Old Boy George
My local a couple of years back was a backwater sports and social club in the Midlands. Think the Winchester in Shaun of the Dead with reinforced doors and constantly overflowing ashtrays. This is the place where factory workers went to die. When license hours were being questioned by the Daily Mail, the landlord of this establishment (Pete) would keep the taps flowing until 6am so much as you paid a 50p service charge.

Every Saturday, local talent would come down to perform, but in reality they were fodder to the hatred of the locals. These were people who wanted a quiet dozen pints, not thumping hits. More often than not, they were looking for an excuse to boo them off before they started.

One glorious weekend, a newcomer dj was scheduled to play. Think of a 60 year old Boy George in a glittery shirt with a crucifix in his ear. This was our host for the evening, and as he set up the decks, in comes the biggest airhead twat I've ever seen.

For reasons unknown, his attempt to chat up my housemate began with the sultry 'ere luv, you want some coke?', and quickly declined into his ramblings about how he 'was gonna go in the nick with his pa for beating up this poofter, but the pigs hate them fags too so he just got a caution instead' [read: I once shouted at a gay person from my car and drove away before he turned around].

Much bragging continued before we realised the situation this lad was in. One apparently aggressive homophobe. One paintfully flambouyant disc jockey. This would get messy.

20 minutes later and Old Boy George is doing a kareoke manslaughter of 'Every Breath You Take', while Chavzilla is still trying to get into the pants of my associate by further detailing the hate crimes he's taken. Eventually Pete thinks enough is enough, kicks open the fire escape and bellows

'Oi, Marilyn Monroe! Pack your decks and fuck off! (he points to the aforementioned chav) And you can bugger off as well flower'.

'Dun you dare talk to me n me Dad like that mate, we're off!' quoth the chav, as dj and son take the equipment to the van.

Suddenly, a lot of issues at home became apparent as every one in the facility did a double take of what events had unfolded that night.

Narf!
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Sat 7 Feb 2009, 17:14, Reply)

drag queen karaoke
A few years back, A few friends and I used to frequent the Sunday night Karaoke competition at the Black Horse, Mile End Road. The compere for the evening was an incredibly bitchy drag queen, who usually showed no mercy to anyone brave enough to get up and sing a number.

One night, we were sat there and it was pretty quiet... unusually quiet. This one chap who, we think was a bit ...special needs... kept getting up and murdering song after song in a special tone-deaf horrific way. The drag queen adding such comments as "The Black Horse... supporting care in the community..." and... "I think the Variety Club Sunshine Bus is here to take you back..."

Anyway, during this, in walks this blind bloke, white cane in hand, he makes his way over to the bar, orders a pint and sits at the bar.

Fast forward a bit, and tone deaf Karaoke man returns to the stage and to murder yet another number. The drag queen hides behind the back curtains and occasionally peeps out with desperate look, to great comedy effect. Meanwhile, the blind bloke at the bar finishes his pint, and waving his white stick, carefully makes his way out of the door.

At the end of the performance, the drag queen emerges from behind the curtain and says to tone deaf man...

"Did you see the blind man that left just then?.."

"Yes.. " replies our star.

Drag queen replies: "Well... He was already blind, and you've just fucked his hearing, love!"

Everyone in the place laughed and laughed... special needs tone deaf man with a confused look on his face enjoying the attention but not really knowing what to do next, left the stage and didn't go back up. We felt a bit guilty laughing at the afflicted, but it was funny!
(robl, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 16:28, Reply)

Rarely does any anecdote
which starts off with the words "there was this pub in Digbeth" finish well. Digbeth, for those lucky enough not to know it, is a part of Birmingham city centre, and yes that's Birmingham UK. It's where National Express has its coach station, in the hope that when people disembark and see what surrounds them, they'll buy a no-expenses-spared ticket to Anywhere Fucking Else. Digbeth was where the winning pub in my friends' "Worst Pub in Birmingham" contest could be found, the winner being where there were at least two people in the pub who had shat themselves...however, this is the tale of the exception that proves the rule. The Good Pub in Digbeth - or rather the Good Pub that was.

