Cigarettes and Alcohol: Confessions of a Stag Weekend (9 page)

Through
the laughter someone says that you are kind of the modern equivalent of Burke & Hare the grave robbers and so from that day forth Kid F becomes Burke.

The
breakfasts arrive, although by now it is almost two o’clock in that afternoon, you can’t even call this brunch now, more a mid-afternoon snack, and we make short work of them.

Hangovers
dealt with, we get back on the sauce with a vengeance. This pub just rules. Some great tunes are being played, smokes are being smoked and we are having a top time. The weekender is rocking on in a big style.

I
know that now we have bedded down in this public house, there is no way we are leaving until closing time. Why we bother to leave our own postcodes to go on a stag do and sit in the same juicer all day is a total mystery. What about seeing all the sights that Edinburgh has to offer?

We
have the castle just a minute’s walk away, it’s not getting a look see. What about the thriving theatre scene, the restaurants with award winning food, the gift shops and all that?

Blow
the lot of it, this is a stag do. It is time for us real men to smoke hard and drink tough. We have decided to nominate Kid G as the stag this afternoon instead of me. Again this is the ultimate double, double bluff as Kid G does not even have a girlfriend and is a long way away from any form of a wedding.

Kid
G takes the abuse in good spirit agreeing to wear the clothes we provide, no questions asked, pretending to be the ‘stag’ for the day. He looks like he wants to be centre of attention, so I just sit back and let him take the shit.

Then
the carnage really starts - a hen party of twenty tipsy tasty women turns up.

These
hens are all totally teacup. The woman getting married is in her mid-twenties and has the full hen uniform on that you see everywhere. Long white wedding veil covered in unravelled condoms, inflatable penises and L plates. From the look of her, she has not got anything to learn but I bet she’s a bloody good teacher. She’s wearing a low cut top and a pink short skirt with stockings and garters on show. This may well be the get up she is planning on getting wed in, as she is a right classy broad.

All
the other hens are wearing silly tee shirts, printed with various pictures of the bride to be in dodgy poses and various drunken states. Well judging her by my own low standards, I just assume that she was well inebriated when the photographs were taken.

The
girls march up to the bar and order several vats of wine, some pints and a load of tequila which they start slamming back with salt and a lemon. This is not going to be a quiet afternoon, that’s a racing cert!

We
all start chatting. Where you from? Where you staying? What club did you end up in last night? Who did you end up in last night? Who’s the stag they ask?

As
if they couldn’t tell Kid G is the only fella in the place wearing a dress and has the word TWAT written on his forehead in permanent ink. Good luck getting that off before work on Monday, boss man is not going to be best pleased with you Kid G.

We
then decide to cable tie the hen and stag together wrist to wrist and are then made to ‘down’ cocktails packed with brain damage amounts of alcohol. These two are inseparable all afternoon. Wherever she goes, he goes and vice versa.

It’s
all good clean fun until substitute stag boy (Kid G) feels the urgent need to go and off load the scran he ate last night. All the booze and the breakfast he has shoved down his throat, has pushed down on his full to bursting point, bag of guts and tommy turd is very definitely in the departure lounge.

The
poor hen is not happy when he explains that he has to very urgently go and turn his bike around. They are tied together so she has no choice in the matter and is visiting the men’s toilets as well.

Kid
G gets his dress and pants down with one hand and mounts the porcelain throne.

The
hen is trying to get as far out of the cubicle as she can and is pulling on Kid G’s arm in desperation to escape the danger zone. Then the stag let’s go and the stench is incredible. There are local sewer farms that smell better. Kid G’s arm is nearly yanked from his socket as the green-faced hen tries to get away, but they are tightly secured.

The
noise of his brown snake hitting the pan sounds like a cruise liner being launched off the coast of Portsmouth and it probably displaces as much water as well. Finally he finishes seeing an old friend off to the coast with the words ‘That was a belter!’

The
hen is gagging by now, she is definitely not impressed, particularly when the stag asks if she would not mind helping him wipe up round the back, as he only has one hand available and this is definitely a job for two!

She
does see the funny side and starts laughing, even cops a sneaky peek at his meat and two veg as well. This makes her laugh even more, probably glad that she is not getting wed to something that small and hairy. She then feels even sorrier for his poor intended bride to be. Just imagine having to clean out the loo after this fella has been through it, leaving more skid marks than are found on the outside lane of the M25.

