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| − | + | Incorrect PIN http://nation-branding.info/generic-naltrexone/ purchase naltrexone that he never stopped, stepped back, and considered just how wildly out of control it had all got. Reminds me rather of a fellow I used to live with, a friend of mine. Let's call him Will. Because that's his name. He once hosted a voodoo themed fancy dress party. Decided that he should dress up as some sort of shaman. So, without really stopping to think about it, he bought a pig's head from the butcher, reckoning he could make some sort of spectacular headpiece out of it. Trouble was, he hadn't the first idea how to go about it. He started by sticking the head in the largest saucepan he could find, and boiling it until the flesh fell off ("Mmm" said his housemate when she came home that day, "are you cooking roast pork?" Then she stumbled into the kitchen and started screaming when she saw the snout sticking out of the pan). Then he cracked the back of the skull open with a screwdriver, and scooped the brains out with a wooden spoon. We had all pretty much stopped talking to him by this point. He had a wild look in his eye, and had started muttering to himself, a little like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. That done, he had to figure out a way to attach this thing to his head. He decided his best bet was to sew the skull to a baseball cap with some cotton thread. In his mind, I think this all seemed to be entirely reasonable, even sensible, behaviour. The thing was still covered in bits of skin, and blood, and brain. And the cotton couldn't really hold it. And the skull kept slipping around on top of his head. Every time he moved towards you the thing would lurch forward at your face and perch on the brim of the cap. The guests, terrified and traumatised, dropped their drinks and ran from him. Most of them ended up huddling at the end of the garden while he held a lonely court in the kitchen. | |
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Revision as of 17:19, 21 February 2015
Incorrect PIN http://nation-branding.info/generic-naltrexone/ purchase naltrexone that he never stopped, stepped back, and considered just how wildly out of control it had all got. Reminds me rather of a fellow I used to live with, a friend of mine. Let's call him Will. Because that's his name. He once hosted a voodoo themed fancy dress party. Decided that he should dress up as some sort of shaman. So, without really stopping to think about it, he bought a pig's head from the butcher, reckoning he could make some sort of spectacular headpiece out of it. Trouble was, he hadn't the first idea how to go about it. He started by sticking the head in the largest saucepan he could find, and boiling it until the flesh fell off ("Mmm" said his housemate when she came home that day, "are you cooking roast pork?" Then she stumbled into the kitchen and started screaming when she saw the snout sticking out of the pan). Then he cracked the back of the skull open with a screwdriver, and scooped the brains out with a wooden spoon. We had all pretty much stopped talking to him by this point. He had a wild look in his eye, and had started muttering to himself, a little like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. That done, he had to figure out a way to attach this thing to his head. He decided his best bet was to sew the skull to a baseball cap with some cotton thread. In his mind, I think this all seemed to be entirely reasonable, even sensible, behaviour. The thing was still covered in bits of skin, and blood, and brain. And the cotton couldn't really hold it. And the skull kept slipping around on top of his head. Every time he moved towards you the thing would lurch forward at your face and perch on the brim of the cap. The guests, terrified and traumatised, dropped their drinks and ran from him. Most of them ended up huddling at the end of the garden while he held a lonely court in the kitchen.
