First,  thanks to HPT (Croatian post)
for fantastic speed!

1991/1992 New Year's Party

It  was  just nice, normal Friday the
13th in 1991 when we agreed that this
New Year's party should be held in my
house.   It  was  supposed to be just
usual, small party.  But...

At 9PM on 31st of December I saw that
something   is   wrong,  damn  wrong.
First,  my  best  friends were there,
OK.   Then,  some  other, not so good
friends  were there, OK.  They bought
drink  and  other  stuff.  Then, some
good bitches were there, and that was
really OK.  Then, some, other, not so
good  bitches  I  know or I have just
seen  somewhere,  were  there too.  I
could understand them, it's not their
fault.  But, many individuals and few
bitches  I  have never seen before in
my  life  were  there.  Shit.  All in
all,  I  counted 35-40 people instead
of  max.   15 in my small world.  But
what to say or what to do?

Doesn't  matter, let's have some fun.
After  1 hour all of them splitted in
three  groups:   First,  and the most
dangerous  was  in  the middle of the
big   room,   drinking  and  dancing.
Second,  with great number of bitches
among  them,  started  to  explore my
collection  of  video  tapes, and the
third were in my room, very small but
with  most valuable thing in my house
(Guess what is that?).

Time  was passing and nothing special
happened    till   11:30PM.    First,
Zac/THV  decided  that  it's time for
firing  the  first  rocket.   It  was
launched  from his pocket pistol with
100% success.  But few minutes later,
he  tried  to  fire  another  one.  I
don't  know  what happened but it was
fired  into  the  house of one deadly
neighbour.    What   happened?   That
rocket   fired  up  some  shirts  and
trousers on his balcony!  Next day, I
met  him  on the street.  He was very
angry, and he asked me who fired that
rocket.  Of course, I didn't know who
was  that  or  I should pay for those
clothes.   It should't be fair to say
that  it  was  Zac.   My  mind worked
faster than light and I said the best
lie  in  that moment:  'Well, I think
it  was  Hitcher,  You  saw  him  few
times,  he  is  that big 110 kg heavy
man.   I  just  heard that he traines
BUDOKAI, some type of karate, for few
years.   I  can  give  You  his phone
number,   sir.'.    Next   moment  he
changed  from mad killer in friendly,
'GreenPeace'  face  full  of love for
Earth  and  all  human  beings.  'No,
problem', he said, 'That clothes were
not  so  expensive  and  there  is no
other   damage   on  house,  so  I'll
forgive  all  this, but next time...'
After  that he disappeared behind his
door.

But,  let's  continue with our story.
After  these  rockets everything went
wrong.    First,  Pear,  'Person  B',
called   me  somewhere  from  another
party  in  southern  part of our town
(ed:   Zagreb).   He  and one another
friend,  went  to see what's going up
on some other parties.  Police patrol
stopped  them  somewhere  on  the way
there.    But  there  wes  one  small
problem:    He   was   dressed   into
'Yugoslav   National  Army'  officer.
And what's the big deal, You can ask?
Would  You walk through London during
the second World war in Nazi uniform?
No?  Why not?  But the policemen were
quite OK, and after many explanations
who-why-where-what they were free.

Ten   minutes  before  midnight  some
funny,  and  quite drunk fellows from
our  local  electrical company cutted
off  the  power to whole western part
of  the  city.   It  was  magnificent
experience  to  look in complete dark
at   the   thousands   of   lightning
bullets, rockets and I don't know how
many  other  army  accessories people
brought  home  and  used  that night.
Can  you imagine 30 or less pieces of
these bullets from AK47 flying ten or
twenty  meters  over  Your house, and
only  few  are enough for nice, warm,
family fire on the roof of the house.

Time:   3  A.M.   (3 A.M.  eternal!).
One of the good bitches saw that Igor
is  missing.   I  have  seen  him few
times  during  the  party  but he was
almost  all  time  in  kitchen making
sandwitches  and  other  good things.
Where   can   he   be,  You  can  ask
Yourself.   In the bathroom?  No.  In
the  garden,  catching some fresh air
after  much drinking?  No.  And where
was  he?   In  the  chicken-house, of
course.  Well, not exactly inside but
in that restricted area.  By the way,
my  father  admire  these  12 or more
chickens  more  than  anything  else,
even  more  than  his  car.   When we
found  him,  he  was  sitting  on the
land,  holding  his head and mumbling
something.   First  moment  I thought
that  he is too drunk to stand on his
legs  but  after one fired match near
him  we  saw  scene  ripped from some
sick  bloody horrors.  His right side
of   the   face,   hands,  shirt  and
trousers  were  so bloody that at the
first  moment  we  thought  he falled
from  the first floor.  The height is
'bout  6  meters,  All  in  all, with
stones   and   frozen   ground,  very
healthy  place  for  jumping.   First
thing  We've  done  was  calling  the
ambulance,  but  nobody  answered.  I
suppose  that  they were on the party
with   those  fellows  from  electric
comp.   What  next?  Call the police,
of  course.   They  were there, ready
for  action.   The man from the other
side  said that they'll send someone.
After few minutes of waiting on -7°C,
we  decided  to  go  to  the  nearest
hospital,   who   cares   about   the
ambulance   on  the  way  there.   15
minutes  of  rally driving, including
one trampled dog, and many violations
of  traffic regulations on the frozen
road,  we  were  there!  That amazing
drive   was   performed  by  Hitcher,
little  percent of Alcoholus Aethylus
in  his  blood  and the car:  amazing
old  Opel  Rekord  1900!  By the way,
Hitcher  is  our  offical driver!




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