Wednesday, 31 July 2013

6 Strangest Death Statistics

We all have an idea of how we'd like to go out.

Personally, I'm not keen on the idea of jumping in front of a bullet to saved a loved one. No, I'd much rather Jesus Christ knock on my door in the early hours of the morning and lead me by hand up a golden escalator into the arms of God.

But what if that dream was blocked by a solitary hot dog? Remarkably, hot dogs do have the ability to kill and so do a number of other seemingly innocent inanimate objects!

Below is a list of the strangest things that kill humans every year.

6. Rollercoasters

Statistics: Kill 6 people annually

Every time I ride a rollercoaster, I think I'm going to die, but imagine if you actually did. Fascinatingly, rollercoasters kill more people every year than sharks do and that's a statistic that will ensure I never see the gates of Alton Towers again. 

5. Vending Machines

Statistics: Kill 13 people annually

We all know what it's like to have a vending machine break down on you. The malteasers are there, playfully staring you in the eye, their red gown gleaming in a holy sort of light, but it's stuck. 

Any normal person would seek a member of staff, but some don't. They can't hold it any longer. Their blood boils beneath their skin and desperately screams out for the sugar fix it craves. Finally, in a last ditch attempt to savour their sweets, they dive inside. 

The vending machine licks its lips after yet another satisfying meal. 

4. Ants

Statistics: Kill 30 people annually

The lethal ant. Five hundred and sixty times smaller than the average human, but still powerful enough to kill thirty a year. Most reports of death involve people falling asleep near to ant hills. The rest is history.

3. Hot Dogs

Statistics: Kill 70 people annually

Death is never an easy thing to deal with, but I imagine it would be even more difficult to handle if a loved one was killed by a hotdog...

They're immobile. They're not sharp and they don't hunt in packs, so how do they kill? The answer is obesity and choking; boring, I know.

2. Icicles

Statistics: Kill 100 people annually in Russia

I can imagine death by icicle to be an excruciating experience. Every year in Russia natures frozen dagger impales one hundred people and leaves them helpless and bleeding to death on the icy floor beneath it. Lovely.

1. Falling Out Of Bed

Statistics: Kill 450 people annually in the USA

American's are given bad press when it comes to intelligence and this statistic won't help that stereotype. According to the Center for Disease Control, falling out of bed accounts for 1.8m emergency room visits and over 400 thousand hospital admissions each year.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

Turre 2013

As every male in the world will know, the 'Lads Holiday' is one of the most prestigious events in his life. 

In short, it's an exotic exploration on which a man can let his hair down, his gullet open and his penis waggle. 

With two torturous years of University complete and in one mans case over three hundred hours of serving Italian food to the overweight population of Altrincham, that very 'Lads Holiday' was a necessity for me and my tightest of brethren.

The destination? Turre...

Now as a group, we've fucked up many a time in our fifteen years as friends. The picture above would suggest that our 'Lads Holiday', a fortnight that will glimmer the brightest among our many adolescent memories, would be added to that infamous list of gaffes. 

However, it most certainly did not, and let me explain why....

Day 1: Thursday 4th July
Arrival, Tupac and 'the first chob'

First of all, I'd like to extend my gratitude to Charlie's grandmother for presenting the six of us with the glorious opportunity to visit this startlingly unique town. The view from our window provides a flattering image of what we had to live with for two weeks.
The municipality is situated in Almeria and is home to over ten restaurants and bars! If you want to find out more, visit Turre's wikipedia page, it has one whole sentence to sink your teeth into. 

The night came fast and our first challenge of the holiday was to find an open bar on a Thursday night. After a paradisaical paella, the clan headed to bar Zambra where we proceeded to 'fuck shit up'. 
As we revelled in the excitement of the first night, tequila and Estrella Levante quietly bubbled in the pits of our stomachs. It was all too much for Harry, who decided to erupt onto the street.

