Tag Archives: party

An Overheard Secret

30 Aug

There was a boy who joined my school at the start of the term as we moved into Lower Sixth Form. As he had not been at our secondary school from years 8-11, along with the fact he was socially awkward (plus shy, a geek, wore glasses, had big teeth, loved Freddy Mercury and drama), meant he was an easy target for the bullies/’cool’ kids. For the first couple of weeks of term, he’d be at the receiving end of most of their ‘practical jokes’; and the other new members of class would join in, as if to distract from the fact that they were new as well.

Nathan was his name, but he was soon known by all as ‘Twaz’ (bizarrely because he once said ‘‘twas’ instead of ‘it was’) and then this was lengthened to ‘Twazim Akram’ once it was discovered that he liked cricket quite a bit.

It just so happened that Twaz was on my school bus, and we soon developed a bit of a friendship. I’d chat to him in the mornings on the way to school, and stop and talk to him if we crossed paths walking to lessons. On numerous occasions I’d go and chat to him during break and lunch times if I saw him standing alone, as he’d only made two friends at the school, who were of similar ilk to Twaz. It wasn’t out of pity either, I found him charming and interesting, and as Twaz’s confidence grew, it became a great spectacle for me watching him give witty ripostes to the lads that tried to mock him.

I’d just like to point out that I was by no means one of the ‘cool’ kids at school , and was in no way taking Twaz ‘under my wing’ so to speak; but I was fortunate enough to be able to flit between the different social groups that develop at school. It meant that I didn’t get the piss ripped out of me for stopping and chatting to Twaz, and the negative attention he received when he first joined the school soon died down.

Three months into term, Twaz came up to me during lunch break.

“It’s my birthday on Friday night and I wondered if you’d like to come round to mine? I’ve asked Dan and Dominic (his other two mates) as well. They’ll be a bit of food and some drink. My parents are away as well. You don’t have to if you don’t want to”

“Sure, why not?!” I replied. I had no other plans, and I liked the bloke, it was fine by me.

“Thanks”, replied Twaz, “I’ll let you know the details later on. Can you not let them lot know please? They’ll only take the piss out of me.”

 I knew who he meant by ‘them lot’. “Course not”, I replied, and with that Twaz walked off.

That afternoon in Business Studies, Twaz came over to my desk. In hushed tones, he told me to get to his for about 7.30pm, and he told me his address. As he lived in the same town as me, I knew where he lived straight away. Then he told me that he was making 3 different curries for us to eat. Result! I fucking love curry!

“I’ll be there, mate”.

“BE WHERE? PARTY IS IT?”. Fuck. One of the twats in the class had heard most of the conversation and began to broadcast it to the rest of the room. He knew the time, the address; every detail, the nosey fucking bastard.

“I didn’t want you lot to know”, protested Twaz, downbeat. “It was meant to be a secret”.

“Awww, bless”. The teasing commenced.

The next two days were rife with rumours that loads of the sixth form were going to turn up to the ‘house party’. Friday came and I let Twaz know that I would still be coming to his, along with Dan and Dominic. All day, people kept winding Twaz up, saying things like ‘See you at half seven’ and ‘can’t wait for your party’. That evening I turned up at his, at he invited me in. Well fuck me; the food looked, and indeed tasted amazing, and there was a lot of beer and wine on offer – he’d pulled out all the stops. Conversation was pretty awkward as I didn’t know the other two that well, but I was glad I had turned up. I’d been there about 45 minutes, when the doorbell went. Twaz went to answer it, and I peered from the living room towards the front door.

FUCK.ME.

There, at the front door, stood about 40 people from the school. The tranquil, social gathering of 4 went to loud , chaotic house party and carnage ensued within minutes. The music was turned up, his parents alcohol cupboard was instantly raided, and despite Twaz and I trying to control the situation, there were far too many already drunk teenagers for us to be able to much to calm their behaviour. In the next hour or so, curry was chucked over the walls and carpets, someone pissed in the microwave, numerous people were wandering around in his mum’s clothes, the back window got cracked, cigarettes got put out on the carpet, a trifle got launched down the stairs – you get the idea; as much damage as possible, teenagers being utter arseholes. Twaz was in tears, and I felt sorry for him, and also guilty because it was our conversation that had been overheard. The destruction only stopped when the neighbour called the police to complain about the noise. I stayed behind to help clear up, but we were fighting a losing battle, and Twaz knew he’d have to tell his parents what had happened when they arrived home the next Sunday. I wished him well and left, wondering to myself how people can be such fucking idiots. I felt sad that not only Twaz’s house been ruined, but his birthday too.