When my friend told me about it, I thought he had gone temporarily insane. This was back in the early 90s, before the more liberal licensing laws, back in the day of the "lock in":

"There's this pub in Digbeth...has great live music...it's a lock-in...you can smoke gear in there...there's no trouble ever as half the cops drink in there."

And - amazingly - he was bang on the money. Most Saturdays would see the amazing Trevor Burton band play, Trevor demanding spliffs from the audience while they played 2-3 hour sets of pure blues genius. Trevor was in the Move in the 60s and basically knew everyone from that time, and Christ he was a great guitarist.

The band would play upstairs, where smoking gear was less furtive than mandatory. You'd stagger downstairs in the dark at 1:30am after getting monged to some of the purest guitar sounds ever, open the door to the lounge...

...and it would be like you were in a city centre pub at 10:30pm, not 1:30am. The place was always heaving with happy punters. Not a fight or any aggro to be seen. Whatever time I left there, the place was always packed.

However, all good things come to an end - last time I was back there they had turned the upstairs part into a B&B, and the halcyon days were a distant memory.

Would like to hear from any b3tans who want to guess the pub name, or who indeed went in there.
( I_Was_Mordred, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 16:23, 9 replies)

I've
Seen an acquaintance walk into a pub gents, and while saying something to his two mates urinating into the already overflowing trough (blocked with sick) slip on the piss sodden floor. He fell face first against the wall, knocked himself out, then collapsed sideways into the trough.

His mates, in a fine display of concern gave a mighty cheer, then shifted their aim so they were both pissing on him in tandem.

Charming.
(Rimfeast, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 14:44, Reply)

Last night
Some friends and I went to the new local [new because our old one got closed down, what's with all the nice pubs being closed] anyway...

After a few beverages with the lads and what I can only describe as "Ladettes" someone suggested we head into the nearest town centre and continue our "binge" drinking. The only reason I know I went into town is because of the still wet stamp on the back of my hand. The one's you get after you've paid to get into a shit pub/club. The only outstanding memory of the night is the blue flashing sunglasses I nicked off a weird lady outside the venue. Having these neon goggles upon my face only exacerbated the effect of alcohol.

My advice to thee is to never buy cheap novelty crap from strangers outside your destination.
(Moofster, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 14:40, Reply)

Four b3tans walk into a bar...
December 2008. The venue: The Scarborough Hotel, Leeds.

We're sat by the Christmas tree, as it's the only corner of the pub that has any room left - it's match day, and the pub is heaving with testosterone and laddish, but jocular, banter.

For some reason we have on us a blank post it note, a biro, a travel sewing kit, and a magenta lipstick (not mine, I hasten to add, but my good lady's). So what do you do?

Well, we did what any good little b3tan would do, and added our own little decorative contribution to the tree. Nothing says Christmas like a CDC tree decoration fashioned from a post it note...

I wonder how long it stayed there?
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sat 7 Feb 2009, 14:12, 7 replies)

Jukebox

Having a quiet drink in a hard as fuck pub in Holloway, surrounded by skinheads, there was a fella sitting on the next table who looked alarmingly like Charles Manson.

I put down my book, place my cigarette carefully on the lip of the ashtray, get to my feet and walk casually over to the jukebox.

It was one of those jukeboxes with the front cover of the album behind glass, the sort you can push a button and flick through a catalogue of cds.

I got a few dangerous looks from the patrons, as if to say: put any shit on and we'll break your fucking legs. Nice pub.

But from my table way over on the other side of the large seating area, I noticed the distinctive black album cover for Soundgarden's Superunknown. I fancied a bit of Let Me Drown, and the skinheads had on their metal t-shirts, so thought they'd approve of my choice. We could all enjoy a nice lunchtime rendition by Chris Cornell on me. I thought I would be loved and admired.

I slotted my 20p in the jukebox, made my selection, turned and started the walk back to my table, waiting for the crashing chords of that Soundgarden classic to start and the approval of several dozen complete (and very hard looking) strangers to wash over me and make me feel all nice and warm and adored.