The first night also claimed one of Manchester's finest, Adam 'Tupac' Dolan. His relationship with bar Zambra's tequila became a little too close and no one was ready for what lay in store.
In a fit of maniacal rage, the man who wishes he was born alongside Kurtis Jackson in the slums of western America proceeded on his quest to 'end' me. Apparantly, calling a drunken boy 'Tupac' over twenty times consecutively is not a great idea. A chokehold from Paul Wadsworth and an eyebrow splitting headbutt from Charlie Dodson surprisingly calmed the situation and Tupac headed to the bathroom to show his guts to the toilet below.

Day 2: Friday 5th July
The beach, open mic night and going Dutch

Waking up in a pool of your own sweat is never desirable, especially when your head is pounding like a prostitutes arsehole. However, hangovers quickly subsided, Tupac offered his apologetic hand and we headed for the beach down in Mojacar.
The Mediterranean cradled our fragile bodies in its cooling arms and relieved us of the unbearable heat of the sand beneath our feet. Our first day of real tanning resulted in third degree burns (especially in mine and Charlie's case) and six hours later, we headed back to Turre to rock the fuck out of bar Zambra.
After hearing of Zambra's regular Friday night open mic night, there was no where else Matt McAuliffe could imagine himself on the biggest night of the week. Expectations of us were low after witnessing our antics the night before and the owner reluctantly introduced us before his regular crowd. Luckily for him, we stole the show in typical fashion and walked off stage with all the arrogance of Liam Gallagher. It was time for the acoustic section of the evening, and after 131 renditions of 'Let Her Go' by Matthew 'Passenger' McAuliffe, we went outside to meet our groupies. 
What followed is unwriteable, but with the Dutch involved, it leaves little to the imagination.

Day 3: Saturday 6th July
The roof, Maui bar and the damsels from Derby

Hanging out of our pale bumholes once again, walking up to the roof (a helicopter pad for heat) seemed like a good idea...
As we allowed the ale to frazzle in our bloated stomachs, the group concluded that a big night down in Mojacar would be the only remedy for the hellish hangover. The sun retreated into the dimming sky and our burns were allowed to surface as we enjoyed a picturesque beer on the beach.
Situated a mile down the beach stood an eyecatching bar named Maui. It's decorative palm trees danced in the brilliant breeze of the sea air and its outside seating area presented customers with a dazzling view of the Mediterranean. Of course, we went inside.
But we had no plan to respect the elegance of the bar. The cheeky look in the eyes of Harry McAughtrie (only moments after he had shat in a plant pot) signaled yet another eventful evening. Three racy renditions of the infamous 'Tequila Stuntman' (snort salt, shot of tequila, lime in the eye and then two tooth picks to the head) ensued and the night took an interesting turn...
Our gorgeous Mancunian accents had attracted four fine females from Derby and just like an Estrella Damm advert, we went for a spot of skinny dipping (no pictures).

Day 5: Monday 8th July
'Come on you pussies' and THAT walk home

Sunday was a write off and we thought it best to answer our liver's prayers to stop drowning it in ethanol. The girls had littered our phones with desperate text messages all day, so it was only fair to pay them another visit...
After another pleasant evening in Maui, the sea cried out for our naked bodies once again. Before we could even slip one shoe off, Fatty had run a personal best into the roaring waves screaming 'COME ON YOU PUSSIES!' as he graciously fell over an army of rocks, bearing his arse to the world. Meanwhile, Paul was casually floating along on a cluster of yellow buoys, but another successful night was to end in utter misery.
University students are expected to make wise decisions, unfortunately, those expectations were not fulfilled in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Instead of waiting for a cab, we thought it would be an inspired idea to attempt the two hour walk home. Things became blurry, and suddenly it dawned on us that we were lost, very lost. Not even passing drivers knew where Turre was and death became an  extremely exciting prospect. Six hours later, we returned home; defeated.

