A Plug And Yet Another Tale Of Antarctic Excess
This is a reply tale of drunken woe I gave to
chuckdawg and his most recent wonderful tale of Tim 'n' Hank whose drunken adventures seem all too familiar at times. I highly recommend him if you have the time. I figured I should share it with you all too.
For your enjoyment, a tale of approximately January 2003 at Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station.
Once upon a time, there was an electrician named Mark at the South Pole. Phil served him a lot of booze. When Mark staggered to his bedroom in Upper Berthing, and only the ghost Sir Robert Falcon Scott himself knows how Mark climbed the ladder to his elevated bed, he passed out hard.
An undetermined amount of time later, Mark woke up to the terrible sensation of bed spins. Things leading to what they do, he became powerfully ill. But even in his severely impaired state, he knew to grab something to hurl into, and so he did...though he missed a bit, and then passed out again.
When he next awoke he noticed the smell and the foulness of his clothes and sheets. He gingerly jumped out of bed, stripping the sheets in the process. He then stuck is foot in his bunny boot and it went sploosh for there was no room for his foot.
His brain had known that the boot was waterproof much like a trash can, BUT CLOSER, so it had made a snap decision.
I found Mark at 4am, which is when I staggered out of the bar, doing laundry. He was wearing nothing but a washcloth and a sock on the foot that had not gone in the full boot. I started to ask what happened but he just looked at the floor and slowly shook his shaggy mane. I correctly interpreted that to mean "Ask in the bar tomorrow."
This experience was so traumatic, that every time I got Mark true and finely plastered he reflexively did laundry. Several times he awoke, fully clothed, hungover, in piles of neatly folded laundry on his bed.
He claims the smell of Tide helps calm hangovers. I do not believe him, but then I don't get hangovers.
chuckdawg and his most recent wonderful tale of Tim 'n' Hank whose drunken adventures seem all too familiar at times. I highly recommend him if you have the time. I figured I should share it with you all too.
For your enjoyment, a tale of approximately January 2003 at Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station.
Once upon a time, there was an electrician named Mark at the South Pole. Phil served him a lot of booze. When Mark staggered to his bedroom in Upper Berthing, and only the ghost Sir Robert Falcon Scott himself knows how Mark climbed the ladder to his elevated bed, he passed out hard.
An undetermined amount of time later, Mark woke up to the terrible sensation of bed spins. Things leading to what they do, he became powerfully ill. But even in his severely impaired state, he knew to grab something to hurl into, and so he did...though he missed a bit, and then passed out again.
When he next awoke he noticed the smell and the foulness of his clothes and sheets. He gingerly jumped out of bed, stripping the sheets in the process. He then stuck is foot in his bunny boot and it went sploosh for there was no room for his foot.
His brain had known that the boot was waterproof much like a trash can, BUT CLOSER, so it had made a snap decision.
I found Mark at 4am, which is when I staggered out of the bar, doing laundry. He was wearing nothing but a washcloth and a sock on the foot that had not gone in the full boot. I started to ask what happened but he just looked at the floor and slowly shook his shaggy mane. I correctly interpreted that to mean "Ask in the bar tomorrow."
This experience was so traumatic, that every time I got Mark true and finely plastered he reflexively did laundry. Several times he awoke, fully clothed, hungover, in piles of neatly folded laundry on his bed.
He claims the smell of Tide helps calm hangovers. I do not believe him, but then I don't get hangovers.