But when the speakers came to life, this hard as fuck pub was filled with a booming rendition of:

I'M A BARBIE GIRL, IN A BARBIE WORLD!!!

...It was a long walk back to my table.

By the time the COME ON BARBIE, LETS GO PARTY!!! bit started, I was hurrying down the street, hastily slipping into my coat.

Those fucking jukeboxes confuse the hell out of me...I'd rather take an exam than try and get one of those to work properly...
( SpankyHanky, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 13:52, 12 replies)

A man walks into a bar.
'It's a trap!' he said. It was an Admiral Ak-bar.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 11:28, 4 replies)

Bolton
The Man and Scythe, Tuesday lunchtime strippers. She was a bit of a skank, but she was covering herself with baby oil and walked over to a mate, who then cupped his hands together. She filled his cupped hands to the brim with whole bottle - and walked out, leaving him to deal with the oil.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 11:17, 1 reply)

Free beer
I recently did some market research for a beer company in a big old 'drinking barn' in Croydon. Got paid for drinking free beer, that my friends, is the future...
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 11:14, Reply)

It happened again
I got dragged "up town" aka went to the town centre, for some extra drinks after the pub, the weird thing is I can't "for love of cheese" remember how one got there OR back. The only thing I can remember is waking up this morning and thinking "Where the feck are my trousers and pants" It's probably the first time I've misplace the attire of my whole lower body. What threw me was the fact that I was still wearing my ALL of my other clothes. Alcohol - you can't live with it, you can't live without it.
(Moofster, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 11:05, 2 replies)

Somewhat disconcerting...
Appologies for crappe story. Long time reader, first time poster.

There were two pubs in my little home town in western Canada. One was Galaway's, a 'pretend' pub, with all the newest vintage Guinness posters on the walls, where kids would go drink when they decided they were too mature for the lone nightclub in town. The other was the Rose & Crown, which we lovingly refered to as Rosie's, and which is now, sadly, closed. Now that was a pub. My favourite memory of Rosie's regards the bathroom. On the back of the stall doors someone had posted those fliers with the little tear-off strips of paper on the bottom. "Free STD and AIDS testing, please take a number" the flier declared. All of the little strips of paper were gone.
(Zakk? Here for the... lady., Sat 7 Feb 2009, 10:52, Reply)

Just plain wrong...
I was in the pub on a busy friday night sitting at my table while my mate had buggered off for a fag when two girls came over and asked if they could sit down, seeing as there was only one seat and they were of the minging variety I said no sorry and thought no more of it.

Later in the night I went to queue at the bar and found myself behind those girls again, I made small talk about finding seats or whatever when some guy, about 50 or so puts his aram round me and give me a massive squeeze! Surprised I look round and he screams in my ear,
"So is this the fucking queue or what?!"

Now obviously I and these girls were becoming slightly worried so I proceeded to explain to the gentleman that indeed this was the queue. He wasn't impressed at this and took a moment to himself looking between the 3 of us in a confused manner before saying.
"You know what you should do Dave(not my name) you and Tina here (gesturing to one of the girls, also not her name) should get together and Fuck!"

....
Puzzled looks all round

"Actually fuck it why don't you get Diane (not her name) here in on the act to, HAVE A FUCKING THREESOME!"
By this point he was screaming at us and was making everyone look(yay)

Now these girls obviously thought we were some father and son pervy double act and were less then impressed at our chosen method of trying to pull. Diane went on to explain that she was preggers which did not impress my new wingman. He went on to accuse them of being "One of them mardy lezzer couples" who "both needed a good kicking in the cunt"

By now I was in stitches of laughter and these girls looked extremely angry, angry enough to throw their drinks on both him and me then proceed to try and glass us.

As it was relatively early in my drinking sesh I managed to do a ninja style dodge away from the crazed harpies, but my pulling partner being quite obviously smashed was not so lucky and ended up with a bloody great cut on top of his head!

