All aboard, Direct to Bile Central.

Oh, my old ass. I mean, come on. I sit here now, alone, with cuts on my knees and hands. The bottom of my trousers are soggy with what can only be described as stale vomit. I have my hat on, and my hood up. I avoid mirrors for fear of what i might see. Well, "Here comes the Pain" pretty much sums it up. Well, I'll just jot down a few interesting points from the night to give you an impression of what it was like. First off, Ben Speirs was there, much to my delight. I kissed him long before I'd drunk any liquor, lets put it that way. Oh, and even as I sit here, I remember jumping into a field of thistles. Well that explains where the cuts came from at least. "Oh, whats that ass music?" I remember thinking as I entered the abode. As I became steadily jollier, and bodies hit the floor, I can remember chanting for an encore. Oh, how my judgment was smeared. Not unlike, may I add, the boggy, marshy carpets, filled with what can only be accurately described as bodily fluids. I have a vague memory of an 11 year old boy, pestering me for beer/change, both of which I willfully gave to him. I think the only bathroom of the property deserves a mention here. I mean, come on lads, why not pile into the toilet in groups of four, and watch in horror as the bile rises up to neck height. Oh, and, it just wouldn't be a bile-a-thon if the police didn't turn up, hungry for the blood of underage drinkers. And blood they got, along with a fifty year old man that had arrived at the scene, which me and Elliot later colourfully described as "Creaky Pedo". He was ejected, but this didn't even seem to dent the old boy's morale, as he was back in within minutes, using a clever disguise of 'lack of hat'. I can quite vividly remeber me and Elliot sitting on shelves in a wardroab, and watching it creak and buckle under our weight. Not happy with the lack of splintered wood, we childishly bounced up and down, giggling, no less, till, with a sonic boom, the shelf dissapperated under ourselves. I could go on, with event after tear soaked event, of which i can remeber. But I won't, oh no, because I can already feel the hot white anger in my stomach fighting for political justice, I must return to the bathroom and caw at the wall, pleading for the clammy claws of the Grim reaper to come himself, and take me away from this surreal, living, hell.