| Pt 1. | Pt 2. | Pt 3. | Pt 4. | Pt 5. | Pt 6.
| Pt 7. | Pt 8. | Pt 9. | Pt 10. | Pt 11. | Pt 12. |

When I woke up on Friday, and thought about my week's adventures and mishaps, I just knew that Friday was going to have something special in store for me. Something huge, something life-changing. Something climactic, appropriately enough.
But for now, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The day started much like any other day: with sunrise. Well, at least I assume so, as I was still reeling in bed from last night's adventures, my tongue coated in a milky, slimy yolk.
As per, I could feel myself trying to explode out of my underpants.
Then, I thought of Sammy.

"Bronson, Bronson! Guess who won three passes... to a boat... ride..." Spike said as he opened my door, pausing as he took in the sight of my inflated love balloon trying to tear it's fabric constraints asunder. "Um. Yeah, I did. I'm cooking some snags for... I..." he said, pointing and walking in the direction of the kitchen as he trailed off.
Needless to say, I soon gave Spike a good thump and demanded he let me go on the boat with him.
"Sure," he said, "I was going to ask you anyway. You didn't have to hit me you know. My arm's really sore now."

Two hours later, I was on a boat with Scraggy Steph and Smelly Spike, a couple that could've come from Stan Winston's Scary Bastard Creature Shop. That being so, I sat on the other side of the boat, trying to see dolphins and throw things at them.
Beyond the salty breeze in the air and the crusty old sea dogs shucking away at oysters on the deck below us, I was still unable to escape the naturally horrifying aroma of Spike sitting near me. I just couldn't take it. The swaying boat was enough, but combined with the salty mucousness of unshelled, aphrodisiac molluscs and the nasal abuse of Spike's... I think it was his balls, I was close to vomiting. Then, looking over at Spike take a fingernail across his buttcrack, then lean over for a delicate kiss on his lady's forehead - well, I just lost it. All of it, over the side of the boat. I was so sick I think I gurgled up a half-eaten Milky Way bar - not a small feat considering the last one I ate was a prize for writing the grade's most scathing letter to Prime Minister Bob Hawke. What must they put in them if a fit young man like myself can't digest one within the length of a decade? And what other half-eaten chocolate bars can I expect to find lazing about in my digestive tract? If I should walk in on Spike masturbating am I liable to puke out the shattered parts of a Violet Crumble? Are Skittles about to shoot out of my nose the next time I sneeze? And I'm not prone to having an overly-vivid imagination, but I swear that last Thursday night one of my turds was decidedly Picnic-shaped.
It even had an orange wafer sticking out the end.

*cough*. But I digress.
Still reeling from my impressive assault on the fishy inhabitants of whatever ocean the Gold Coast is next to, the ship's captain came up to tell me off for unruly behaviour oh his glorious ship, 'The Seaman Pod'.
"You stupid bloody bastard, look at the damage you've done to the impressive starboard of my glorious ship, 'The Seaman Pod'. You arsehole recent school-leavers, you think just because something's free you can act like a spoilt little turd. I'll have you know it's well within my rights to belt you as if you were my own child. Now come here and let me turn that pillowy arse of yours into a bleeding, unusable mess!" he screamed, taking off his belt as he slowly walked towards me.
Just as I was slowly backing away to avoid my harsh yet well-deserved punishment for my gross defacement of 'The Seaman Pod', my back hit against the stainless steel bars protecting the boat's occupants from falling to a salty, fishy death. Turning around to ponder whether suicide by drowning would be more desirable than a violent anal assault, I spied a curious, small, fury creature flailing about in the water, desperately trying to keep himself alive. It was dog-paddling it's little heart out,
"Captain! Wait!" I said, pointing at the wet, quickly tiring animal. "We can't just leave him there," I pleaded, hoping to evoke the Captain's kindness.
"Yes little boy, you are correct," he sympathised. "We can't let one of God's creatures drown or get eaten by some bastard fish while I'm too busy leaving belt scars on your very naughty backside. I'll get first mate Spoontrag to fetch the little arsehole out."
After rescuing the wet animal from a watery and fishy grave, we took him to the vet to get him looked at. Spike had a Doggy Choc in his back pocket, so he gave it to the little fella. He loved it. We named it, 'Keeny'. Spike had it on his lap, and was petting it as gentle as could be as we waited for the vet to call us in. Well, I'm not one for sappy (or sexual) man-showing-affection-to-animals, so I spread out my legs, assumed an apathetic position, and farted through my carefree anus.
Well, I think the little animal was shocked a fart could be so vicious, or was trained to attack when confronted with an offensive, almondy odour, because next thing I know it went absolutely spaz. It jumped around the room, clawed at the walls, slapped the rubber plant in the corner and finished by chewing a chunk out of Spike's arm almost the size of a Milk Arrowroot.
The animal's confused, wimpering noises of terror and Spike's girly screaming caught the attention of the vet, who came rushing out to see what the fuck was going on, his finger still inserted up a Russel Terrier's ginger. "Good God!" He screamed. "That, that animal you have on your lap! Where did you get it? Those things are only found in Japan, Laotia, and dirtier parts of Indonesia! They're commonly parasite, disease, and cancer-ridden! If someone was to get bitten by one, why, there's a very real chance the person bitten could die! Or at least feel sickly for a few days!"
"Holy shit Doc, look at my arm! That little bastard bit me!" Spike spluttered.
"Well fuck me dead, there's no time to waste! You," he said, pointing the Russel Terrier at me, "Get me a packet of Milk Arrowroots! There's some in the kitchen. Ask Nurse Saddam for help if you need it. By God... if this chunk is any bigger than a Milk Arrowroot, then... shit kid, I'm glad I'm not you"
"Wait Doc, can't you tell us what that thing sitting on Spike's lap, eating a part of his forearm is?" I spluttered, dead curious as to what sort of dog it was.
"That thing that's just eaten part of your friend is no ordinary creature. It's unlike any dog or cat you've ever seen, because it's an Asian rat!"
"Ah! The worse!" piped in the apparently bigoted Steph.
"It's not commonly known, however it's what's commonly known as a Kabuki Udon Wakama Boing Boing, or translated: Zero Happy Death Rat Of Pain 2000. It's known for it's strong incisors, ferocious temper, and formidle backstroke. And if we don't hurry, it'll also be known as your friend's bringer of death!" he said onimously.

Later on, in the hospital, it turns out Spike's bite was just a little smaller than the size of a Monte Carlo, so he pulled through with little hassle. The Death Rat wasn't as lucky: He had to be castrated, eviscerated, then set on fire to make sure it learnt it's lesson. Oh yeah, and to be dead.

Exhausted after a day's boat-riding, screaming, and losing blood after being attacked by a vicious, foreign creature, Spike was off to bed. By his depressed shuffle to bed I could tell the little guy wasn't up to his best. Heck, the old trooper only managed to fart three times before he got to bed.

But not me baby! I was pumped and ready for action! The night was still alright for farting!