This was posted last year by Shadowfax and I wanted to repost it for all the new folk that haven't seen it, it's soooo funny
Rally Reality
Make a list of what to pack for the first rally.
Put all the clothes that are going to be worn at the rally in the wash basket ready.
Realise that your favourite rally t shirt is missing and hunt through the house trying to find it.
Unable to find your favourite rally t shirt sulk, but you did find 3 odd socks and a jumper that you do not recognise.
Decide not to pack the tent and camping stuff early because you left it clean and tidy last year.
Sit back feeling smug that this year you are not going to go the year’s first rally unprepared.
Come home from work on Friday and realise you don’t know where the tent is.
Panic
Whilst hunting for the tent you find 2 odd socks, put them in a drawer with the 3 you found earlier in the week.
Friend calls and asks if you are packed and ready, you reply cheerfully ‘Sure’ and tell them you will be with them shortly.
Get annoyed because your friend is organised and mutter ‘Bastard’ under your breath
Find the tent.
Also find a tin of water proofing spray.
Feel horrified as you realise you haven’t water proofed your tent.
Get your throw overs out of the cupboard.
Open the throw overs and find a sock.
Place the sock in the drawer with the others.
Realise that you have not washed all the clothes you need to take to the rally.
Search through the ironing to find something you can take with you.
Find your favourite rally t shirt.
Start to pack your throw overs.
Scream loudly as you realise you are not going to get all the stuff you have in the throw overs.
Ruthlessly go through your clothes to decide what to take and what not to take.
If you are male this means only taking a toothbrush.
If you are female this means at least 24 pairs of pants, and 7 pairs of emergency pants.
Take the tent and the throw overs out to the bike.
Carefully load the tent and the throw overs on to the bike.
As you go to strap the stuff down you find that the bungee cords you have don’t seem to be long enough.
You trap your fingers. One bungee snaps off and almost takes one of your teeth out.
You make sure every thing is tied down as solid as you can so nothing will move. As you turn your back your luggage slowly slides off your bike.
Realise that you have not packed any cooking stuff.
Unload the bike.
Tell the neighbour to fuck off when they say hello over the garden wall.
Hunt through the house for the gas stove and pans.
Find 2 odd socks
‘Phone rings. It’s your parents; after spending 15 minutes listening to them tell you about the amusingly shaped marrow old Mr Hill has grown you do a good impression of a telephone answering machine and pretend to be out.
Find your cooking stuff.
On the way out to the bike you notice a strange smell coming from your cooking stuff.
You open a small plastic container and sniff.
Spend the next 15 minutes with head over the toilet being sick.
Stagger out to the bike and reload the entire luggage.
Tell your self you are not going to go back now, not for anything.
Lock the house.
Start the bike.
Get to the end of the road.
Realise that your sleeping bag is on the kitchen table.
Go home, unload the bike.
Threaten your next door neighbour with violence if they talk to you again.
Grab the sleeping bag and reload the bike.
Lock the house.
Realise you have left the bike keys in the house.
Run in to the house, grab your keys.
Lock the house, kick over and smash a milk bottle.
Stand looking puzzled because you have milk in cartons.
Get on bike.
Race across town running red lights, using foot paths and taking a short cut through the old folk’s home.
Arrive at your friends house and realise you are only an hour late.
Find your friend eating their tea and nothing loaded on to their bike.
When your friend says they have just got to go for a shower you have to be pulled off them as you try and push a pepper pot up their nose.
They go and get ready and you calm down.
You leave your friends house, now 2 hours late.
After an hour’s ride you stop for petrol and your friend asks you where the rally is, you say that you don’t know and you were following them. Your friend insists that you can’t be because they are following you.
Secretly you wish you had been able to finish the job with the pepper pot.
Your friend distracts the man behind the desk in the petrol station with impressions of farm animals as you try and find out where you should be heading using a map of the shelf without paying for it.
You realise you have been riding in the wrong direction for the past 30 minutes, so you turn around and head back.
After a further 2 hours riding you find the village the rally is being held in. You pull over and find the flyer for the rally and read the directions. On the back is a simple map showing a pub called the White horse on your left and an X opposite.
You ride through the village 20 times trying to find the pub.
You stop to ask one of the locals, who tells you that you are in the wrong village and that you passed the White horse 10 miles back.
You realise that you had missed the pub when your friend, who was supposed to know where they were going was busy waving at sheep.
You ride back to the White horse and find the field.
As you turn in to the field you notice that every one is already drunk and the best camping spots have been taken.
You find a nice secluded spot to pitch your tent.
