Fire Alarm.

Okay, I don't know if this is an appropriate place to tell a very inappropriate story, somebody may even get in a little bit of trouble for this one, but it makes me giggle sooo hard that I think it's worth the risk.

So, quickly, the characters in this farce: Note, the names of the following have been changed to protect the identities of those involved. Or something like that. Toby, he's an adopted Thai child with English/Chinese parents who was brought up in Sweden and is studying over here in New Zealand. Tim, he's the archetypal NZ hick. Rodrigo, a mac geek. Justin, an aspiring Michigan lawyer. Harry, a New Zealander who has the singular privelage to be the only one among us who's penis was shown on national television.

Now for the story: So, for the first time in about three weeks I decided that, yes, I was really tired, and that I was going to bed before 2:00. I was really proud of myself, usually I say things like that, but I never actually act on the impulse and go to bed. So, at about midnight, I left my friends to finally go to bed. They went into Toby's room, drank a lot, because most stories like this are required to have alcohol, and continued the party. So, just as I was about to nod off, at the moment when Morpheus was allowing me into that sweet embrace, the fire alarm goes off. This is the fourth time that it has since I've been here, and I'm about damn tired of it. Also, I'd finally decided to be a good person and go to bed, it's just not fair that the alarm had to go off that night. So I grumbled to my feet, put on some pants, and walked outside to wait for the firemen to enter the building and tell us that, yes, it was another false alarm. The only thing about this one that made it a little different was that it originated in my wing. Hmmmm. Well, Toby's a smoker, and he smokes in his room, so it's not that surprising. What did surprise me, however, was that his was not the only guilty looking face. Curious, I asked them what had happened. Well . . . first of all, they were drunk. Second of all, they were drunk. Third of all, Harry doesn’t believe in clothes. So they decided to see if aerosol deodorant would light Harry’s pubic hair on fire if it was sprayed to the aforementioned region. Needless to say, they effectively turned a garden variety aerosol deodorant can into a portable flamethrower aimed at Harry’s crotch. Just as they’d finished, Tim said something like, "hey, guys, that’ll probably set off the fire Al—"

And it did. They got away with it by claiming that Toby was just spraying deodorant on himself before he was going to sleep, which only makes sense given another story, but wow, just . . . wow.

So this weekend I'm going to be bouldering over at Hawke's Bay, so if I'm not in electronic contact, that's why. Just thought I'd warn y'all.