09:27:06 AM »
Poor little R2. ;D

Offline Sheriff Cunt

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #54 on: August 08, 2009, 06:40:38 PM »
MOAR STORIES!
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.

From this moment until the end of days I live and die - For the Horde!

Offline Mago_Haydz

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #55 on: August 08, 2009, 08:35:55 PM »
MOAR STORIES!

OK, one more... this one's for Jez...

THE AVON DECENT

Living in Bentley certainly had its moments. It?s fair to say it wasn?t exactly suburban paradise. Sure, the boys and their visitors loved it as it was a great place to party, and you could pretty much get away with anything as the police presence was either lacking, or they had bigger and better things to do in the area than tell a few drunken young men to turn their music down and stop doing burnouts. The habitants of the house were well aware of the risk of break-ins and theft, but chose to put that in the back of their mind and just have fun.

There had been several incidents in the past. Lok had his beloved deadly treadly stolen from the back verandah; a really nice 22? 15sp Repco mountain bike, the same bike he had since primary school that he and Haydz used to thrash through the bush in Greenbushes on. From that very same verandah Woodz?s well used barbecue was also stolen. This was a present from his old man for his 18th birthday, so it was a sad loss for Woodz. The pain was eased, or more so masked by the theft of his pride and joy. The previously mentioned 50th Anniversary Kingswood.

From what they could tell the car was stolen by the natives in the area, whom I like to refer to as ?non-reflectives??.. or coons. This was evident when the car was found with a boot full of Adidas clothing and the putrid stench of dirty boong. The car was apparently used in a ram raid and was basically good for nothing more than scrapping. This was a blessing in disguise; despite wrecking a classic collector?s car, this brought on the rise of the HG. That car deserves a story of its own, so we?ll get back to that one in a later chapter.

It was yet another Saturday night in the Queen St house, and the usual drinking in the kitchen party was taking place. Woodz, Lok, Haydz, Kelly and Skell were happily drinking Budweiser and chatting about the usual things like music, cars and the likes. The music was screaming out of the lounge room and it was getting to that stage of the night where the stereo would change songs, or even CD?s every 1 ? songs on average. This was a trait of Woodz and Skells, whereas Haydz and Lok were quite happy just listening to a whole album, or just put up with the mix that DJ Arrogant 1 & 2 were supplying.

Half a song had passed so Woodz decided it was his turn to wander off to the stereo. He walked from the sink side of the bench where he was standing, past the fridge and past Haydz who was standing next to the fridge. Everyone was engaged in conversation when all of a sudden Woodz came storming back into the kitchen with the same look on his face that he had while holding the couch above Ryan?s head. He walked over to the knife block and grabbed the longest knife he could find and marched back towards the lounge room screaming,
?I?m gunna kill the cunt!? Haydz stood in front of Woodz and tried to calm him down and hold him back not knowing what was waiting in the lounge room for Woodz and Haydz also knew Woodz?s tendency to go nuts and think about consequences later, evident in many of these stories.
?what?s going on man?? asked Haydz worriedly.
?There?s a fucking boong in the lounge room. I?m gunna kill him!?

Thinking fast, Haydz knew that this could only end with 2 possible outcomes ? either Woodz gets fucked up and seriously hurt or even killed, or the more likely scenario of Woodz killing the boong and spending the next 20 years in jail. Neither of these really appealed to anyone, so the group managed to talk Woodz down and reassess the situation. Needless to say, that knife was still in firm grasp, clenched into Woodz? hand. As expected, the boong stumbled into the kitchen, obviously under the influence of some sort of brain fucking drug. His nose was bleeding, evidence that he had been sniffing glue, petrol or some sort of solvent.

?Give me a beer?I like this? bud?. Weez? er stuff,? he sprouted, holding an empty stubbie in his hand that he had picked up off the table, trying his best to read the label through his drug fucked, and uneducated eyes.
?Nah man, you come to our house, you bring your own beer,? exclaimed Lok, boldly, perhaps even stupidly. Apparently the boong didn?t like that much at all, and started demanding beer, getting more and more feisty and aggressive in his approach. He picked up another empty stubbie, now one in each hand and gestured at the fact that he would smash the bottle on the table and use it as a weapon. Naturally this was kind of nerve racking for everyone involved.

