Back in December, I wrote a post about wasps and how they have got me in trouble with the law and with PIL. If I’ve done it correctly, you can read about that here.
He wasn’t actually there at the time of the incident I described. He was nearby though. He was in a local hospital having soothing balms administered to his burnt buttocks by a 25 stone male Welsh nurse who wanted him to wear a sheep skin for some reason. Anyway, how did Norm end up there? As I’ve said before Norm was a tad accident prone and we were 17 or 18 years old at the time. At that age we were pretty much like 17 year olds everywhere. We were gross.
We regularly had burping and farting competitions. We would gulp down vast quantities of coke and try to belch the longest sentence possible. I think I once managed “forty fousand feathers on a frushes froat” while belching.
To us, this was the funniest thing ever. We would try and outdo each other with the loudest or the longest or the most disgusting fart ever. Le Petomane had nothing on us. So, did Norm end up in hospital from blow back when he tried to light one of his farts?
No. Norm managed it while playing volleyball! What a dipstick!
If the surf wasn’t too good then we would organise a game of beach volleyball. We would invite some of the young ladies sunbathing on the beach to join us. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have a volleyball net. We had imagination.
Admittedly 99.8753% of our imagination was devoted to picturing naked ladies in our smutty little minds but having girls playing meant that, with all those puppies bouncing about we were able, with the aid of a Tic Tac, to imagine the volleyball net more easily.
During the course of one match, Norm jumped for a ball, fell over onto his arse and a huge plume of pale blue smoke erupted from his backside. Without exception we all thought,
“Oh no. Norms done a visible fart. We’ll never match that.”
When Norm had fallen on his arse he had ignited a box of matches in his back pocket. He suffered 3rd degree burns to his right buttock and spent the rest of the week avoiding his new best friend the nurse and sitting on a rubber ring until the burns started to heal.
Finally, I’d just like to apologise. I follow a number of blogs and I often click on the “like” button if I like a post and I regularly make a comment. Sometimes, that comment will be “liked” by someone and, out of curiosity, I will click on it to find out who it was. Often, I do this using my phone. My phone screen is cracked. My phone has a tiddly little key pad. My fingers are like sausages. So I often accidentally “like” my own comment. It’s just I can’t always see where to prod so I just prod and end up feeling foolish. So don’t worry peeps I’m not so far up my own arse I’m inside out, I’m just a plonker.
Have a great day.