I’ll sum up what happened in the aftermath of this:

–   Twaz got a bollocking off his parents, and got grounded for a month.

–   He invited me, Dominic and Dan around again 3 weeks later when his parents were away again, and whilst he was still grounded. I accepted. When I got to his house, he’d pulled all the carpets up, put Clingfilm over every single wall and locked anything of any value in the garden shed, just ‘in case someone found out about it again’, as he put it.

–   The house party went on to be the making of Twaz. People thought he was a legend and no longet took the piss out of him. A couple of months after the event, he won the school ‘Stars in Their Eyes’ style talent show, with a rousing rendition of Radio Gaga.

Teenagers can be a fickle bunch.

AB#6 – Midget Party

7 Aug

Every year I host a garden party for all those people in my local area that have been cursed with the plague-like affiliation of dwarfism. Last night saw this event take place and a plethora of small people turned up. Dwarfs and midgets chatted as one, and I even threw in a few party games as well.

I took it upon myself to start hosting this event for a number of reasons. Firstly, I wanted to raise my profile in the local community as I aim to become town mayor by the time I am 40. Secondly, I am sick and tired of ‘little people’ being treated different from other members of our society, I thought I should make a stand and help make others realise that we are all the same. The final reason is the warmth I get inside as I watch a smile form across their faces when they see what I have done for them. Smiles so big that they almost take your eye away from their whacking sized foreheads. I love the way their little limbs flap as they clamber up my stairs and roll about in the sand pit. Oh how I laugh when I see them running for the punch, like a toddler, only funnier.
Last night was no different.

Invites had been sent out last week to about 30 midget people that I have got to know over the last few years. Guests started arriving at 7 o’clock and I directed them into my front room where they could enjoy the delights of ‘Guess which name I’m pointing to in the Yellow Pages’ whilst they waited for the arrival of the others. I’d provided a small finger buffet of cocktail sausages, pineapple and cheese on sticks, beetroot sandwiches and radish slices.

Around half an hour later, all my guests had arrived and it was time to show them to the garden. As I pulled back the curtain from the patio door, there were gasps of delight and their little faces lit up like tiny children at the fairground. I had erected a gazebo to keep everyone dry from the rain (after all, we didn’t want to see anymore shrinkage) and halogen lights lit the place up like Blackpool, only cleaner. I had even layed out an old carpet, and provided seating, and a small BBQ was ready to go.

The first party game was to be the piñata. Up stepped Mike, a dwarf that works in the local butchers. He makes small trinkets from the bones and carcasses of the dead animals there, and sells them on a stall outside. He grasped the baseball bat in his tiny chubby hands, his watch almost disappearing from sight amongst the rolls of fat as he bent his grip backwards. I blindfolded him and stepped back for safety. The piñata swayed in the gentle breeze, the pink and orange tissue paper that I had used to decorate it reflected the light hypnotically. Mike stepped forward a pace, and to a chorus of clapping and cheering, swung at the piñata with all his might.

He missed by a mile.

The clapping got faster, the midgets cheered louder and Mike swung again, this time leaping a little off the floor to try and get more power into his hit. He was still a long way off though, I estimated about 4 foot lower than the bottom of the piñata. I called to Mike to let the others have a go and so he removed his blindfold and put it around the face of Jenny, an even funnier looking thing. Her body was way out of proportion. Her arse is like that of rhino, whilst her body like that of an aphid. Her head is indescribable.

Mike gave her a quick pat on the back for good luck and made his way to the others. Again the clapping started, and encouraging cheers were this time as loud as ever. Jenny aimed the bat upwards and swung, the sheer momentum of it causing her to fall over. There she lay, flustered, like a woodlouse on its back. A small kick to her side was all that was needed to get her up.

Over the next half an hour, many more midgets had a go, but none of them could reach the piñata. This was a great shame, as inside lay man y a treat including a baby bullfrog, a spinning top and a small Buddha statue, signed by Konni Huq o Blue Peter fame.

