Evening gents
We pick up the story again at dinner. We are all completely off our faces. Danny is sitting at dinner swaying. Jack and I sit down, having dragged over the lad we had been talking to. We are going to do everything in our power to ruin his evening. We start by stealing his coat. Wayne has done this by cunningly telling him he is cold. Jack steals his bag, and hides it under the table. He'll never know. Danny mumbles something. No one listens. A jug of wine each? Sure. We need more booze. After dinner, we are all sitting around casually drinking our jugs of wine. The English fella has battled hard and won, he has his stuff back, and has left. Danny again, mumbles something, and disappears. He's probably gone to just take a shit.
Meanwhile, Jack has passed out at the dinner table. He is sitting bolt up right, fast asleep. Wayne and I are slapping him and poking him. We light cigarettes, smoke one puff and put them out on his skin. Nothing, out for the count. Half an hour passes. Danny is still missing, Jack is still passed out. Wayne and I head to the toilets to find Danny. On the way, we casually get naked and show each other manginas in the corridor. Standing in the mens room, naked, knocking on the only cubicle door that's locked, we hear a feint voice from the other side, it's Danny! “Lads, I'm ok, I'll out in a minute”
We take his word for it, and head back out. There are still 2 and a half jugs of wine sitting on the table. We decide we will leave it for Jack and Danny, when they wake up and go to make an exit. Right on cue, Jack has awoken from his slumber, and is very much back in the game. Immediately getting his top off, he heads over to a table of Oxford University students on a weekend break before they knuckle down and revise for finals. We all go over. We really pest them, really start to annoy them, and practically ruin their holiday. We make them introduce themselves to us one by one, forcing each to tell us a funny anecdote about themselves. When we realise they are on our flight the next day, all hell breaks loose. Jack and I start choosing which girls we will have in the mile high club. I take a couple, then we have a wrestle over the last ones. The table of people pay quickly and leave, practically running away. A job well done.
Still no sign of Danny. Jack goes to find him. He manages to get the toilet door open, and the sight he sees is something to behold. There is diarrhoea and vomit all over the cubicle. What has he been doing in there for the last hour? It was probably something he ate. Jack runs out laughing to Wayne and I who are back at the table drinking wine. He explains what he's seen. Half way through the story, out strolls Danny. Through the restaurant, in just his boxers and t-shirt. Shit-stained jeans slung over his shoulder, he sits back down, and nonchalantly picks up his glass. The waitress runs over screaming:
“Get out! Get out! You MUST leave!”
Danny: “I'm sorry, I just didn't want to stain your lovely chairs with my shit!”
“GET OUT!”
She runs and gets the bill, but we aren't going anywhere. We still have loads of wine to drink. In an act of disgust, Wayne pours the jug of red all over the table. The waitress looks at him in disbelief. Feeling a little bad, he pours the jug of white on it, to in his words “cancel it out”. This, for some reason, has not pleased her. He starts to hoover. We all start to hoover. We are sucking wine up from the table cloth. 4 of us. Only 3 of us wearing trousers.
Once it's all gone, we eventually pay our bill and go. On the walk home, we all stand in the street with our trousers and pants around our ankles, showing the locals what we're packing. Jack tries a no handed mangina-what this involves is a huge thrust forward, and a swing back, trying to catch your balls and wang between your legs without the us of your hands. It's a challenging feat, and it really hurts if you get it wrong. Jack gets it wrong, it's hilarious. Wayne gets his mangina going, and Jack and Wayne have a mangina race. About 30 metres with a mangina. Jack dominates. Wayne's keeps popping out, and having to restart the course.
Danny is clueless. The boy is so pissed he thinks we're in London. We head home to get ready to meet up with the waitress we meet at the very start of the day, who definitely hasn't rung Jack. Again, that bugger the casino prevents us from getting home quickly. Danny's had enough, he doesn't come in to gamble, he gets the keys and goes straight back.
We gamble for an hour, and have a couple beers. We all loose a bit, but no one is really bothered. We have a few beers, sitting around on the couches. Mid sentence, Jack passes out. He's fallen asleep whilst in the middle of a monologue, and has started emptying his beer over his trousers. Wayne and I obviously find this hilarious, as he jumps up startled that he's poured beer down his crotch. But this has made us realise: we need something else, a pick me up. The sooner we get to this bar, the sooner we can start drinking gin. We head back-a quick turnaround, and out.
Wayne and I head into our room, and hear Jack burst out laughing from his. What's happened? Wayne and I run in, to see Jack pissing himself laughing on the floor, pointing at Danny who has clearly panicked. He's got back, gone into his bedroom, changed out of his shit/vomit covered jeans, put on a rabbit onesy, climbed into bed, and passed out. Brilliant. Where do we go from here? Shall we leave him just sleeping here? Surely we can't waste a beautiful opportunity? It's 11pm. The 3 of us who are still awake want to go out. But not after we move Danny to the corridor. We slide him out on his mattress, and into the corridor. During the process, we've woken up some of the other guests. They come out, look at the situation, and just head back into their room, barely saying a word. It's a weird situation. 3 lads moving a guy, passed out in a bunny outfit, in his bed, into the corridor. Fun hasn't stopped there. Wayne gets naked, and manginas over Danny. I put on my tiger onesy and spoon him.
