Post by bass_echo on Dec 15, 2005 8:27:08 GMT -5
OMG, that's the funniest one I have ever read! LMAO @ Si
www.duranduran.com/postcards/oslo.html
Hello,
postcard with a headache volume 3. Well, I'm sitting in the penthouse
suite of the Grand Hotel Oslo. The sun is burning a searing bolt of
pain directly through my eyeballs into the back of my brain. I would
try to close my eyes but I'm really crap at touch-typing so I'll just
have to sit here with the bells ringing; huh ... brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'xmas comes early'. Yo betcha it did, right inside my head! There's a strange taste....no i'll get round to that later.
So we played at the Nobel concert last night, which I dont have to tell you about coz you'll surely have a chance to watch it on TV later. Now onto the real nitty gritty.
Last night I went to the after show party, lets not mention the architecture of the room, it'll make my headache worser. I managed to introduce Yo Yo Ma and Selma Hayek (when I finally got to meet her; I mean i'd only been waiting twelve years) to the pleasure of Aquavit. Big mistake! Coz that means I drank at least four of them! And that was the beginning...I ended up being the actual last person to vacate the official party room, at whatever o'clock it was. Proceeded to an enhanced mini-bar party in a room occupied by on of the Westlife boyz. "The enemy!" I hear (or is that just the bells?) They are very very nice boys, and are able to function perfectly after vast alcohol consumption. Damien Rice whipped out his large but scarred dreadnought...guitar, that is, and played two of the most beautiful songs i've ever heard neither of which I can remember...something about a girl, I think. Of course I then proceed to murder a version of Duran Duran's fine song "The Chauffeur". It was only when I tried to play that, I realized quite how drunk my fingers had become, and my mouth and my legs and arms, and my eyes, which were trying to revolve up the skirt of a Norwegian girl by the name of Vivi...some chance, mate! And then a veri-table table, yes, a table on wheels arrived with no less than thirty twinkling little glasses of the evil cause of my current predicament. I very masterfully managed to crawl to the door of the room, and elegantly slur the phrase, "I- gotta-fuckin'-lie-dow'-'for-I fall dow', I-go-a-bed". Or something to that effect. That's the last thing I remember, good job, too.
See yez on the road
whooosh
s
www.duranduran.com/postcards/oslo.html
Hello,
postcard with a headache volume 3. Well, I'm sitting in the penthouse
suite of the Grand Hotel Oslo. The sun is burning a searing bolt of
pain directly through my eyeballs into the back of my brain. I would
try to close my eyes but I'm really crap at touch-typing so I'll just
have to sit here with the bells ringing; huh ... brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'xmas comes early'. Yo betcha it did, right inside my head! There's a strange taste....no i'll get round to that later.
So we played at the Nobel concert last night, which I dont have to tell you about coz you'll surely have a chance to watch it on TV later. Now onto the real nitty gritty.
Last night I went to the after show party, lets not mention the architecture of the room, it'll make my headache worser. I managed to introduce Yo Yo Ma and Selma Hayek (when I finally got to meet her; I mean i'd only been waiting twelve years) to the pleasure of Aquavit. Big mistake! Coz that means I drank at least four of them! And that was the beginning...I ended up being the actual last person to vacate the official party room, at whatever o'clock it was. Proceeded to an enhanced mini-bar party in a room occupied by on of the Westlife boyz. "The enemy!" I hear (or is that just the bells?) They are very very nice boys, and are able to function perfectly after vast alcohol consumption. Damien Rice whipped out his large but scarred dreadnought...guitar, that is, and played two of the most beautiful songs i've ever heard neither of which I can remember...something about a girl, I think. Of course I then proceed to murder a version of Duran Duran's fine song "The Chauffeur". It was only when I tried to play that, I realized quite how drunk my fingers had become, and my mouth and my legs and arms, and my eyes, which were trying to revolve up the skirt of a Norwegian girl by the name of Vivi...some chance, mate! And then a veri-table table, yes, a table on wheels arrived with no less than thirty twinkling little glasses of the evil cause of my current predicament. I very masterfully managed to crawl to the door of the room, and elegantly slur the phrase, "I- gotta-fuckin'-lie-dow'-'for-I fall dow', I-go-a-bed". Or something to that effect. That's the last thing I remember, good job, too.
See yez on the road
whooosh
s
