"I've been trapped... trapped for an hour."

New Years revelers in one British mountainside pub got a little more happy hour than they bargained for when they found themselves trapped in the drinking establishment after a blizzard hit.

The snow was so bad, the patrons had to spend three days and nights in the bar.

At least that’s their story.

One bloke did mention something about everyone being too drunk to find the door, but his account of the events was quickly negated by the crowd who was supposed to be back to work the next day.

We here at STBY applaud the barflies’ sheer lack of will to get back home to their jobs, their honey-do lists and their responsibilities.

It must have sucked big time to sit there for three days with nothing to eat but pickled eggs and vending machine pretzels. The 72-hour dart marathon must have been sheer torture. And the juke box? How many times can you listen to “Too Ra Loo Ra” before you pull all your decaying teeth out?

Geez.

According to reports,  the “victims” suffered no long-term effects of their confinement. Other than one doozy of a hangover, that is.

Sucks to be without snow tires.

"Yes, dear, but it says nothing about rubbing uglies."

First they outlaw carry-on firearms. Then dynamite strapped to your chest. Now this. The English Train Gestapo has banned kissing at their stations.

Not fondling. Not dry humping. Not loud nude acrobatic fornicating. But kissing.

Given the state of British dentistry, we can only assume that this is the government’s attempt to protect its citizens from Level 5 Halitosis Exposure. But, still, the law seems sort of sucky.

After all, with its pervasive scent of hobo B.O. and fresh urine, is there any place that inspires love and affection more than a train station?

Not the way we see it.

With trains now off limits, traveling British love birds will undoubtedly be scrunching their way into the back seats of their tiny little cars. Which, if things get frisky, could cause a health problem of a completely different kind.