Photo opportunity over, we all get ready for the night. Upon leaving the hotel, we have a debate. Do we lock the hotel rooms? Will our bunny security guard have his wits about him enough to not let burglars in? The answer: no he won't. We lock the doors, essentially locking our mate into the corridor for 5 hours as we head out.
We jump into a taxi and head to the bar we were promised the waitress from earlier will be in. We head past two huge security guards, and straight to the bar. We nail 3 double gin and tonics. There are token girls selling shots, the honey shots from earlier. We make good friends with them, buy loads, get our photos taken with them and straight arm the shots. Literally pour them all over our faces. 3 more gins, this time triples. Now we're talking. We head over and find a table, shit it's reserved. We ignore this and sit at it anyway. We get 3 more triple G and Ts. The barman, Ivan, has promised us that every time we wave at him, he will bring us 3 more. Great! No need to leave this table, and we look like high rollers with the bar man bringing us drinks over. The only problem with this is the fact that we find it hilarious, and wave at him once every 3 minutes. At one point, I look down at the table, and see 5 triple G&Ts each. There's only one way to get rid of all of these: straight arm. However, it's got to the point where I can't really straight arm, I'm that pissed. Instead, I resort to just pouring. Pouring straight on my head. 3 triple Gins. I'm soaked.
There is a dancer on the podium, like a stripper who doesn't take off the two best parts of her clothing. To get a good view, you have to go and sit underneath the podium and watch her dance. To test this theory, we play 5s. Wayne loses, and down he goes, through the crowd of Friday night Croatian punters, and sits, cross legged on the floor, staring straight up at the stripper like a 5 year old school boy. Obviously people point and laugh, and it doesn't last long as he is being tapped on the shoulder by a massive bouncer and being told to get up.
He heads back over, to applause from us. Another round Ivan! We wave. I pour it on my head. A waitress comes and wipes our table down and takes our empty vessels. I head over to the bar, and buy some cigarettes. Heading back over, a fantastic idea comes to mind. We should all refuse to use ash trays and put the cigarettes out on ourselves! Quality! I am typing this today with what can only be described as leprosy like sores on my arms where I've put out 9 cigarettes. It hurts, but is hilarious. Especially when Jack loses 5s and you get to put one out on him. Or when Wayne loses 5s and he puts one out on his forehead, leaving a permanent scar. Or when instead of putting one out on me, Jack decides to flick ash from the cigarette over me onto my very flammable gin soaked t-shirt.
The shots girls are back, selling to us again. We have all decided we're a little horney and want some action. We also have decided that in Croatia, we are high rollers and are willing to pay for it. Shots girls=prostitutes? Jack puts the theory to the test. He asks how much. A slap, once she finds out what he's said. Admittedly he started low. The equivalent of £6.50. He raises his price. Another slap. Confirmation they aren't hookers. The don't try to sell us more shots again. We wave at Ivan and pour more triple gins over ourselves. The same waitress clears it up, and this time brings an ashtray. I have decided I don't use ashtrays. It's my own arm, or the bit of the table right next to the ashtray. The waitress watches me as I tap my cigarette out right next to the ashtray, then pour yet another drink on myself. She clears it all up. Good girl.
A live band has come on. 5S loser sings with the band. Jack loses, his song choice? Jerusalem . It doesn't go down well. Especially as we have been told all night that we can't, under any circumstances use the microphones set up for the band. He heads back over, triumphant. We drink a bit more, and at about 3:30, Jack has clearly had enough, and passes out for the 3rd time in the evening. The bar shuts at 4, and the bouncer comes over, tries to wake Jack up but can't. I know what will get him-a cigarette burn on the earlobe. Sure enough, he jumps up. We leave, having spent circa £80 each.
On the way home, Jack passes out 3 more times, it gets to the point that Wayne and I ditch him and head home. What a sight was waiting for us when we got back. Was Danny still tucked up in bed in his onesy? No. Picture the scene-a bare mattress on the floor of a hotel corridor, the sheets in one corner of the corrider, a rabbit onesy in another, vomit everywhere and Danny, passed out in his boxers lying half on the mattress. It's almost as if he dreamt that he was being attacked by a giant bunny and fought it off. He definitely looked defeated. Wayne and I bring him into our room. Jack is yet to arrive home, so I am about to go out looking for him. What a great mate I am. We hear noise in the corridor, and Jack bursts into our room. He's been to the casino, bought some soup, and then passed out in it. Classic Pula.
Satisfied, we all put on our onesys and head to bed.
Wayne and I make it to breakfast, whilst sheepishly walking past the hotel cleaner cleaning up Danny's vomit. We manage to get through security without a glitch, and onto the plane. A brief stop in duty free to buy some egg liquor to go with my new ink.
On the plane, we see the girls we shot gunned the night before, and ask if they're still keen. They're not. We have a couple beers, and arrive safely in England. Wayne and I head for the train station and back to Manchester.
What a ridiculous 2 day trip it's been. One which will long go down in history as one of my favourite holidays ever.
Update: The reason I went for ink over a mohawk, you may recall is because I am seeing someone, and I valued having sex with her the following few weeks over permanently marking myself. Within 6 days of our return, I have ended things with her. I am reassessing if I went for the right option. I've just looked at my inside right ankle, and, do you know what? I think I did.
Happy hunting
Peter.
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