pub nutter
I was in the pub last night having my after-work pint, when something odd happened.

The resident mentalist, Michael, is a daytime alcoholic who comes in for a Guinness or eight every day. While he's there he likes nothing better but to sit there muttering to himself - occasionally shouting such gems as "FUCK OFF! JUST FUCK OFF!" to no one in particular.

Yesterday, he came up to me, and spoke.

"If you think I'm talking to myself, you're wrong." he said. "I became psychic 3 months ago. I'm not talking to myself, I'm talking to the other psychics. Not that I care what anyone thinks anyway."

Then he ambled away, muttering.

Makes me wonder whether he IS faking it.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 15:13, 4 replies)

Pub nutters are brilliant.
I was doing evenings in a pub last year, and this crazy old guy, Neil, walked in and said, 'RIGHT. I'll give you one million pounds right now if you can answer this one, simple question...'
'Go on,' I said.
'What is the biggest organ in the human body?' He asked like a boggle-eyed Anne Robinson, stroking his hands with glee because he clearly thought that nobody would know the answer.
'The skin,' I replied, bemused.
He left, but now owes me £1,000,000.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 15:18, closed)

The ironic thing
is that the guy seems to be loaded, too. I've heard from the barstaff that he pays for every drink with a £20 note.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 15:21, closed)

And each £20 note has the same serial number?
Or is that just me being cynical?
( Thinker, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 16:12, closed)

The Chemic
in woodhouse?
(Batemonkey, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 12:29, closed)