Events
The Worm’s 20th - Brought to you by Nate Camponi -
So, when I give the International House of Trouser a call one sunny Wednesday afternoon, I am told – straight away – that the Worm’s birthday celebration at Walkabout has been very suddenly cancelled. What’s this? Apparently, The Worm is ill. Laid up. An invalid. “Lad’s, I’m hurt.”
Under the weather or not, I don’t agree that we should just let The Worm’s celebration fall onto the hard shoulder, never to be celebrated.
So I let the rest of the Sheen Unit know that I plan to go out and live it up, with or without them. Naturally, they had a change of heart and quicker than you can say ‘tats’ we were stood in amongst the crowd of footie fans, chatting about business in the future and a life on a private Island just off the coast of Brazil. ‘We’ consisted of myself, my Katie, Gazz and Youdy.
What followed was an uber surreal night that involved at least 20 vodka and red bulls (when all the doubles were counted up) each with the aid of a Godsend of a members card, allowing the punter to acquire a Voddy-Redbully for a mere £1.50. We have The Gazz to thank for this luxury.
The early hours of the night were spent talking about everything from the wonders and fun to be had cumming on ladies faces, to what latest, incredibly inventive way the Sheen Unit had come up with to murder Punks and make it look like an accident (suggestions on a postcard, addressed to the House of Trouser. Thanks).
When the footy came to an end, the tunes kicked in, coaxing a completely bladdered N-Gage onto the dance floor with his girlfriend. Usually reluctant to dance, nothing could stop Grease Lightning tonight, and following a request to get right in front of the camera so he could see himself on the telly, Campers proceeded to really ‘get on down’ and probably made a HUGE, HUGE tit of himself. Not before Katie’s mates turned up and then strangely and suddenly disappeared. FYI: Gazz preferred the blonde one, Youd probably wouldn’t be fussed.
Deciding to cut the night short due to a 6:30am start the next day, we left the pub around 12:30am. Once into the fresh air, N-Dizzle got the sick-face on and needed to get home. Fast. A taxi was commandeered and the night, for me, ended in the back of the taxi with the words “Katie, I think I’m going to throw up on the street…”
Surreal or not, it was all done in Tribute to The Worm.
Holla back.