Suffice to say I buggered off and didn't go back there for a while.
(Jimmy Large Is huffing Jenkem on, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 10:44, Reply)

Six nations starts today...
...which reminds me of the time a few years back when me and my mates Brendan and Cameron went to the pub to watch the games, England – Ireland and Scotland – Italy I think. We went up to the bar, each proudly sporting his own nation’s jersey, and ordered our drinks. The landlord looked at our three different coloured tops and without missing a beat said, “What’s this? Some kind of joke?”
( GarbageFan didn't know what to have as a board sig on, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 10:18, 1 reply)

the new crown in southgate circa '98
Italy fans are drinking in the pub close to where me and my mates are chatting away when in walks a mate's girlfriend who i didnt like and vice versa, given that it was a boy's night out and i was quite drunk i proceeded to tell her to fuck off and that no-one liked her. In a split second she slapped me very hard across the face and at the exact same moment some french fans had started a fight with the italians, with glasses and bottles being thrown across this large establishment with a couple of hundred people shouting and screaming and running around with some of them bleeding i turned to her grasping my cheek and said in the calmest voice i could muster with all this chaos going on i say "you've had your go, now fuck off before i kill you". So, i get dragged outside by my mates only to be confronted by 6 meat wagons and armed police! frozen to the spot i declare at the very top of my voice "the bitch slapped me first!"
(Yo!Mcnutty, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 8:55, Reply)

I walked into the toilet of the Spread Eagle
to find a man, newspaper in hand, having a shit in the urinal.
( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 8:30, 2 replies)

Landsdowne Hotel, just opposite Sydney Uni:
I was playing pool with a couple of mates, when this drunk, possibly high, chick comes over (we didn't know her) and grabbed the cue ball and threw it at me.

She missed.

I told her to fuck off.

Her friend told me not to be rude, so I told her to fuck off as well.

That was an exciting read wasn't it?
(k3b/-\b Peace man., Sat 7 Feb 2009, 6:03, 3 replies)

Halfy's Sealed Knot story reminded me...
(Note: this doesn't actually take place *in* a pub, but it involves the service of alcohol so I'll post it anyway.)

When I was a kid my family lived in Britain, and the parents used to take us out on educational field trips of a weekend to various sites of historical interest. One weekend during summer, we went to see a reenactment of some English Civil War battle. It was a fairly hot day (well, for England, anyway) and the soldiers, dressed as they were in full historical regalia and lugging around pikes, were working up a mighty thirst.

When the battle was over, the exhausted warriors staggered off the field to where tankards of beer were being handed out by a guy dressed as a wizard (I never knew that either side in the Civil War utilised wizards, but I guess you learn something every day). One fatigued Roundhead soldier, dripping with sweat, grabbed a brimming mug of ale from the tray, and with a relieved cry of "Ah, beer!" took an almighty swig.

Or at least he intended to. However, while he had laid down his pike upon quitting the battlefield, he had neglected to remove his helmet. His visored helmet.

The mug met the visor with a clang and stopped dead, while in accordance with Newton, the beer kept going, completely drenching him in booze to the amusement of all present.

So there you have it. Despite the fact that it finished over 350 years ago, the English Civil War continues to claim victims.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 4:56, Reply)

Through the window
Its shit..but I'm trying to get back into it after a long time..When I was in college about early 95(and totally elephant at the time),on the way back from a gig..mates were trying to get into a nasty chav dublin late nite pub/club on o'connell st. (no one decent,except desperate students and townies at that time would usually try to get into any of the few pups/clubs still there a then). Half the mates got in..me and other half didnt..I grumbled profanities(not proud,I was only 17)..bouncer pushed us,and whatever way he pushed me,I went through the front window of the pub. Unhurt. Bouncer eventually came over and digged me out of the broken glass and informed me (I was ten mins thinking if I could apply a pun,but no..) that I was a c*nt.Nice.I should have sued the pikey club. I've grown out of that kinda thing..
(crapmonkey, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 2:06, Reply)

BOOBS! Now that I've got your attention...
When I worked at the Clarence Corner, I quickly became friends with the best security guard in the world. He is a big burly bald dude with lots of tattoos and piercings who could probably throw you out a window if he needed to (and had done so in the past, apparently), but an absolute sweetheart. He always gave us cool things when he found them around the pub (dropped change, misplaced bags of suspicious substances, etc) and had ice fights with me when we got bored. Not to mention bloody good at getting rid of bad drunks.

