From http://www.ubersite.com/m/50268

A typical weekend of mayhem for me, living the high life, partying it up, rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle etc. Friday night was so wild it is untrue a Will & Grace double header and two, count ‘em, two coffees! Before bed!! I mean that is wild enough but I also slept in my socks. I know what you are all thinking -this boy is a mentalist – but I would rather die than live slow.

I had to work Saturday and didn’t finish until late. Some of my friends were out to dinner to celebrate Paul’s birthday. I was rushing to try and meet up but didn’t leave the office until gone nine. Which sucked a big fat one. With suspicious purple botches and a strange cheesy smell. Thats how much it sucked.

Fortunately most of my chums are borderline alcoholics so they wanted to go out and ‘have a quick pint’ first. This gave me time to meet them at the restaurant. I drove like a bat out of hell (blind, eating flies, squeaking and making lavish amounts of guano) and arrived at the place at around nine thirty. They hadn’t arrived as yet so I sat at the bar and had a light aperitif. As I was polishing off the second bottle of vodka my chums arrived.

Pausing to rearrange my trousers I greeted them in the traditional manner.

“Cunts!”

“Cunt!” Came the speedy and well met response.

The waitress informed us politely that our table was ready, if we would care to go to the end of the room, turn left, go through the door marked ‘Disabled Toilet’ and take our seats she would be along shortly.

This was obviously some local dialectic strange use of the word ‘shortly’ that I was previously unaware of – it was a good hour before she returned. By this time we were getting dangerously low on alcohol and I was trying to convince the birthday boy that one can indeed get pissed by drinking vinegar. I would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for that pesky waitress confiscating it upon her return.

We were in a Chinese restaurant so naturally I ordered my favourite Chinese dish, I like to experiment widely with my food. When my steak sandwich arrived I tucked in voraciously for I was very hungry. It was good, much better than the steak sandwich I had in that Mexican restaurant the other day or the one from that Indian restaurant and don’t even TALK to me about the sandwich from that Greek place last week.

It was a rectangular table, I was facing away from the door positioned at the edge. We were engaged in the most witty of entre-mange conversation. Bon mots were flying around and the ghost of Wilde himself was holding his sides entreating me to stop for the sake of his very health! Strangely the other diners didn’t seem to share in our mirth, they were clearly unable to appreciate the high art of the conversation. In fact a gentleman across the room made the suggestion that I ‘shut the fuck up’ and his dining partner may have intimated that I was an ‘obnoxious lout’. Philistines.

This weekend was Halloween as I am sure you all know. For most of you it’s the only time you can go out with out being chased by pitch fork wielding locals isn’t it? Halloween is a bit of a non-event where I live, so much so that I had forgotten about it.

So there I am conversing with my chums, minding my own business, when I hear a voice in my ear, I didn’t hear what it had said. I turned my head to see from whence this voice had originated.

Bad move.

At eye level, directly in front of me, no more than two feet away, was this terrible evil face with an eyeball dangling out, blood was smeared on its grotesque visage and its hideous teeth jutted from its swollen purple lips at inventive angles.

“Aaaargh FUCK!” I screamed and lashed out.

This was a reflex action. Honestly. I had no control over it whatsoever.

I suddenly realised what the hideous monster was. It was a small boy with a mask on. He must have said ‘trick or treat’. He was holding a bucket which had several coins in which were now rolling around on the floor on account of him being unconscious. Printed on the bucket was the slogan ‘Cancer Research’. You see, apparently, a six foot three, two hundred pound man is more than a match for a child.

Wimp.

I had knocked out a six year old boy. A six year old boy whom was collecting for charity.

Short of ass-raping a nun while simultaneously chanting the bible backwards I am struggling to see how I can more ensure a ticket to hell when I eventually stagger of this mortal coil.

The kerfuffle that ensued was truly horrific, every woman in the place gave me the evil eye, every man pretended not to laugh. As I lifted the boy’s mask from his face he came to his senses.

“Wwwwhat happened?” He said.

“Erm, well, erm you see, you erm caught me by surprise and I accidentally knocked in to you.” I said.

“Punched him.” Corrected the waitress, helpfully.

“Yes ,well, I see very little point in arguing about semantics.” I said, trying haughter as an escape route.

“You are a dickhead.” She replied, unimpressed.

I could see no valid argument against her assertion. I hope they have beer in hell.

NB : *** Only one little boy was harmed in the making of this post. I filled his bucket with lots of sympathy cash. He is expected to make a full recovery.***