It's Not What It Looks Like!Cawl wrote two years ago, "People seem to have a knack for walking in at just the wrong time:
"Well, my clothes got wet, so did his... Yes, officer, huddling together to conserve body heat... Yes officer, he's five... No Officer... I'm not his Dad."
What have you done that, in retrospect, you'd really rather nobody had seen, mostly as things just get worse the more you try to explain it?
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chthonic, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 21:56)
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You must be misjaken, ma'am.I popped into the chemist one morning to pick up my prescription. I didn't live in the city at the time. I'd been crashing at a mates' house for a couple of days for the express purpose of drinking, and I'd unexpectedly run out of these quite vital drugs; fortunately I had the prescription on me.
Now, this was Glasgow, where they occasionally flirt with heroin rehabilitation; nonetheless, in my unthinking hungover state I was surprised when the pharmacist apparently thought I'd run out of another chemical substance entirely and beckoned me round to the little window out of sight of decent people where they dispense small vials of diamorphine substitute.
Hugely affronted by this, I went on a psychopathic rampage of destruction, destroying everything in sight and - well no, of course, I just politely explained what I actually required. They still took far too long to serve me.
When I returned and recounted this, it was pointed out that since I looked as you'd expect someone who'd been drinking themselves into a sofa-coma two nights in a row after, it was perhaps an understandable mistake on the part of the pharmaceutical dispensers.
The exact words were: "Fucking hell, have you looked at yourself this morning, Falstaff? You're lucky they didn't force it down your throat."
(, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 18:23, Reply)
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