We all have one. I have two stories to share about my drunk friend.
We’re on a boy’s night out, crashing at one of the group’s house, not my drunk friend’s house. After what is euphemistically called a “session”, we’re back at the house after a Ruby Murray (rhyming slang for Curry). We’re all crashed out on the floor, when my drunk friend sits bolt upright, turns away from me and promptly throws up over Dave who’s passed out next to him. He then wakes Dave up, tells him he just threw up over himself and he should go and clean himself up. Dave happily obliges none the wiser, its not the first time.
That’s my drunk friend, largely because he didn’t throw up on me. Continue reading