My Stupid Life

Stupid Things have always been something which seems to feature quite heavily in my life. It has always been a long standing joke amongst my oldest friends that unusual events and unfortunate scenarios seem to be the only real constant in my otherwise turbulent existence. It has now got to the point where it would be foolhardy and inconceivable to consider that perhaps these accidents of fate are merely that; fate. There is in fact a very simple equation that sums up the harsh reality of my unfortunate predicaments. A quick and easy solution to the syndrome of unwittingly creating adverse conditions and still trying to function as a normal (sub or super), adjusted individual,

Bill = Idiot

I am sure you are in some doubt as to the validity of my claims. Some of you will certainly have found yourselves at the receiving end of one or two of life’s sucker punches and be thinking that my pronouncements of idiocy are nothing more than the self indulgent postulations of a narcissistic attention seeker struggling to come to terms with his increasingly evident insignificance. And you are probably correct. However, off the top of my head I can list the following accolades to my self destructive lack of self respect.

Been chased out of a nightclub running for my life after offending a predatory group of young males with revolting jokes that not only transcend taste and decency but shatter them into shards of lethal spite for which nuns and other people of moral fibre to lacerate themselves upon.

Hidden from horny young Christian missionaries by climbing trees to avoid their lascivious and eternal-life threatening intentions.

Broken up with girlfriends using such methods as rocking slowly backwards and forwards in the corner of their bedroom whilst moaning softly and caressing a loaded air rifle until they have ceased their nervous attempts to extract an explanation and gone to seek help from external sources.

Urinated copiously onto a pile of gratefully received Christmas presents stacked up in my bedroom in a drunken haze of confusion and, ultimately, regret.

Lost professional positions of prestige through foolish blunders, namely inadvertently belching with vigour and might into a telephone headset that linked me directly to the meeting room of several big cheese service managers. “Bill, was that you? Bill? Bill?”

To ensure catching a flight to the Far East due to take off at 0600 AM on the following morning I bought a bottle of rum and sat up all night drinking only to fall asleep at 0200 and wake up 30 mins before the flight was due to take off (already 1.5 hours late for the 2 hour check in time). Thankfully the flight was delayed so I staggered aboard clutching my half drunk bottle of rum, only to spill that and two glasses of red wine on my white shirt before wandering drunk, horny and a little confused into first class to smoke a cigarette, only to be forcibly moved back to standard and told in no uncertain terms that the aeroplane was no smoking throughout. Only to be told the same thing 2 minutes later when I went to the toilet cubicle in a cunning attempt to carry out the same activity. After arriving at Kuala Lumpor airport I did have my much needed cigarette, only to vomit all over myself (blending nicely with the red wine and rum already on my shirt) in the smoking lunge. My connecting flight to Singapore was 20 mins later than that leaving me no recourse other than to board the plane regardless, shambling drunk, covered in wine, rum and vomit with all of the associated aromas but, most of all, fully English. I had half the plane to myself by the time we landed in Singapore an hour later. Karma did wreak her terrible revenge however, as when I got to my apartment I was somewhat astonished to find a rather compact and very dark human turd on my bed. I never did confirm the perpetrator of this crime but being highly drunk and extremely “c’est la vie” due to my previous 12 hours I casually knocked it a couple of feet to the side and collapsed onto the bed in a stupor. Bizarrely, it had vanished the next day.

Been cornered in the cubicles of a public lavatory by a very large, drunk and homosexual bouncer who had mistaken me for fair game due to my unwise decision to peer over the top of occupied cubicles by standing on the toilet in the adjacent cubicles. Through deft acrobatics my ring piece emerged unscathed; my dignity and composure did not.

Walked length of busy office building with genitalia poking out of flies to see if anyone noticed. People do tend to notice that kind of thing. I can say this with some certainty.

Had my face totally blacked out using black gloss lipstick by a close friend, then venturing onto the busy streets on Nottingham on a saturday night shouting out “I’ve been down t’pit”. I was forced to discontinue my art due to a group of indignant black males insistent that my activity was racist and the only solution would be a swift rebuttal in the form of physical violence.

Woken up on the streets of south London, as naked as the day I was born (maybe I used jamaican castor oil), in the middle of Saturday night with no idea how I got there, or where I was. Living the dream.

Attended a sixth form activity group called Slug Safari to avoid real lessons so I could spend Tuesday mornings in the pub under the pretence of hunting for unusual slugs. After being told I was shortly to be removed from said course due to not having collected a single slug in 6 months I resorted to the extreme measure of instructing my sister to find me a slug (being fairly revolted by the creatures myself) for me to submit to my lecturer, which she reluctantly agreed to do. Shortly after I was officially accredited with discovering the first Limax Maculatus (Great Irish Yellow Slug) within the national boundaries of this fair England.

There is more but I want to go home now. I hope you find this list of facts to be something of a comfort.

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