Sensing that mayhem was about to break loose, Kelly, being the peace keeper that she was got a beer out of the fridge and gave it to him. This seemed to calm him down quite rapidly; although he was still wired from whatever it was that he had been sniffing. He started talking calmly, sated by the taste of quality beer. During his barely decipherable rant he pointed to the clock, one eye closed and proclaimed that ?by da time dis hand gets to dis hand, I could be back wiv drugs?, like that was supposed to impress anyone. Little did he realize there was a tin of mull on the table the whole time.

While the tension had eased somewhat, no-one was really too sure what was going to happen next. It was a similar feeling to being in your mate?s backyard with his bulldog. Sure, the dog might be licking you now, but just a few minutes ago it was ready to tear your ankles apart, and in the back of your mind you know that at any given time, your ankles could once again become tasty morsels. To use an old clich?, you could cut the tension with a knife, which strangely enough, at times it appeared as though Woodz was ready to do just that.

Somewhere in amongst the crazy talk that was going on it came out that his name was Avon. He was clearly a hardened criminal, and he didn?t mind telling people that either. In fact, he went out of his way to make sure everyone knew he was a bad ass. His knuckles were all busted and his fingers were bent, he had a scar on his face going from his ear all the way down his cheek and onto his chin that he claimed his brother had given him in a knife fight, and was generally a very ugly, hard looking dude that looked as though he belonged in jail. Turns out that was his last place of residence.

After some more incoherent ranting and bragging, he eventually left, leaving the house shaken and stunned about what had just taken place. The only cure that they knew for anything was beer, bongs and metal, so Dr Haydz packed a 6 shooter bong and everyone grabbed a beer and sat down to reflect on the incident. There was an uneasy feeling that this wasn?t going to be the last time Avon made an appearance. Their feelings would later prove to be correct.
A couple of days had passed and it was a nice quiet afternoon, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Haydz answered the door to find Avon standing on the door step looking sheepish, holding a carton of Emu Export under his arm. He had come over to apologize for his antics that had taken place a couple of nights prior. The boys reluctantly let him in and they all sat down in the lounge room. It was strangely calm considering their initial meeting. It turned out that Avon was John, the respectable coon across the road?s cousin. Avon opened the carton and handed everyone a beer, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a foil of what would turn out to be some pretty nice smoke. Haydz, quick as a flash went and got the bong.

They sat around, drinking the coon present and having a nice casual session, which Avon declined on partaking in as he claimed not to smoke. He went on to explain how he had no idea what he was doing that night as he had been sniffing glue and that he was ashamed of the way he treated everyone and promised it would never happen again. After a couple of beers and a chat he realized that the boys were pretty cool, and he liked them enough to call them his ?bruddahs?. This seemed like a particularly big deal to him, so the boys accepted his apology and his brother hood.

From then on, Avon would drop around out of the blue every couple of weeks or so, presumably on dole day, often with a foil or a few beers and a story to share. Haydz, Lok and Avon sat and drank a couple of beers on one of these visits and Avon told them that if they ever ended up in jail anywhere south of the river, just mention his name and they would be looked after and respected by the other inmates. The boys assured him that the chances of ever needing his lifeline was extremely slim, but thanked him anyway.

As time went on Avon would come over and ask for small favours. One of these favours was asking Haydz to drive him and his mate to the bottle shop in Vic Park just up the Albany highway. Haydz didn?t mind, and he wanted something to drink as well. Avon?s way of paying Haydz back was to offer him a set of HSV Clubsport rims complete with tyres for his Commodore. As tempting at this was, all Haydz could think about was the poor bastard who would wake up one morning to find his precious HSV up on blocks with no wheels, so he graciously declined.