Day 7: Wednesday 10th July
Girls last day and the melon

Still scarred from our near death experience, we thought it wise to take yet another day off. The demands of Spain were becoming too difficult for us to meet and our massive penises were rapidly shrinking into pussies. However, with our new buddies set to fly back home on Thursday, we invited them over to the apartment for a jolly good drinking session. In preparation, I decided to say goodbye to my eyebrow.
All was fine and dandy. Conversation was flowing and drinks were disappearing like Houdini, but once the girls had left, a piece of fruit would curse a plague on the remainder of the holiday. The culprate? A watermelon.

Harry, being the fearless rebel he is, put himself forward for the idiotic challenge of throwing the watermelon off our balcony onto the street below. The fruit flew with the velocity of a hunting Peregrine falcon and CRASH!... The holiday as we knew it had ended. A vicious creature emerged from her metallic cave and roared into the no comprendo ears of Charlie and Matt. Even Charlie's desperate pleas of 'NO POLICIA' couldn't rescue us from a €320 fine and a police caution and the money we'd saved for a lovely day of go karting vanished.

Day 8: Thursday 11th July
The hangover from hell

Somewhat deservedly, this is how we felt the next day.
But David Dickinson was on hand to sort us out...

Day 9: Friday 12th July
Open mic night and the Dutch return

Matt's favourite day of the week was here again and this time, he'd even purchased a little notebook to prepare himself for the night ahead! So long as he didn't play 'Let Her Go' again, everyone would be happy. Unfortunately, a little too much alcohol made for one of the worst sets in the history of music, but when you're a rockstar, the chicks keep coming...
Harry, however, believed we had to go a little further than just allowing the girls to visit our stunningly furnished apartment. In a fit of something that can only be described as pure happiness, he de-clothed himself in a matter of seconds and treated the girls to an exclusive preview of his majestic cock. They said they were leaving the next day, whether that's true or not, we'll never know.

Day 10: Saturday 13th July
Spontaneous Maui trip and Dario G - Sunchyme

For Paul and Dolan, it had become too much. Their bodies had all but shutdown and their beds had put them in a chokehold for the day. It was Maui again for the rest of us where we would discover a long lost gem that would paint a permanent smile on our sun tanned faces.
Pissed as a fart, we headed to the beach for a drunken dance. Like children participating in a nursery rhyme jig, we held hands in a square and boogied to the sound of Harry's phone. And then it came. That song that had refused to grace our ears for over ten years came to pleasure us once again. It was Dario G - Sunchyme, and we were in paradise. 

Day 12: Tuesday 16th July
The last big night, tangy tomato crisps and homosexuality

The 320 fine had hit us hard and a few days on the roof with Biggie and Tupac was our last resort. Once again, third degree burns resulted.

However, Tuesday was our last real chance to enjoy the low prices of vodka the local supermarket had to offer and for a mere five euros each, 4 litres of vodka, a litre of jagermeister, a litre of rum and a variety of mixers were purchased. After consuming one of the worst shit mixes ever concocted, we looked like this:
Sanity was sailing away on a river of rum, but on hand was Charlie Dodson who had expertly purchased a bag of tangy tomato crisps for us to enjoy later in the evening. If you have to make one last purchase before you die, make it those bad boys, because they are utterly delicious (see video on facebook). 

It was time for bed and we said our last goodbyes to a delightful experience taking advantage of Spain's tax system, but not before a magnificent demonstration of homosexuality I've been requested not to mention on here. Make up your own minds!

Final Day: Thursday 18th July
Home time

Turre is a place that will forever live in the hearts of my five friends and I. An unconventional holiday, but unconventional is something we've had to live with for the entirety of our adolescent lives. 

Nothing has changed. Charlie is still a housewife in the making, Harry absolutely loves everything, Matt is a travel rep in the making, Paul is a giant drama queen and Dolan is a useless bastard. In a soppy sort of way, Turre was made for a group like us and I'm sure we'll be visiting again.

I'm sure the locals will be absolutely delighted.