Anyway, I was having a loud conversation with my manager about something obscene, as usual, and the topic of boobs came up in the conversation. Security Guard appeared going, "What what, boobs, where?"
I laughed and said I'll just say "boobs" the next time I need to get his attention in a hurry.

Later on I was serving some people in the bottleshop attached to the front of the pub. They were a group of trendy young things in glitzy and glamorous clothes who were obviously way too cool to be drinking at the pub, but were nonetheless purchasing a million bottles of bubbly and vodka cruisers. After a spirited conversation about what to buy, one of the lovely young ladies gestured wildly to a bottle of liquor. Her top was pretty but not very practical. It billowed open and the girl suffered what some call a "wardrobe malfunction" (ie. her tit flopped out for all to see.

"Boobs! Boobs!" I yelled out to the security guard, who came a-runnin'...
(TheChicken Five hundred thousand points from Gryffindor, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 2:05, Reply)

A night at the Clarence
I used to be a bar wench at the fine establishment in my city called the Clarence Corner. It is an old pub from 1889 (well, old by Aussie standards) and had a LOT of regulars. An old man pub by day asnd a live music venue by night, the patrons were always interesting. I've made a lot of excellent friends there, including meeting Mr Chicken.

Hell, where do I start? Alcoholic managers, snorting various drugs off the bar after close, doing tequila shots with backpackers, one particularly drunken local doing a naked rain dance when the drought broke, punks getting into fights, people shagging in the dining room, drug deals in the beer garden or even in the middle of the bar, smoking J's in the beer garden, unstable barmaids having nervous breakdowns in the middle of the night, dressing up as a ninja and staying in costume when I worked Halloween night... I could write a novel about this stuff, but I'll pick my favourite night at work.

It had been an obscenely busy night at work and me and my manager Aiden finally closed up. Another barchick, Lara, and another manager, Ben, were there on their night off. They had been drinking together all night and were pretty smashed by then. To be quite honest, I think Aiden and I were pretty smashed by then too. Aiden was fond of "staff meetings", which involved yelling "Staff meeting in the cold room now!" to be greeted by a line of Jagerbombs.

So we closed the bar and helped ourselves to a knockoff beer. Ben and Lara stumbled in and turned up the music. Ben switched on some Sufjan Stevens and we waltzed around for a while.

A group of random kids were banging on the door outside, trying to get in.

"We're closed!" we yelled. "Piss off!"

But they would just not go away. They were determined to get into the pub, and all we wanted to do was drink all the booze.

After a few minutes, Lara leapt off her barstool and ran over to the door. She promptly turned around and pulled down her pants. The group outside were treated to the sight of Lara's white arse shaking at them in the silvery moonlight. After a while, Lara pulled her pants up and leapt onto the pool table, where she danced the night away like some alcoholic nymph pixie.

It was then decided that we should try the Cointreau challenge. This involves taking a shot of Cointreau in your mouth and swishing it around like mouthwash. The person who has it in the longest is the winner!

Ben was too drunk to figure it out and merely drank it instead. We tried a few more times but then gave up. Lara was the first to bail. It was left to Aiden and me. We went on for ages. The Cointreau was burning the insides of my mouth but I was gonna win, goddammit! Aiden finally ran off to spew up his guts and I won. My prize was a high five. Ben passed out on the pool table. Aiden and I slurped on more beers.

It was getting late, the sun was rising and the cleaning man was about to come in, so Aiden drove us back to his place (note: drink driving is very stupid. don't do it). Lara and I carried Ben back to the car.

Halfway back to Aiden's place, Ben made some awful noises. We stopped so he could vomit out ten thousand litres of booze. Too late we realised that we had stopped outside of a police station. Ah crap.

I woke up the next morning at Aiden's house to Lara running around in her underpants, Ben curled up next to me on the couch and snoring without his pants on and Aiden giggling at The Mighty Boosh. Ben's pants were off because he'd fallen into a pond. Lara and I had decided to take off his pants because they were wet.

