Let's see what the local is like...
After a hard day helping a friend move house, we decided to see what his new local was like. This was a pleasingly short distance from his house, so he was hoping for great things. From the outside all looked fine, but inside...

The decor had apparently been based on a doctor's waiting room that the owner had seen sometime around 1955. Cracked reddish lino covered the floor, and yellow melamine-topped tables had racks underneath to hold piles of magazines which appeared to date from the late Cretaceous era. The lighting was eye-searingly bright fluorescent tubes, that type with the flicker which was just below perception but would give even the kind of chap who likes to stick his head into the bass bins at a thrash metal gig a migraine within three minutes.

In front of the bar was a dog of startling ugliness, slumped in an unnatural position and leaking bodily fluids. We were just about to inform the barmaid that somebody seemed to have thrown a dead dog into the pub, when it suddenly leapt up and began to suck its own cock with noisy gusto.

The walls were decorated by a large number of paintings, every one of which was a portrait of the dog, and all executed by an artist of such breathtaking talentlessness that they actually managed to make the dog uglier, which I would have sworn was impossible.

There were only two other customers in the place, despite it being Friday evening. One was an actual example of that mythical pub regular, the old boy in a flat cap, nursing a half of mild and with a jack russel under his table. He seemed to be entirely disconnected with reality, in a personal world of his own, which was probably a good thing.

The second customer was sitting at the bar, in a strange green suit, with eyes that told a story - a story which involved putting "drink" on the form, when asked by the careers teacher what he wanted to do when he grew up. He was telling everybody who cared to listen, and us, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, that "This was a happy pub. It's a happy pub here, a happy pub. It's happy here, isn't it? Yes, a happy pub. A happy pub here."

We decided not to stay. As we turned around, I noticed that there was a strange wear pattern in the lino by the door, as if innumerable feet had spun 180 degrees on this very spot...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 10 Feb 2014, 11:50, 2 replies)

This has to win.
Startling ugliness.

Sublime
(boarders You won't catch me with my trousers, Mon 10 Feb 2014, 20:26, closed)

That dog achieved what every man dreams of. I'd love to have my salty cock in my mouth.
(Venger Life by misadventure, Tue 11 Feb 2014, 1:53, closed)