The next game was apple bobbing but with a twist. For this game, I had hired out a pool, one of the self-assembled variety that are seen in many gardens these days, and at 4ft deep, was adequate what I wanted.
I asked each midget that wanted to play this game to stand around the outside of the pool, in their underwear. They stood and watched as I tossed about 30 apples into the pool and made them all tie a balloon to their pants. This was to make the bobbing much more difficult, they would have to power their little legs harder in order to reach the bottom of the pool.

“On your marks. Get Set. Go!”, I shouted and 12 midgets leapt into the pool. This was a sight that will never leave me. Little people all trying their utmost to get to the bottom of the pool, but bobbing about like buoys with small limbs. The winner of this game was to be the person that could retrieve most apple, with their mouth, from the bottom of the pool, in two minutes. Those that were not playing shouted words of encouragement, I just laughed at them. Their legs flaying out of the top of the water, kicking around uncontrollably as they tried to get to the bottom of the pool, was sheer comedy. Even those not participating found it hard to control their laughter.
I looked at my watch at shouted for them to stop. They got out of the pool and stood next to the apples they had managed to bob. Not one of them had managed even one, until that is, I reached Brian..
Brian stood triumphantly next to a pile of 7 apples. I was amazed at this amount. None of the others had managed a single apple, yet Brian, a man smaller than many at the party, had somehow amassed 7.

I congratulated Brian and gave him his prize, a homemade lemon gateaux with added fish essence. I told him to turn around so I could untie the balloon from his pants and it was at this point I was taken aback. I noticed a large,pointy lump coming from the bottom of his pants and asked Brian what the Hell it was.
“Oh, that? That’s my tail”, said Brian proudly. With this, he lowered his underwear slightly to reveal a small wagging tail, only skin covered, not hairy.
“How….how did you get that?” I asked. He went on to explain that his spine hadn’t stopped growing, even though the rest of his body had, and so he had a little tail. He could wag it like a dog, and had used the power from this to propel himself to the bottom of the pool.

“This is an unfair, amphibian like advantage”, I cried, throwing the gateaux over the fence. I had decided to disqualify Brian and so there was no winner. After a bit of protest, he agreed that he was in the wrong, so we moved onto the game – the high jump.

This was a game that everyone was to compete in. At one end of the gazebo, I had two piles of breeze blocks, four high, with a broom stick in between them. The midgets formed an orderly queue at the other end . One my command they all took it in turns to run at the broomstick, and attempt to clear it. Those that could would go through o the next round, where the bar would be raised, until we had a winner.

The next 20 minutes proved to me that my party games were a waste of time. Not one midget managed to clear the bar, and we lost Darren, the young AIDS victim, through a broken nose. He had tripped and smashed his face into the breeze blocks, losing 4 teeth in the process. Instead of playing the other games I had lined up; basketball and wrestling, I decided to call a halt to proceedings.

“Every year I host a party for you guys, this year, you’re just taking the piss”, I shouted. “If your not willing to put the effort in to these games I’ve arranged for you, then I’m not willing to have you all in my house. Go on, get out. Be gone you pathetic excuse for humans.”

They looked at me stunned, slack-jawed. I snared and they began to file out of the garden, through the house and out the front door. “And don’t come back”, I screamed, waving my fist in the air, as the last one closed the door behind him. I had wasted my time , money and effort in organising the party. I felt saddened at the fact that these midgets had tried to make a laughing stock out of me, even though I was willing helping people understand them. What had I done to deserve this?

I walked back out into the garden and extinguished the flame on the BBQ. Walking back inside, I glanced over my shoulder to survey to mess they had left behind them. “The bastard rapscallions”, I said to myself and went to the kitchen.

Never again. Never, ever again.

AB#5 – The Return of Axle Strider

7 Aug

My local pub, the Bell End View Local Tavern is where I go every Sunday night for a couple of pints of Abbot Ale, and to join in the quiz with all the other locals. Yesterday saw a £50 prize going to the winner, so I headed straight down after my dinner to get a decent seat. The pub itself has a very cosy atmosphere; the faded red upholstery that adorns most of the seats now has a more of a pink tinge to it, and the old oak posts and floorboards are battered and worn. Old brass utensils are hung sporadically on the walls and the low sloping ceiling makes the whole place seem smaller than it really is. A log fire burns most nights keeping the pub warm and inviting.

