not eaten as such - more ingested by accident
I used to drink in a terrible boozer, long gone thankfully.

Anyhoo, there was an old boozehound called Irish Joe who when running short of fuel would totter over to the nearest table and signal for a "one for the road, best pal" etc. I say signal because Joe's tongue/voice box had rotted away, the result of this was his inability to contain his saliva.

So, there was I when Joe stumbles over, taps me on the shoulder - I look up and as I do the pendulous string of dribble hanging from his trampy gob snaps. Into my gaping maw.

I'd managed to forget about this. Bastard QOTW.
(wimbley is feeling hungover, Fri 27 May 2011, 22:26, 1 reply)

That makes me want to go and acid wash my mouth out.

(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Sat 28 May 2011, 6:39, closed)