The
girls are a great laugh and the afternoon disappears in a sea of booze and a cloud of tobacco smoke.

All
the ladies seem to have husbands and/or boyfriends. Some have boyfriends and other people’s husbands. Others have regular ‘fuck buddies’ they call when they get the urge, which seems to be most nights of the week and why not? All is fair in love and war or some such.

They
all go on about sex more than us lads do. You would think there is some sort of National Cock Shortage on, the way they speak about it. They certainly seem to be working their way through the EU man member mountain.

One
of the hens is all over one of the stags like a rash, her knickers must be wetter than a Trawlerman’s boot and soon the pair of them go off on the missing list. They return half an hour later looking rather sheepish and dishevelled. You can bet they haven’t been around Edinburgh Castle looking at the sights, but wager he has been scaling her battlements! To be frank the smell of fuck is all over the pair of them.

Kid
N has fallen asleep on a big overstuffed comfy sofa at the back of the pub. He is really giving it some heavy duty Z’s. The hens silently descend on him with make-up bags.

As
he sleeps his lips get sticked, his lashes get mascara-ed and his nails polished until he looks like the most crap transvestite in all of Scotland. The girls do a cracking job on him and he doesn’t realise for hours after waking that he has a full face of make-up on.

He
just wondered why everyone was giving him the skunk eye and laughing openly at him.

The
bar staff love it because we are filling up their tills at a frightening rate. They are giving out more free shots than a couple of doctors handing out TB jabs at a primary school.

Music
is pumping out of the pubs hi-fi system at full blast and now the party is going full tilt. It’s not long until Village jumps up on a table and starts stripping his shirt off while trying to down Tequila through his eye. He’s overjoyed when one of the hens joins him and does the same. The stripping I meant not the whole drinking through the eye socket thing which is just bloody stupid and not to be encouraged.

It
does get you well pissed though.

The
hen’s top comes off to a massive cheer that finally wakes Kid N the new king of cosmetics. This afternoon we are getting more flashes of tit than an avid bird watcher sitting alone up on the local moors with just his binoculars for company.

It’s
all going like some mad absinthe-induced dream until someone starts chanting one word over and over that totally ruins the pretend stag’s day.

PYRAMID!

PYRAMID!

PYRAMID!

CIGARETTES SMOKED IN THIS CHAPTER: 17…..124 TO GO.

BOOZE
BINGED IN THIS CHAPTER: 1 PINT, 3 BOTTLES OF LAGER, AN ARCHERS AND LEMONADE & A MALIBU AND PINEAPPLE

Chapter Fourteen: The Edinburgh Pyramid Catastrophe

According to the all-knowing internet world wide web thingy ‘The Great Pyramid of Giza’ took over twenty years to build and is over 470 feet tall. This height is approximately eight months of hard cock labour for our working girl earlier in this book (See chapter five. I cannot guarantee that all figures included there are correct. They probably aren’t but what’s your problem? Maths was never my strong point. Besides this is not some sort of dissertation for university, it’s just a book packed full of filth and nonsense).

The
pyramid is an amazing feat of human ingenuity. Millions of stones, each weighing tons in weight were somehow lifted into position, hundreds of feet off the ground. There were no massive cranes or petrol driven machines to help out. Just hundreds of thousands of slaves who were worked/flogged into early graves to erect (snigger) a huge tomb in memory of Pharaoh Khufu.

It
is an enormous structure and takes your breath away when you think that this pyramid has been on Earth for over four and a half thousand years. It is totally incredible and almost worth an actual trip to Egypt to see it. I’ve only ever seen it on the telly, but honestly feel that is the better option.

They
say travel broadens the mind. By travelling on multiple stag dos, the only thing you are going to broaden is the waist band of your jeans that support your ever increasing beer belly AKA your ‘bay window’.

Anyway
‘Great Pyramid of Giza’ I SHIT YOU!

Give
me ten able bodied men and within five minutes I can build for you ‘The Shite Pyramid of Geezers!’

