E2, C5 and I joined The Ant on an Italian Society shindig on Friday evening.
We got on a bus with a bunch of Italians and proceeded to get rather unbecomingly blotto.
The party-bus plan was to start off at a Sandton watering hole, proceed to another Sandton watering hole, then hit the deepest, darkest northern ‘burbs for more razzling.
Since the first two places were 500 metres apart from each other, the bus went round the block a couple of times to kill time and appear we were going somewhere (“hey look..it's the stock exchange again...Oh there’s my car…”)
On the bus, shooters and drinks were thrown around and as people got more wasted, the more the bus driver would suddenly slam on brakes, loose clutch control, or swerve sharply just to watch us fly around like skittles. I'll bet my next salary cheque on it.
I had a whale of a time sticking my middle finger out the window and other unsavoury signage to innocent passersby at intersections.
We all got up on the bar counter and, Claudio, or was it Franco? said we could use him as a pole. As in pole dancing. What a sweet man, such consideration.
The bus was pumping Itye pop music, and it had to stop at least 5 times so that people could vomitare.
But this is all usual Friday night debauchery, ‘cept it happened on a bus. With lots of Italian people and horrendous music.
The problem was we arrived sort of shitfaced. Way before we even got onto the bus. And had to sign indemnity forms so that the Itye Society doesn’t get sued if someone lost an eye if by default you climbed onto the roof for shits.
This indemnity form signing process is taken very seriously – it’s serious business signing your life away – but C5 would have none of it:
Your Name: I Love Jason
Your Signature: [picture of an elephant/dinosaur/retarded creature]
Witness: I am so pissed.
The Itye lady in charge of Indemnity Signage found this less than funny, especially when C5 crumpled it up and handed it to her in a little ball.
We stumbled back to our cars around midnight, to find some asswanker Sandton boychie dickface JUMPING on my car. Throwing his portly paunch onto my back windscreen.
I lost it. I went from deliriously happy drunk to deliriously a fucking nutcase.
Peas: Hey! HEY!
Dickface: [ignores me and jumps on Ludwig again.]
Peas: Hey FUCKHEAD! Get the fuck off my car!
Stride up to him in my gold heels and poke him in the belly. And then tell him to step away from my car, or he’ll have to contend with all 5’8 feet of me.
He’s about 9 metres tall.
Dickface: Sorry ma’am. [Giggles stop.]
Peas: You usually jump on people’s cars? Who the hell do you think you are? Fucker?
By now he was embarrassed and retreated back to the bar to try and score coke or punani, or whatever dickfaces like him do.
Still, great night though.
Oh and I woke up three hours later and went for a cycle with Moogs and Smoking Dick. Hungover, so bad, I thought Ghandi had wedged his slip slop into my mouth.
My ass is so sore. I’m not sure whether it’s because I've ridden or because I was ridden quite a bit this weekend.