You find out you only seem to have half the tent pegs with you.
You pitch your tent put your entire luggage in your tent.
As you unroll your sleeping bag you find a sock.
Feeling more relaxed you decide to roll a joint.
You cradle your head in your hands as you realise you have bought a bag of oregano instead of your finest weed.
As you feel dejected about not having any weed to smoke you smile as you realise you must have given the bag of weed to your next door neighbour who wanted a few spices to put in a stew they were having that night.
Feeling hungry and wanting a pint you walk up to the pub.
At the pub you buy a burger that simply put contains a meat product, you are not sure what but suspect it to have been meat at some point, maybe.
You spend the night drinking beer and eating various types of food. Feeling very pissed you decide to try the Super Mega Chilli burger.
You drink more beer.
You hold a conversation with someone you have never met before in your life. You realise that because of the volume of the music you cannot understand a word they are saying, but nod occasionally and smile. You are not aware they are thinking the same.
Someone puts on Bat out of Hell.
You are amazed that when you are pissed you can sing really well and you know all the words to bat out of hell.
You stagger back to your tent grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Your friend passes you a joint the size of a small dog; you ask them where they got the weed from. They tell you they got given it as payment for not doing any more impressions of farm animals in the pub as it was slightly unnerving.
The joint kicks in.
You spend the next 15 minutes giggling because your friend said bum.
You sit on the grass and decide to make a cup of coffee.
You drag the stove out of your tent and try to light it.
After 10 minutes of trying to light the stove you feel happy as it burns away under your kettle. You console yourself that your eyebrows will grow back.
The kettle boils but you do not notice because you are flat out on your back talking to your friend about if there is life on another planet.
The Super Mega chilli burger kicks in.
As you sprint across the field you realise the chilli has the same affect as a surgical laxative.
You find an empty cubicle and rush in. The lock is missing and there is a strange smell but you don’t care.
As you sit on the toilet, one foot against the door to keep it shut you try not to shout out as the chilli has its revenge. You are convinced you are going to have 3rd degree burns of the anus after this one.
You realise there is no toilet paper. You search through your pockets for any tissues. One pocket sized packet of Kleenex, a sock and two receipts for petrol later you emerge relieved.
If you are female you open the window and look for the air freshener.
If you are male you snigger as you imagine the next person to enter your cubicle gets assaulted by the toxic odour.
If you are female you wash your hands.
If you are male you tell the first person you meet that after that little toilet adventure you should entitled to maternity leave.
You stagger back to the tent and collapse in a drunken heap and then crawl in to your sleeping bag.
At 6am you wake up feeling rough. The human body is approximately 80% water but you are convinced that 90% of that is in your bladder at the moment.
You struggle and squirm as you try to find the zip on the sleeping bag. After 10 minutes you get your self free. You pull your jeans on and almost piss your self as you go to do the zip up.
You walk bleary eyed over to the toilets, jeans undone. Before entering you take a deep breath.
You clean your teeth but they still feel as if they have individual fur jackets.
As you walk back to your tent you almost fall over a drunk who has slept where they fell on the field. They are now covered in the morning dew and are snoring loudly.
You drink loads of coffee to make sure you are sober enough to ride home.
You pack your stuff away and cannot understand how it all went away in the first place.
You throw stuff on the bike and hope it doesn’t fall off on the way home.
You look puzzled as you realise that the couple next to you have packed a 5 man tent, deck chairs, double airbed, inflatable sofa, double burner and king sized quilt in to two small hard panniers on their BMW and it is all held on with one flimsy multi coloured strap. Your luggage looks like it is in to bondage with all the straps and bungees that hold it in place.
You have one last look around where you have camped in case you have left anything.
You find a sock.
And then after point 81 ...... the mega chilli burger, on the Sunday morning.
One too many kebabs, a few too many pints of old knob rotter’s extra peculiar ale and a burger with brand XXX extra nasty chilli sauce. Well it seemed a good idea at the time. But come Sunday morning and your colon is losing the battle and an all out surrender is just around the corner. So you waddle off to the toilets. As the intestinal battle rages the waddle becomes more noticeable. You convince yourself that the toilets are that far away. You convince yourself that the toilets won’t be that bad, someone will have cleaned them. Your stomach gurgles loudly. Things are getting a bit urgent now. Your pace quickens and the waddle turns from a gentle saunter in to a strange waddling run. From a distance you now look like one of those speed walkers. Small children stop and point and giggle as you steam past them. And steam is a good description because at this point there is more sweat on your brow. As you pass the laughing kids your face looks stern and is set in a look of intense concentration. A sudden sharp pain in the lower abdomen makes you jerk to a stop and clench. Your eyes widen and your nostrils flare. After a few seconds the pain goes and you continue the camp site waddle stopping every so often to clench and flare. The sweat is now running freely down your face and the pains are more like contractions. You approach the toilets and your nose gets assaulted by the odour. Assaulted is actually the wrong way to describe the way your nose is affected by the toilets. To be more accurate your nose is taken out side for spilling the smell’s pint then given a right good kicking, then invites all its mates along to slap you around until your vision blurs. There is no way you could use these toilets. The battle rages in your stomach. Your cheeks are permanently clenched now and you are walking like you have spent a week in a Turkish jail.