It’s shielded from the rest of the pub by a very large grill. It didn’t used to be, but after an elderly chap had a rather bad accident after too much rum in close proximity to the fire, Health and Safety called for it to be installed. His nickname is now ‘Weston’. The pub has no pool table, which I like, as it keeps unwanted youths away, and the bitter is always of good quality. The main reason I come here though is the people. From landlady Scatty Morag to many of the other locals – Big Paul, Carpenter Dave (he’s a plumber), Chin O’Brien and Mustang Wally; they are all a lovely bunch of people that give me a lot of time and good conversation.

I arrived at about ten past seven to yesterdays quiz, and the pub was already to beginning to fill up with hopeful people all wanting to take part and win. I always enter the quiz on my own, rather than being in a team, as I like to take all the glory for myself. Plus, what’s the point of splitting £50 five ways? I’ve never seen the use of winning a tenner. My usual stool at the end of the bar was unoccupied so I ordered a pint of Abbot and a packet of pork scratchings and sat down.

“What time do we get underway, Morag”, I asked as she handed me my change.

”Well Arthur it’s an 8 o’clock kick off, would you like a cheese sandwich?” she replied, smiling.

“No thanks, I’ve just eaten” was my response and I was a bit surprised at how quickly she’d managed to change the subject, which Morag was famed for.

I passed her my £1 entry fee and looked around scanning any potential competition. Most of the usual faces were already gathered in their groups; my main rivals were sat directly opposite me near the door. ‘God Shave the Queen’ is their ‘hilarious’ team name, but they have won six of the last eight quiz nights. Mustang Wally is the brains behind the team, specializing in both science and geography, but his wife Brenda is also capable when it comes to history questions. I think that they carry the other two members of the team somewhat, their next door neighbours Colin and Bruce, a couple of homosexuals that have matching moustaches and who like to fornicate in public.

Also present were ‘The Old Couple’, ‘Pump your Quiz on me’, ‘Farmers Meekly’ and ‘Beadle’s Claw’, among others. I opted to go for my usual name of ‘Solo Baggall’. Although it sounds like some sort of lurid sex act, I like this name and I will always keep it. I can’t stand teams that change their team name every week; in fact, I think there should be a 10 point deduction for any team that wants to change their name. Farcical. As 8 o’clock neared, the pub was bustling with people getting drinks in ready prior to the quiz starting. I got another pint in as the first one had gone down so well.

Question Master for the evening was to be Morag’s husband, Phil, who always did a good job. Morag passed Phil a microphone from behind the bar and it made a piercing shrill as he flicked it on. “Good evening Ladies and Gents and welcome to the weekly Bell End View quiz night! As some of you know, first prize tonight is £50, so good luck all. Morag is handing out paper and pens to all the teams as we speak and once she’s done that, I’ll start the quiz!” I took my pen in my hand and then hunched over my paper slightly in the fashion of a child at school, so no-one could copy any of my answers. I was quietly confident that this was going to be my week.

“Round 1 will be on Capital Cities”, said Phil. My eyes lit up. I couldn’t believe it, my best topic. I was determined to get into an early lead and show my rivals I meant business. Phil picked up his clipboard of questions and spoke into the microphone.

 “Ok, question 1. What is the capita ARRHHGGGHHH, what the f….”

He was stopped mid sentence by an almighty smash. There were cries of terror coming from two women sat on a table behind me, near the back entrance which leads to the garden. Looking over my shoulder I saw broken glass littering the tables, chairs and floor that stood in front of what used to be a window. The occupants of the table were not badly hurt; one lady had a deep gouge on her cheek but was otherwise fine. She looked to be making the most of it, milking the fact she was bleeding as a way of getting a bit of attention. The woman and her friends made their way over to the bar and everyone was now beginning to crowd around the area where I was sat to see what had happened. The whole pub had fallen into an eerie silence. The congregation around me reeked of anticipation; they were expecting something else to happen.

“Please remain calm and return to your seating”, announced Phil with slight discomfort in his voice.