Another favour he asked of us was if we could spare a couple of panadol. Being the pissheads they were, there was always plenty of pain killers in the house, so Lok went to the bathroom cupboard and gave Avon 2 pills, thinking he must?ve had a headache. Avon thanks him and sat down at the kitchen table and proceeded to crush the pills up into powder and put it in a little plastic baggy.
?Um, what are you doing?? inquired Lok.
?Gunna sell these to some kids up the road. Easy fifty bucks bruz?.
Lok and Haydz shook their heads partially in disgust, but mostly in amusement.

Weeks had past and it was a week night, so all the boys were sound asleep when Haydz and Lok woke up simultaneously to some strange noises in the neighbourhood. Lok, armed with Woodz? RHS, and Haydz having grabbed Tommy from under his bed both cautiously opened the back door and scanned the scene. They took a step outside to find Avon and another boong on the roof of HQ boys recently vacated house, pulling tiles off the roof. Avon must have seen them, and he started quietly yelling out ?hey bruz?. Bruz? you wont tell the cops will you bruz??
?Nah man, whatever?.just leave our house alone,? replied Lok. Whether or not it was a coincidence is up for debate, but that was the last time either of them ever saw Avon.







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Offline The Janitor

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #56 on: August 08, 2009, 10:13:01 PM »
 :rofl:

Great stories man, highly entertaining!
 
:clap:

The Avon story reminds me of my time spent living in Westfield, lol.

Offline Mago_Haydz

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #57 on: August 08, 2009, 10:39:15 PM »
:rofl:

Great stories man, highly entertaining!
 
:clap:

The Avon story reminds me of my time spent living in Westfield, lol.

the hardest part about it is remembering to stick to the third person format which I decided to stick with for some reason initially, and not slipping into we/us/me mode. I think there are a couple of those slip ups, but they will be edited properly in good time. Also, I have only read 1 1/2 books since leaving high school 12 years ago - and they were Slash and another Guns n Roses biography which Im half way through since christmas.  :-[  Im sure it would help my writing to read some actual published literature, but quite simply... I cant be fucked.

The whole point of these stories is for my mate Woodz, who has since ended up in a wheel chair in a physically vegetated state (the dude we took to Iron Maiden in his wheel chair, as well as Immortal and a few others). He loves them, and they keep him smiling as they bring back some pretty cool memories of the funnest times in our lives. Thats the sole reason I started, and is still the main reason I write, but I find it quite soothing and great nostalgia trying to relive these events so I can turn them into text. It also turns out not one of us has a single photo of all those years at this house. Too drunk/stoned to worry about photos, but its something I regret now.

 
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Offline The Janitor

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #58 on: August 08, 2009, 10:55:30 PM »
Cool, keep at it. Your writing style flows well regardless of whether you're an avid reader.
Very admirable reason for doing it too.  :headbang:

Offline hatefueled

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #59 on: August 09, 2009, 03:00:29 AM »
Its awesome stuff! very amusing to read!  :clap:

-Wednesday.

Offline Catalyst

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #60 on: August 09, 2009, 06:03:27 PM »
The bongs and boongs in that story twist together like some sort of demented Dr Zuess.

When boongs fight it is called a "boong battle".
When they battle on bongs it is called a "boong bong battle"
When boongs battle on bongs with bottles, it is called a Boong bong bottle battle."
When boongs battle boongs in a bong bottle battle while bouncing on your HQ, it's called a "boingin' bongin' boong bottle battle".
When boingin' boongs get baked on bottles of bourbon and bongs and battle boongs with bottles of beer, we call that a "boingin' bongin' beer/bourbon bottle boong battle".   
When bunches of boingin' bongin' bourbon-baked bottle battling boongs battle boinging' bongin' beer-blasted bottle brandishing boongs in a bloody battle in Beechboro, that is called a "weekday".
 