Then, suddenly, the pain goes. The gurgling stops. You walk back to the tent and convince your self that you can make it home. Because it is a well known fact there is no better toilet than your own, and if you are going to commit GBH to the porcelain you would at least like to do it in the comfort of your own home. You get on your bike and set off home. However, you are unaware your stomach has gone in to rally shut down. This is a strange state where the intestines go in to a kind of dormant state and will only re awaken just five minutes away from home. This is the same dormant state most employees at McDonalds go into, only waking up five minutes before they go home. You see a sign post at the side of the road saying that you only have 20 miles left to go. This is where you find out that your rally shut down timer is faulty. It should keep you safe until five minutes from home. You start to sweat. 19.7 miles to go. The gurgles start and they seem to be mocking you. You are sweating so much now that your visor starts to mist up. Bloody hell the traffic lights are on red. You have to fart, but dare you? You look around and luckily there are no children around. You lean over slowly to the left, lifting one cheek off the seat and gently let out a fart in a very steady and controlled manner trying not to put any pressure behind it. The fart seems endless. A couple of pedestrians pass by and you over hear one say ‘sounds like the exhaust blowing on that bike’.
The lights change and you pull away. The pain in your lower abdomen has returned and makes you sit bolt upright. From a distance you look like a BMW rider but you don’t care anymore. As you ride home you decide that you are going to go for it as time is running out. You ride like a white van man for most of the way home and then with only 8 miles left to go you suddenly find that every little bump in the road brings pain. You slow down. You become very aware of the road surface and each little bump and pot hole issues forth a new and more intense flurry of farting. It’s like your very own anal orchestra in your leathers. Because of the pain you are now riding at 2 miles an hour. Your riding instructor would be proud with your slow riding abilities. As you turn a corner you notice a speed hump and you burst in to tears. Usually these speed humps you take at 50 and try to keep the front wheel down as you blast down the road but today you are being over taken by a pensioner in an electric buggy. As they speed past you it you wave your fist in the air and shout ‘MANIAC’ as you get caught in their slip stream.
Even though you were never that good at mental arithmetic at school you are now an expert and you know that you have exactly 5.376 miles left to go, but if you take a short cut through the local spar down the freezer isle and out the back you will avoid two speed humps and shave off a massive 0.126 miles. What you find more worrying is that you are seriously contemplating doing this. But it is at times like this that the human mind becomes incredibly focused and you realise that you are only 0.4765 miles away from your friend’s house and they will be in and more importantly they have a downstairs toilet!Turning in to your friend’s street the contractions become more violent and the pressure makes you undo the top off your leathers. It is a weird fact of evolution that you have discovered your bowels have Armitage shanks proximity detectors. As you pull the bike up to the door you have a quick panic attack as you have not actually worked out how to get off the bike without erupting. Various neighbours watch through the net curtains as you gently slide off the side of the bike on to the floor with a whimper. Your friend’s front door opens and you force them against the wall as you barge past them walking like a member of Kraftwerk. As you pass them you shout out‘MOVE………… toilet…………..NOW…………..breach birth…………..oooohhhh it’s engaged!!!!!!!’
The relief is immense and even though you know you will be spending the next six months apologising to your friend for the state of the bathroom it was worth it. All seven glorious seconds of it. It would be a good idea to buy lots of bleach and a year’s supply of toilet duck. As you walk out of the toilet you smile to your self as you realise there is a way you can kill a cactus.
Hee hee..love these but slightly puzzled. How come I can never get a fart out when I'm on pilly?? Is the rider at a different angle or are my leathers too tight??
62a Realise you have left the keys for your new shiny custom locking Petrol cap in the garage at home
62b Decimate the new shiny cap into pieces in the garage forecourt
62c Buy 'universal' petrol cap in garage
62d 5 miles later realise the wet crutch is in fact petrol induced cos the 'universal' cap leaks and you now face a weekend of chemically burnt genitals.
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