No-one listened; they remained focused on the smashed window. Morag had shimmied over to the area to retrieve a brick from the floor. This was obviously the projectile that had been used to cause this damage but who had thrown it? Although it only happened yesterday, I cannot really remember what was going through my head at this point. I think I was more transfixed on watching the actions of others. I remember having a gut feeling that something else was going to happen, and I was right. From out of the dark night sky, a figure moved towards the shattered window. I could only make out the silhouetted outline at first but as they moved nearer, It slowly dawned on me as to who it was. The person in question is a beast of a man, the local nutcase who had previously done time for GBH, armed robbery and necrophilia; a man that I had the misfortune of spending my school years with. Most of the crimes he commits are carried out whilst he’s high on drugs, I’ve spotted him on my binoculars before, sniffing glue and popping pills in the early hours of the morning.

The man who had smashed the window was Axle Strider.

He was back from wherever he’d been, and he didn’t look too happy. His face was contorted with rage; his bulbous eyes with dilated pupils looked full of confusion and anger. Sweat trickled down his bald, veiny head, and it glistened like a disco ball from the light emitted from the pubs fire. His stonewash jeans were tattered and dirty, and they were held onto his lower torso with what looked to be a bungee cord. His white vest was thick with grease and mud and clung to his toned chest like a limpet. Over this he wore a denim jacket, with the sleeves rolled up. It didn’t quite match the shade of his jeans, it appeared to be newer. In one hand he clasped a butchers’ knife. The other was in the air with the middle finger raised.

“What the fook are you lot lookin’ at, eh?” he screamed, as he waved the knife menacingly.

Many people in the pub had moved back now towards the entrance and those that had been around me trying to see what was going on were following suit. I remained in my seat trying to stay calm. In truth I was petrified. Axle used to bully me at school and it was no surprise to me he had turned out like he had. I wanted to keep my head down, try and look away, but something was stopping me. I just had to watch the mentalist.

“Axle, my love, what the bleedin’ Hell are you doing? What do you want? Can I get you a Stella? Why did you smash my window?” Morag was hysterical. She was shaking like a cold Parkinson’s sufferer.

Phil had moved behind the bar and put a reassuring arm around her. She nuzzled into his neck and began to sob.

“Pleeease, please go Axle. Why are you doing this to my pub?” Her words sounded weak and feeble. The corner of Axle’s mouth moved up slightly and he broke into a smile. As he smiled, his chapped top lip bled slightly as the skin broke out from the tight position it had previously been in. He was now starting to climb through the window and no one was doing anything to stop him. I remember Mustang Wally attempting to remonstrate with him and I admire him for that. He walked towards Axle, picking up an empty pint glass on the way. Axle leapt through the window, knocking the remaining shards of glass out from the window frame with his feet as he did so. Wally was in trouble and we all knew it.

“Leave him Wally”, said Phil, almost inaudibly. Wally looked at Phil and then backed away slowly from the window. Axle started to laugh.

“HAHAHA, you utter wimp, you complete and utter wimp” and as he said this he moved towards the bar where we were all gathered. My heart sank as his gaze fixed onto me, once again I was trying to look away but I just couldn’t. I knew he recognised me from somewhere, I was just hoping he wouldn’t figure it out. Many people were pleading with him to leave.

All he would say though was “I am Axle Strider and I will do what I please”. “YOU!” he shouted, prodding me in the chest with his finger. “Who are you? I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

He was right in my face now, spitting the words out through his clenched teeth. I was so close to him, I could see the patterns of stubble against his rough skin. I could smell alcohol on his breath and I could taste his salty body odour which was raping the air. I was scared and he knew it.

“No, not me, Sir” I said, in the gentlest manner I could. “I think you have me confused with someone else”. It sounded convincing enough in my head.

Axle took a step back and surveyed me up and down.

“No, I do know you. You’re Baggall aren’t you? I knew it! I knew I recognised you’re ugly mug”. He slammed a fist onto the bar in front of me. Morag let out a quiet whimper as if she knew what was about to happen. I looked around me for support but everyone had gone to the front of the pub, packing themselves against the wall. I was on my own. Axle lurched forward again and grabbed me by the collar of my jumper. The force of this sent my flat cap to the floor. He looked like a rabid dog; foaming at the mouth and now shouting an impressive array of obscenities. I was so scared, I couldn’t move. People were shouting, I could see their mouths moving, but I could hear nothing. It was like I was underwater.