Back
in the Edinburgh bar on Saturday afternoon, the chant is getting louder and louder. It is now broken into three syllables being howled at the top of our voices:

PY-RA-MID!!!!!!

PY-RA-MID!!!!!!

PY-RA-MID!!!!!!

So let’s get building. The first four lads get down on their hands & knees in a row next to each other. Then the next three climb onto their backs on all fours as well, supported by the chaps below. Are you getting the picture?

The
third level is two lads on the backs of the three below with one space at the very top reserved for the stag. As we are constructing our very poor excuse of a geezer pyramid (at about eight feet tall in total, it’s not really that impressive) the bar staff put on The Bangles tune ‘Walk like an Egyptian.’ We stop working and strut around to the song, doing crazy Egyptian poses with the hens, who are absolutely loving it.

Top
eighties pop tune over and it is construction time again. Levels one, two and three are complete, so now it’s time for the pretend stag to climb up to the top.

Obviously
he is still attached to the chief hen so we cut him free of the cable ties before he is able to scale the man pyramid. We have plenty more cable ties so we’ll just tie him up again later, as and when the mood takes us.

The
stag (Kid G) is well wobbly on his feet by now as he has consumed the best part of a small brewery over the afternoon, but he finally gets to the top on his hands & knees supported by the nine other dudes below him.

The
pub goes wild. People are cheering and rush over to take photographs with those cheap disposable cameras that get taken away on weekenders. The stag is enjoying all of the attention and tries to stand up on the backs of the two lads below him. Big mistake! He is not the lightest of guys, although after his recent mammoth dump, he must be at least half a stone lighter than when he woke up. The pyramid starts to look a bit shaky. ‘BAD STACK! BAD STACK!’ one of the crew screams.

Suddenly
one of the lads at the bottom of the pile, Kid J can’t take all the weight from above and his knees give way, causing the whole pyramid to collapse down on top of him.

Poor
old Kid G falls at least eight feet from the top and lands face first on the wooden floor. There is a huge sound ‘SPANG!’ like something out of a cartoon, as his gob comes smashing down on to the floor. He has come down massively hard on to the hard wood surface and the noise sounds like his jaw has definitely been broken.

As
Kid G gets up from the floor we can all see that his lips are now a massive bloody mess and as he opens his mouth, we clock that he has lost his two front teeth in the dreadful accident. Claret is pissing out all over the place. His face looks like a really badly made up zombie from some cruddy VHS horror movie from 1986.

Kid
G is trying to say something but his jaw is definitely FUBAR (Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition). The hens start cooing about him, mopping up the blood and the bar staff call up an ambulance.

Because
of his dental deficiency Kid G is instantly renamed GAP by one of the gang. However, he is not the only pyramid casualty. Kid J has busted two of his fingers which are now hanging at a very odd angle on his hand. He is so drunk he didn’t even feel it and only noticed what had happened when he tried to lift his pint pot.

GAP
is in a terrible mess and has started to cry. He has an interview at work on Monday and he was sure that he was finally going to get a well-paid promotion to management level. Now he has no chance as it looks like he has been trying to nosh off a chainsaw.

His
gob is in a right state, it looks like he has gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer.

With
the lack of two front teeth, a sensible conversation with a potential new boss is well out of the question. Finally the ambulance turns up to cart blubbing GAP and Kid J off to the local A&E. That’s two of the herd lost in the last five minutes. At this rate there will be none of us left to get the plane home down south tomorrow night.

The
collapse of ‘The Shite Pyramid of Geezers’ kind of ruins the party atmosphere and the group of hens decide to chip off and get ready for their big night out. They vaguely promise to meet us in some nightclub later that evening.

We
get another round of drinks in and have a seat to reflect on the afternoon’s mayhem. Deviant has found one of GAP’s front teeth embedded in the wooden floor. The sick puppy is absolutely overjoyed.

‘This
is going to make a fucking brilliant lucky charm to attach to my gold belcher chain!’ he crows.

Not
so lucky for GAP though, I guess.

CIGARETTES
SMOKED IN THIS CHAPTER: 13…..111 TO GO

BOOZE
BINGED IN THIS CHAPTER: 2 PINTS, 3 BOTLES, A PINA COLADA, A DRY MARTINI WITH DIET LEMONADE, 1 BLUE CURACAO