Last night we had one of our infamous drunken gatherings, where for some reason, much manly wrestling occured. Michael and Andy drew as the strongest, and James was the weakest. I beat him. Even though he pulled my hair. Yes, me, the patheticest piece of low muscle mass to ever walk the planet, beat somebody at a thing involving strength.
Anyway, for some other reason that probably seemed really good at the time, the boys got the floggers out
It was at this point that I threw up. In the bathroom, I hasten to add. I don't go round puking in public, whatever the provocation. James' prank seriously backfired on him. His hot girlfriend, and everyone else in the room, suddenly hated him. After much arguing, I decided to hide upstairs, and the arguing continued for a while longer. Eventually it was decided that he should take lashes. It was supposed to be 20 from a ten tailed rubber flogger, but this was cut down to 15 due to pussyness. His back was livid, bright bruises and even a little blood. And then him and Dan continued to argue for a long long while, as his girlfriend got bored and got a taxi home. He did not even notice. I assume he is today suffering the pain of an angry woman. Women are possibly the worst thing to ever have angry at you. With the possible exception of sharks, but lucky for us sharks are cold-blooded fishmonsters incapable of emotion.
Anyway, everyone was angry and moaning and so we decided to go to bed. This was a good move. All the drama had made me kinda sulky. And me being in a bad mood while drunk rarely ends well. Luckily tonight it ended ok. We snuggled up, all drunk and giggly, and watched Red Dwarf and ate cheese. So everything turned out ok in the end. It usually does.
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