I looked into Axle’s eyes and he just looked back blankly; it seemed as if he was looking straight through me. He moved his right arm backwards, his tightly clenched fist pointed down towards me, with numerous sovereign rings ready to pummel my face in. Everything was moving in slow motion. As his fist came through the air towards me, I did the only thing I could. I moved my head to one side and pushed my arm upwards towards his face. As I made contact with his sweaty face, I pushed my index finger deep into his eye, gouging it; twisting my wrist so that I could inflict as much pain as I physically could. Axle let out a terrifying scream in agony and staggered back, releasing his grip on me. He fell to his knees and covered his face with both of his hands. Blood was oozing from his eye socket and spilling down his face. I was in shock. I looked at my hand. I had Axle’s blood spattered over it. I remember the noise coming back into the room at this point. I heard a cry of “What has he done, Arthur’s a dead man now” and it sprung me back into action.

“Take that you bastard!” I leapt forward and kicked upwards against Axle’s chin, sending him backwards onto the floor. He was sprayed out like an upturned woodlouse, disorientated and desperately trying to feel for something to help him to his feet. A nasty looking cut had formed from the kick, a gash so deep you could just see the bone. I knelt onto Axle’s chest and tried to pull his tongue out. It gripped the fleshy end between my thumb and forefinger and tugged downwards. As I did so, Axle’s head jolted forward and met the palm of my other hand, sending him back to the floor.

Blood was pissing out of his face now, he was almost recognisable. I had never got into a rage like this before, the last time I came close was when I was back at school and the bullies used to lock me in the stock cupboard with the school cleaner, who was later convicted as a paedophile. I used to get taunted saying that I had turned him. I suppose it was these memories that came flooding back as I pummelled Axle. Every last sap of energy drained out of me as I laid a relentless barrage of punches, kicks and slaps. After 5 minutes or so, I stood up, sweaty and dazed. Axle lay on the floor like a dead badger on the side of the road. I don’t know why but other people in the pub began to clap. There was cheering as well, “Way to go Arthur, Yeah!” a jubilant Morag exclaimed, “Let’s drag the evil swine outside”.

So we did. It took 4 of us to move his battered body across the floor and into the pub garden. We rolled him into the bushes and retired back to the pub for a celebratory drink. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I was a quivering wreck by this point. I wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of being a hero or the fear of Axle’s revenge. Either way, I was going to try and savour the moment. The night passed quickly without any further incident of note. I was proud to have conquered a few of my childhood demons, with Axle taking to full brunt of this.

I was rewarded with a three-some with Phil and Morag. After closing time, we headed upstairs and into their bedroom, onto the marital bed. Things were by no means awkward and we got straight on with things. I took Morag from behind, quite slowly, whilst she performed fellatio on Phil. It got quite messy. Morag was begging me to come deep inside her at one point, but I wasn’t ready. I squeezed my throbbing shaft at the base and withdrew. The sight of me, member bobbing around proudly, caused Phil to withdraw and spatter Morag’s face with his man fat. She looked like a plasterer’s radio, but she managed to force a smile and lick her lips a little. I was bashing myself off like a little spider monkey at this point, whilst furiously fingering Morag’s baggy snatch. Yes, she was old, but her pert breasts more than made up for the lack of friction I was receiving from her vaginal passage. She had a nice little rug on her as well, like a 70s German porn star.

Phil was watching, semi-awake and semi-erect. I took his place on the bed and lay down. Morag shimmied herself over me and then squatted, releasing a torrent of fluid over my chest, which I massaged into myself. She then lowered herself onto my wand and began to slowly gyrate, leaning forward so I could take a nipple between my teeth. I held onto her arse for support and went at jack hammer speed. Morag wailed loudly and arched her back, her ribcage protruded through her skin. I was ready to unleash my load into her cunny and Morag shouted, “I’m coming Mr.Baggall you fucker” as she climaxed. I won’t go into the finer details of last night, but I sure did enjoy myself. As for Axle Strider; I hope he never has the nerve to show his face around here again.

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