Chainsaw malarkey part zwei...
Mar. 15th, 2002 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hirezThere's a thash-metal band sounchecking in the living room, Ed's in a foul and hungover temper... So I go into work for a couple of hours to soak up some free bandwidth doing spoddy things and wait for my own hangover to subside.
I return to relative peace and quiet - Will and Marc are playing what Withy used to call 'laddy shove games', which encompasses all blokey horseplay short of setting about someone with a cricket bat. (Something I miss, oddly. Though there's plenty of it at work.) While it would appear that Liberator have trolled off down the offy themselves to sort out their own rider. Good chaps. Inside, the South California Purples are setting up. They're a very beard-strokey funk band, which means tonight will be... Eclectic...
Time moves on. I load two cases of Stella into the fridge and padlock it (Lockable fridges are essential in the modern shared house), Will skins up a medium-sized one and we go sit on the lawn, watch the shadows lengthen, throw stones for Max (the dog) and call each other rude names until people start arriving and it's time to be sociable.
The party, predictably, is a drunken riot. The Purples play a fine set that finishes with a splendidly free-form version of 'Fascinating rhythm' to which there is much drunken lurching and it becomes hard to tell where the mob stops and the band starts. Liberator drive all but a few hardy souls into the kitchen through the magic of excess volume. Lovely blokes, but probably need to stop aiming for eleven all the time. And so things wind down with a DJ set of chill-out tunes, an amount of copping off in the backup bog (padlocking bedrooms considered useful) and a similar amount of puking in the primary bog.
All seems peaceful, but Ed has other plans.
He concocts a plan with Eddie G: Ed will remove the chain from his favourite saw and chase Eddie G. though the house while revving the shit out of it. Well, it sounded like an excellent jape at the time...
"Get your fucking hands off her!"
"Ed! Wait!"
Brchack! BAAAAARHH! BAARAAAA! BRMBRMBRMRAAAAH!
There is running and swearing and shouting and Eddie G. charges into the front room with Ed, waving a running chainsaw over his head, in hot pursuit. He corners Eddie and jabs the bar brutally into his stomach. Eddie shakes and yells like he's having his intestines ripped out and waved in front of his nose, then collapes on the floor in a heap.
Those who are in on the joke are barely able to breathe. I swear I nearly pissed myself.
Others, who were less informed, take a different view...
One fellow (a complete stranger, so no-one feels that awful about scaring the living crap out a gatecrasher) levitates three feet from cross-legged on the floor and is away out the door before anyone can move. Ed gives chase, but whoeveritis has far too good a lead and is probably halfway to Cheltenham by the time Ed comes back to claim a can of lager.
We never did find out who it was or what happened to him...
I return to relative peace and quiet - Will and Marc are playing what Withy used to call 'laddy shove games', which encompasses all blokey horseplay short of setting about someone with a cricket bat. (Something I miss, oddly. Though there's plenty of it at work.) While it would appear that Liberator have trolled off down the offy themselves to sort out their own rider. Good chaps. Inside, the South California Purples are setting up. They're a very beard-strokey funk band, which means tonight will be... Eclectic...
Time moves on. I load two cases of Stella into the fridge and padlock it (Lockable fridges are essential in the modern shared house), Will skins up a medium-sized one and we go sit on the lawn, watch the shadows lengthen, throw stones for Max (the dog) and call each other rude names until people start arriving and it's time to be sociable.
The party, predictably, is a drunken riot. The Purples play a fine set that finishes with a splendidly free-form version of 'Fascinating rhythm' to which there is much drunken lurching and it becomes hard to tell where the mob stops and the band starts. Liberator drive all but a few hardy souls into the kitchen through the magic of excess volume. Lovely blokes, but probably need to stop aiming for eleven all the time. And so things wind down with a DJ set of chill-out tunes, an amount of copping off in the backup bog (padlocking bedrooms considered useful) and a similar amount of puking in the primary bog.
All seems peaceful, but Ed has other plans.
He concocts a plan with Eddie G: Ed will remove the chain from his favourite saw and chase Eddie G. though the house while revving the shit out of it. Well, it sounded like an excellent jape at the time...
"Get your fucking hands off her!"
"Ed! Wait!"
Brchack! BAAAAARHH! BAARAAAA! BRMBRMBRMRAAAAH!
There is running and swearing and shouting and Eddie G. charges into the front room with Ed, waving a running chainsaw over his head, in hot pursuit. He corners Eddie and jabs the bar brutally into his stomach. Eddie shakes and yells like he's having his intestines ripped out and waved in front of his nose, then collapes on the floor in a heap.
Those who are in on the joke are barely able to breathe. I swear I nearly pissed myself.
Others, who were less informed, take a different view...
One fellow (a complete stranger, so no-one feels that awful about scaring the living crap out a gatecrasher) levitates three feet from cross-legged on the floor and is away out the door before anyone can move. Ed gives chase, but whoeveritis has far too good a lead and is probably halfway to Cheltenham by the time Ed comes back to claim a can of lager.
We never did find out who it was or what happened to him...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-03-15 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-03-16 12:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-03-16 01:40 am (UTC)