I wish my boss wasn't such a crackheaded twat because then I wouldn't have wanted to quit. Though it hasn't been cool like that for a while. I'll miss that place.
(TheChicken Five hundred thousand points from Gryffindor, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 1:13, Reply)

Lameroo Community Hotel/Motel
Me and a mate used to do fencing on cattle properties when we were 15 during the school holidays. We'd finished one evening went to the pub for a meal. Young local lad was having his buck's night. After begging to stay, we watched the pissed 40 something fat stripper strip him and tie him to a post, take of all her clothes and rub up against him. She then made suggestive mouth actions and blindfolded him. His mates bought in a small calve and let it attempt to feed from his penis. Hilarity ensued. Country folk have such a wonderful sense of humour.
(wallynothere rnot without protection, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 0:59, 1 reply)

Frasier
I want to tell you all about an old Scottish friend of mine Frasier. Frasier likes his drink, and tends to have the most unusual things happen to him when he was drinking.

Once apon a time Frasier was in one of the local pubs, off his head as usual. A nice lively Irish trad band was playing (As tends to happen in Ireland). So Frasier was there jumping around the place like a mad man. Now, as unlikely as it sounds, into the pub walks a drunk midget. Somehow, Frasier ends up jumping around the place, with this drunk midget sitting up on his shoulders, he looks around the place, basking in the glory of all the patrons cheering and waving at their merry dance!

After a little while, he wonders why they are grabbing at him and he realizes that they are not in fact cheering, but screaming at him to stop. Turns out our Scottish friend was doing his energetic dancing under a ceiling beam.

The poor unconscious midget did not enjoy bleeding from the head as much as Frasier enjoyed his dancing.

There are many many more stories about Frasier and his antics locally, if my inability to write has not turned any of you off, let me know and I will post another.
(oeb, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 0:23, Reply)

Binary Code????
I used to work in one of the local pubs and over heard a couple of guys talking about binary code and how it works.
You have to understand, where I live, there's one computer for the whole village. Really freaked me out because chances are the probably couldn't even spell there own names!
(mrfibbers, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 23:50, 3 replies)

Various
A few moderately amusing tales, in the hope that quantity will compensate for quality.

1. A friend was enjoying an after-work drink with three colleagues, in a pub that served an ale by the name of Four Fingers. His round came around, and he asked the barmaid for sixteen Fingers. He only noticed when she started pouring the eleventh pint.

2. Post-summer exams drinking session, and the first time I got a drink tipped over me by a lady. Being a student in the Computer Science department, there were very few girls on my course, but C was one of them, and was generally as dedicated a drinker as any of the lads. Towards the end of the evening, I because vaguely aware of something damp hitting me - C was flicking droplets of cider at me, for some reason. As I was drinking Newky Brown for some reason, like-for-like retaliation really wasn't possible - instead, I tried to slosh a bit of ale in her direction (I may have overdone it a bit). Things got out of hand at that point - she tipped the rest of her pint over my head, so I tipped the bottle of Newky Brown over her (possibly taking the world record for the most time taken to throw a drink at someone), she then tipped most of the remaining drinks on the table on me.

3. Went to a Halloween fancy dress party at a friend of a friend's a couple of years back. Most of the people I knew didn't really make an effort, I went as Satan (no point doing things by half measures). Black shirt, trousers and waistcoat, red tie, horns and face painted red. I have a goatee anyway, so it works quite well. Oh, did I mention the huge ~6ft demon wings? Anyway, the party was moderately enjoyable, we stayed maybe 45 minutes before getting bored and heading into town. My mates decided that the best venue for the evening's entertainment would be a rather seedy lapdancing club - admittedly the first time I'd been to one. Now I embarrass easily, and I'm socially awkward at the best of times, so walking into such an establishment as the only person in fancy dress was rather... well, traumatic. I'm sure many chaps would be delighted at the amount of attention I got - the only plus point in my view was that the red facepaint covered my furious blushing quite effectively.
(Photon wasting your time since, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 23:37, Reply)