Specifics

Aedile Cuchulain woke without opening his eyes, his back aching, and his neck stiff. He was lying sprawled naked on his back on the bed, with his head hanging off where his feet would normally be, though he was at least within his quarters. That's always a bonus. He slowly attempted to look around the room, but gave that up when his thumping headache told him "No! Don't open your eyes!" in no uncertain terms. Breathing out was also a bad idea, letting him know that his tongue had taken on the taste and texture of a nerf's right teste. Though how he knew how that tasted was another story...

He struggled to his feet, looked about his quarters and then slumped back onto the bed. It took him three attempts at looking at his chrono to realise that it was 4pm. On a Wednesday. When it should really be Sunday... Just how much had Cooch had to drink?!

Aedile Cuchulain has lost 4 drunken days. What happened to cause me to loose those four days? Was there a celebration? What did I get up to in all that time? Who did I speak to / punch / chat-up? And has anyone else almost died of alcoholic poisoning?

This competition is all about humour - nothing else. You can submit whatever you want, be it a story of the four days, a poem of just how drunk one man can get, a graphic showing one specific element of my extended weeked, and for all I care you can send me a video of yourself telling me the story through the medium of dance! Though if you choose that one please do it clothed, and don't have it last more than 30 minutes!

In other words - anything goes! The person who makes me laugh most wins!

Platform

Writing program, graphics programs, the medium of dance if you really want...

Comments

Humour is a must, and I must come across as a Force-wielding, drunken knob-head.