Drinking Buddies
One time my mate Posh John bet me a pint of lovely, fizzy, wholesome wife beater I couldn’t keep my mouth open really wide for thirty seconds.

Piece of piss, I thought, and proceeded to open my gob as wide as possible, glancing down at my watch, counting down the seconds ‘til I received my lovely free pint of Stella. John, being the grade A prize winning uber cunt of cuntdome that he is, flobbed a long, sticky, salty greenie into the back of my throat like he was shooting frogs in a barrel. I watched in abject horror as the phlegm spun through the air, as if in slow motion, and splattered on my tongue and snaked its way down my throat, tickling my tonsils and making me wretch like a guddun.

The cunt.

And I lost the bet.

But I got my own back on Posh John later that evening by delivering a swift, witty kick to the bollocks that made him sound like Bart Simpson for a few days.

Funny... we don’t go out drinking together much anymore...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 12 May 2009, 15:34, Reply)