Drink Induced Time Dilation Effect

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Jun 14th, 2006
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Quantum Qorner:
The Science of Tomorrow Applied Today

DT = t / ( 15v * square(AI))

Drink Induced Time Dilation Effect
– or, the bits missing from Einstein’s General Relativity

Sorry to start talking quantum mechanics before we’ve even started drinking (although this inversion of cause and effect could in itself be proof that serious drinking is definitely going to happen), but I’ve been pondering the subject of how time becomes increasingly compressed in proportion to the volume of alcohol consumed.

I shan’t bore you with my highly scientific analysis, but here are my conclusions:

1. Start drinking as soon as you can, because you will almost certainly run out of time later (although it has been known for the bar to run out of stock first, but that’s a different problem…)

2. The reason you can’t remember anything about the evening after a certain time is that after a certain volume the evening ceases to exist.


Great Moments in Curry: The Rorschach Blot

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Jun 14th, 2006
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We were at the end of a long day in Covent Garden, London, and were drowning our sorrows in 10 or 11 pints of The Porterhouse’s finest Oyster Stout, when we felt “the need for curry”.

Like a rowboat being pulled to sea by the rapidly ebbing tide on Dublin bay, we found ourselves helpless to resist a small curry joint just round the bend from the Porterhouse.

We ordered up everything on the menu … downed the massive quantities of India-inspired sustenance in a feeding frenzy … and then I excused myself, and headed down the steep steps to the loo.

As I was washing my face, pre-relief, I decided to give into the massive pressure that had been building in my bowels and attempted to pass wind. Well, holy Moses, was that a mistake!

I don’t know whether it the oyster stout or the curry, but a tidal wave of the hot stuffins filled my previously white shorts. I swiftly headed for the, thankfully full-door, lockable head, where I stripped off the offensive garments and hid them under the throne. After about half a roll of TP and 10 minutes, I managed to make myself presentable enough to exit, only to find out my jeans had been breached by a brown Rorschach blot. So I wrapped my raincoat ’round my waist and casually strolled back upstairs for a hasty escape. I’ll always wonder who the next poor soul was to enter the loo…

Another Sad Frank and Beans Story…

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Jun 11th, 2006
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Suddenly, as Skippy (the Skip-meister as we call him) came wandering through the vestibule, he was shot dead.

The bullet had come from nowhere, it seems, but oh, what a mess it made. It had struck him square in the mouth, causing an avalanche of tooth and jawbone fragments to rocket across the foyer into the lap of a job interview candidate named Missy.

Skippy howled, as best he could with his face hanging, well, out of his face, and scared everyone shitless. He writhed and bucked with blood shooting out of his face like a fountain, until he finally lay there still, in a pool of blood.

Missy was so surprised and disgusted, the vomit literally exploded from her face, catapulting the retainer from her mouth and putting the eye out the receptionist seated nearby.

Yes, she had been on an all-hotdog and bean diet, and YES, that did stink…the stink of the dead I think it’s often referred to. The receptionist arose and ran for the door…God only knows why, but tripped over the chainsaw wielding drawf who was trimming the bushes. He cut her in half at the knees…her lower legs left standing in mid-stride, while her torso broad-jumped onto the hood of a parked car where it lay motionless, giving the hood of the car what looked like one of those flame-front paintjobs.

Why did it have to happen on the day I wore my lucky suit? The rich, velvety dark crushed velvet fabric was just covered, no permeated, with the remains of Missy’s lunch. I am still amazed to this day how she leapt across the room, and started sucking the vomitus from the fabric…kind of makes you sick, eh?

One Ring to Rule Them All

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Jun 6th, 2006
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Proud T-shirt owners...

It is said that a man who is confident enough to wear a pink shirt is comfortable with his sexuality. I say that a man who is comfortable enough to enter a place called “The Cock Ring”, have a beer and buy a t-shirt is either very, very comfortable or possibly in denial.

We’ve been visiting Amsterdam for many, many years and often, during a late night stumble through the seedier sections of town we would inevitably pass this ominous and windowless place that we nicknamed the “C-Ring” for the purposes of telling this story in mixed company. Yes, it’s a gay bar and I doubt anyone has ever come upon it and thought otherwise, but you see, this is place is in a scary alley, has a scary dark window, and is, well, scary.

During one such trip, and after what is technically referred to as a “shit-load” of beers, I decided that it was time to brave the darkness and see exactly what was on the other side of that dark door. I will admit that having one of the coolest guys you’ll ever meet, Ryan, along for the visit legitimized us very much and besides, you don’t climb Everest without a Sherpa. Long story short – we went inside, had a drink, bought our shirt and left … less than impressed. It was loud, 70’s disco chaotic, and seemed to appeal more to the Right Said Fred crowd. Ryan declared it a waste of time and I was not qualified to argue. Still, I get a lot of comments whenever I wear my Cock Ring t-shirt … particularly at bake sales and during choir practice.

The real fun began across the street at Argos. Argos, also a gay bar, was far less NYC chic and had a local pub feel … provided your local pub has a long, dark, curtained hallway called “the dark room”. The bartender, who looked like a French cartoon character, eyed us suspiciously until he saw Ryan, then he relaxed. No, we weren’t on the guest list, but we were friends of a friend so it was all good. We ordered a drink and spent the next hour learning all the stuff HBO doesn’t teach you on Queer as Folk. We learned about the dark room and why it was probably not the best place to wander around in drunk if you weren’t prepared to be very, very friendly. Jacques (it’s not the bartender’s real name but it will forever be in my memory) sent us away with one of the best lines ever: “Many men, bored at home and after a long day of work will come here for … release in the “dark room” We provide a valuable service to the community.”

Yes, I have an Argos t-shirt too … and a sincere hope to one day be in shape enough to wear it.

A big thank you to Ryan for being one of the coolest people on earth to hang out with, and for not only tolerating, but humoring, my naivety. I’ll have drinks with you at Argos anytime … but I won’t be developing my film there.

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