(no subject)
To anyone who knows Chris Miles, the sight of him in the rec room, reading on his own might be an odd one. After all, it's the first time he's even taken a book off of the shelf, let alone read one at all. But he's been on the sofa for over an hour now, face buried in a copy of 2010's Guinness Book of World Records. Thanks to the island, Chris has missed the better part of two years, meaning he's also missed loads of updated world records, and he's got to catch up. For instance, now there world's record for the most people wearing only their pants is 116, set just after he'd left Bristol. He could have done better than that. He's seen more people than that in their pants at parties, not trying to set a record or anything. It's fuckin' bollocks, it is. There should be some kind of retroactive rule for those sorts of records.
Chris has always been a fan of the book, been a fan of the concept, and he's tried a few times to set a record himself. He's tried wearing the most pairs of socks at once (the record's seventy, set in 2005), building the world's biggest tower of sugar cubes (the record was 145.5 cm before this Jon Cuthill tosser) but none of them have ever stuck for him. It's not his fault, really; he hadn't thought to get progressively bigger pairs of socks for the former and his mates ruined the latter by spending more time eating the sugar cubes than building with them.
He's got half a mind to give one a proper try on the island. He's tried for biggest sandcastle recently, but that turned out shit, so he's flipping through the book now, trying to pick one he thinks he can beat.
Chris has all but settled on the underwear record when suddenly, the jukebox comes to life. Before he realizes it, he's bobbing his head along to the beat, then tapping his index finger on the spine of his heavy book. It's fuckin' catchy, that's for sure, and he's never heard it before. And It's not long before he's singing along under his breath as well.
"Gaa ga ooh la laaa, want your bad romaaance." Alright, so the words themselves are pretty shit, but Chris could dance to this. In fact he's tempted to right then, right in the middle of the fuckin' rec room.
Maybe he'll set a record for longest time a person's spent dancing. The current record's only five days, and that's not nearly as long as it sounds like.
[New tags welcome through Sunday, no thread limit.]
Chris has always been a fan of the book, been a fan of the concept, and he's tried a few times to set a record himself. He's tried wearing the most pairs of socks at once (the record's seventy, set in 2005), building the world's biggest tower of sugar cubes (the record was 145.5 cm before this Jon Cuthill tosser) but none of them have ever stuck for him. It's not his fault, really; he hadn't thought to get progressively bigger pairs of socks for the former and his mates ruined the latter by spending more time eating the sugar cubes than building with them.
He's got half a mind to give one a proper try on the island. He's tried for biggest sandcastle recently, but that turned out shit, so he's flipping through the book now, trying to pick one he thinks he can beat.
Chris has all but settled on the underwear record when suddenly, the jukebox comes to life. Before he realizes it, he's bobbing his head along to the beat, then tapping his index finger on the spine of his heavy book. It's fuckin' catchy, that's for sure, and he's never heard it before. And It's not long before he's singing along under his breath as well.
"Gaa ga ooh la laaa, want your bad romaaance." Alright, so the words themselves are pretty shit, but Chris could dance to this. In fact he's tempted to right then, right in the middle of the fuckin' rec room.
Maybe he'll set a record for longest time a person's spent dancing. The current record's only five days, and that's not nearly as long as it sounds like.
[New tags welcome through Sunday, no thread limit.]