« Last Edit: August 09, 2009, 07:56:21 PM by Catalyst »

Offline Mago_Haydz

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #61 on: August 09, 2009, 07:47:57 PM »
hahaha.... funnily enough, Im going to start attempting to write quirky kids books soon too. Dr Seuss is hands down the best childrens author and Fox In Socks is my favourite.
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Offline Ingasm

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #62 on: August 10, 2009, 02:45:05 AM »
The bongs and boongs in that story twist together like some sort of demented Dr Zuess.

When boongs fight it is called a "boong battle".
When they battle on bongs it is called a "boong bong battle"
When boongs battle on bongs with bottles, it is called a Boong bong bottle battle."
When boongs battle boongs in a bong bottle battle while bouncing on your HQ, it's called a "boingin' bongin' boong bottle battle".
When boingin' boongs get baked on bottles of bourbon and bongs and battle boongs with bottles of beer, we call that a "boingin' bongin' beer/bourbon bottle boong battle".   
When bunches of boingin' bongin' bourbon-baked bottle battling boongs battle boinging' bongin' beer-blasted bottle brandishing boongs in a bloody battle in Beechboro, that is called a "weekday".
 

Holy fucking shit hahaha

Offline Sheriff Cunt

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #63 on: August 10, 2009, 02:53:46 AM »
The bongs and boongs in that story twist together like some sort of demented Dr Zuess.

When boongs fight it is called a "boong battle".
When they battle on bongs it is called a "boong bong battle"
When boongs battle on bongs with bottles, it is called a Boong bong bottle battle."
When boongs battle boongs in a bong bottle battle while bouncing on your HQ, it's called a "boingin' bongin' boong bottle battle".
When boingin' boongs get baked on bottles of bourbon and bongs and battle boongs with bottles of beer, we call that a "boingin' bongin' beer/bourbon bottle boong battle".   
When bunches of boingin' bongin' bourbon-baked bottle battling boongs battle boinging' bongin' beer-blasted bottle brandishing boongs in a bloody battle in Beechboro, that is called a "weekday".
 

Alliteration win!
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.

From this moment until the end of days I live and die - For the Horde!

Offline Catalyst

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #64 on: August 10, 2009, 03:28:46 AM »
Hey Admiral, I saw another reference to Admiral Ackbar on 30Rock last night. 

Not that there's anything wrong with that....

Offline Sheriff Cunt

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #65 on: August 10, 2009, 03:40:57 AM »
Is that that show with Alec Baldwin?
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.

From this moment until the end of days I live and die - For the Horde!

Offline Catalyst

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #66 on: August 10, 2009, 04:06:46 AM »
Yessir, it do be.  Daz gave me the first three seasons, I'm ruining all my undies one episode at a time.

Offline Stormrider

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #67 on: August 10, 2009, 04:39:48 PM »
Yessir, it do be.  Daz gave me the first three seasons, I'm ruining all my undies one episode at a time.

This has less to do with the show & more to do with jez's advancing years & his inability to control his bowels.

May i suggest:

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Offline TnT

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #68 on: August 10, 2009, 10:23:12 PM »
Hahah, and the best part about that photo is the woman has the exact same body shape as Jez.
Could probably only just squeeze into a hula hoop as well.
;D

I'm almost tempted to do the photoshop job, but I'd rather keep my lunch down.
 :sick:

Offline Catalyst

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #69 on: August 11, 2009, 12:54:41 AM »
I'm just too sexy for this site.   ;D

Offline nihilist

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #70 on: August 11, 2009, 04:38:32 AM »
Just never get too sexy for your shirt.
My hands are choking, my knife is broken.
An orgasm is what I need.
Your blood is spilling, the sight is thrilling.
To cum I need to see you bleed.

Offline Stormrider

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #71 on: August 11, 2009, 03:55:15 PM »
Just never get too sexy for your shirt.

So sexy it hurts ?

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Offline Kalika

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Re: I call shenanigans
« Reply #72 on: August 12, 2009, 03:18:52 PM »
BWB #9

If I Can Merge The Mundane And the Magic -- We'd Forge a New Unknown...