My wife was rudely awoken at 4am this morning as, stark bollock naked, I wrenched a very large and very heavy mirror from the wall. She asked what I was doing and I apparently answered, in a very pissed-off manner, “I’m taking this off the wall”. Mirror removed and two large holes in the plasterwork later, I announced with some satisfaction, “I’ve taken it off the wall”. At which point I went back to bed.
I’ve no recollection of this, because I was fast asleep at the time.
It seems I’m an occasional sleepwalker, so for example a few months back my wife woke up to find me stomping around the bedroom in a state of extreme irritation because I couldn’t find the secret stairway that led to the garden (a stairway which, of course, doesn’t exist). I’ve no idea why I wanted to go to the garden, or why I needed to do it naked in the wee small hours.
Still, it could be worse. A few years ago a friend told me about her husband’s nocturnal adventures, and recounted one particularly memorable incident where he sleepwalked into the living room, pressed eject on the CD player, urinated into the CD player, closed the tray and wandered back to bed.
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Mibbe you should consider wearing something in bed?
Someone I know down here did that CD thing the other day. I laughed.
I am laughing right now. At you. A lot.
I knew I could count on your sympathy.
My mate has a friend who is still to this day known as ‘General George’ after a sonambulist urination incident.
His wife awoke one night to find him pissing in the corner of their bedroom on the new carpet. When she screamed at him to clean his mess up he dissapeared to the cupboard, returning with a stanley knife in hand. He then proceeded to cut out the wet section of carpet and thoughtfully took it into the bathroom to run it under the shower.
Next day his wife marched him shame faced back to the General George store to buy a new ‘new’ bedroom carpet.
That is possibly the greatest sleepwalking story I have ever heard.
Nah, the funniest story was the night my cousin came back from a club, out his tits on acid and shat on the radiator in the downstairs bathroom rather than the bowl itself.
His flatmates only realised this at 7am next morning when the central heating kicked in…
They were NOT happy.
Shit happens!
I was at my mate’s folks house before he moved out and was helping pack some CD’s etc. So i was filtering through his Cd collection and noticed a few were a big sticky and soiled. So i asked if he’d spilled some beer or juice on it. Of course the answer was no he’d pished on them. The Beautiful South album got it the worst. It wasn’t so fucking beautiful now!
This thread is getting scary…