Just your average village pub...

Only last week I was at the bar in my local pub when I happened to glance down and saw a pristine, uncrinkled, £10 note lying on the floor.

As her majesty’s aged round face enigmatically stared at me from the ground…I felt as if she was silently beckoning me to acquaint myself with her papery goodness on a more personal level.

So I checked around, and satisfied that nobody was looking…I reached down to the floor, picked up the glorious brown drinking token and immediately heard someone shout “Oi!”.

Fanny fudge.

I don’t really know the bloke who shouted out, but I think he’s called ‘Ossie’ or ‘Sammy’ or something…anyway, he’s a big tall cunt with a turban and a beard that hangs almost all the way down to his bullet-belt.

Now I’m not a racist, but I reckon he’s trouble, that one – and besides…nobody really likes him cos he keeps picking on the crusty old German bloke who sits in the corner sporting a Chaplin moustache and a Jimmy Carr hairstyle…I think he’s called ‘Aidy’ or ‘Addy’.

Either way, bless him, I don’t think he’s ever meant anybody any harm, he just keeps muttering about something or other that was meant to ‘last for a thousand years’ but apparently only lasted about 6. He should have kept the receipt I reckon…

Then again, I’m not so sure about him sometimes…his face always goes a bit twitchy when he’s glaring at the young, blonde haired, blue eyed girl who for what seems like the last year or so has been sitting by the bar with just a packet of quavers, a glass of Ribena and a toy Portuguese donkey.

She’s on her own quite a bit but I think she’s sometimes looked after by this pompous, toffee-nosed bell-end who regularly swaggers in looking like a ponced up version of Freddie Mercury and insists on being called ‘Your Lordship’…

I don’t even think he’s her real dad, but he seems to share babysitting duties with this obnoxious, fat, sweaty old unit called ‘Cap’n Bob’ – who does nothing but read the newspapers all day and whine about his pension. Either way, they stay out of my way so I leave them to it…Their lifestyle choices are no concern of mine and all that.

On the night in question it just so happened to be karaoke night – and little did I know what an extra treat I was in for. First up was a proper nutter who insists on being called ‘Richey’, and tends to get a tad mardy when I call him ‘Dick’…but I ask you, how else could you describe a bloke with strange words and numbers cut into his arm? Fucking fruit-loop if you ask me.

Anyhoo, he blurted out some song or other about empty motorbikes…I wasn’t really paying attention…well that was until ‘Gez’, the new bloke in town, strolled on and sang from what I can gather appeared to be a track about a ‘street of bakers’…which wasn’t too bad on the whole.

I was a bit disappointed ‘cos there was also some big fat fuck in a jumpsuit who the barmaid says has got a pretty decent voice, but as it turned out he was too busy chowing down on cheeseburgers to do a turn.

But back to the action…there’s me and Ossie squaring up and preparing to kick off regarding the unclaimed ‘Pavarotti’ – he’s spouting off some gobbledegook about ‘Jihads’ or ‘Yee-Ha’s or whatever, and I’m telling him I’m gonna rip off his gut-stick and feed it to him…when suddenly…who should poke his massive hooter in but bloody ‘J. Hova’, the goody-two shoes who seems to have been around for ever, and looks a bit like an Isreali version of Robert Powell wearing half a rose bush as a hat.

Well, he tries to calm things down by suggesting we split the tenner between us. When I tell him to go and fuck himself, he says he’s going to ‘tell his dad’. Ha! A grown bloke who goes scuttling off crying to his old man and can’t do anything unless ‘Daddy says its ok’… what a pee-narse!

By buggeration we all gave him some shit for that comment…and me and Ossie were laughing so much it actually did help diffuse the situation…but then it certainly helped a lot more when the ‘Hova’ bloke tried to win us back over by pulling off this quality magic trick…which consisted of nipping off to the lavs and returning with what seemed like a never-ending supply of Pinot Grigio! Get in there! Paul Daniels eat your fucking heart out!

All in all it was a pretty good night, so I decided to do the decent thing at last orders and use my momentous monetary discovery to get the round in for everybody…but don’t you know it, after I’d bought Ossie and Aidy and Richey and His Lordship and Gez and Capn’ Bob and the little girl and Mr Hova and the Cheeseburger eating fat fuck a drink each I was £15 quid out of pocket!

So I suppose I didn’t really find anything. Sorry for wasting your time.

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 10 Nov 2008, 11:53, 9 replies)

You've robbed me
of several minutes. I will be wanting those back...
(ShitBitch, Mon 10 Nov 2008, 12:36, closed)

You didn't find anything in his story then?

( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 10 Nov 2008, 13:08, closed)

I quite liked this!
But then, I've not been on here for very long....

Nah, you ignore 'em!
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Mon 10 Nov 2008, 12:58, closed)

Excellent
Rather subtle in parts.

Very good, have a gold star.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 10 Nov 2008, 13:09, closed)

I've never been called 'subtle' before...

And I only found out about Gerry 'Gez' Rafferty being missing this morning...hence the post.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 10 Nov 2008, 13:12, closed)

I think
the lardy burger muncher works down the chip shop. Claims he's called Elvis, or something.
( Moey, Mon 10 Nov 2008, 13:13, closed)

TL
DR
(Wallilay has been bored of this shit since, Mon 10 Nov 2008, 16:39, closed)

YLCB

To save you looking it up in the urban dictionary I'll explain:

Your Loss, Cunt Breath
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 10 Nov 2008, 22:29, closed)

This guy
Is the reason we need a "This is fucking shit" button next to the "I like this" button.
( MatJ LOOK, Wed 12 Nov 2008, 13:35, closed)