I'm didn't get naked.....oh there's photo's are there

I fire a shot at the man in black pointing a gun at me. He’s not very far away, but he’s half in shadow, so I can’t tell if I hit him or not. I raise my gun to fire again but when I pull the trigger nothing happens. Shit! Is the gun empty? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I hold it up in front of me and try and tell what the hell is wrong with it. I start squeezing the trigger hoping it will fire. An old Slovakian appears from nowhere behind me and puts his hand on my gun and pushes it down and away from me. “Noooo…” he says gently as he takes it from me. Only then do I realise I was pointing the gun at my brother.

Exciting stuff hey. Well, I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you really, as apparently the stag do rule is “what goes on tour, stays on tour”. Needless to say, Gerry didn’t die, but he did get beaten up by two girls in bikini’s. And we did drink 91 pints between us in a five star hotel. And the majority of us threw up. A lot. Apart from that, I honestly don’t remember much except all my brother’s friends telling me on the way home that I could drink a lot as well as dance for hours, which as far as I’m concerned simply isn’t true.

But then again I do have another vague memory of deciding that my brother would have to drink as least as much as me, and then downing the rest of my pint. Maybe I took one for the boys hey. Because I fucking hate dancing. But I did love firing a gun.