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Lloyds Bar, Cardiff, 2007. Having got to the point in the evening where nobody could agree where was 'good' to go (due to differences in age/taste/sanity), we ended up in that shittest of shitholes. I, after several pints felt the need for a piss. Now, I am partial to reading the newspaper they keep by the urinal in the big glass case. As I'm having the aforementioned whazz, a member of the bar staff came in, potentially looking at my wang whilst leaning over me, unlocking the glass case and straightening the newspaper. Being in good spirits, I asked him what he was doing...to which I was told that apparently the manager of the entire chain was in to visit that night and liked things just so. I thought this to be reasonable, and so shook it off (probably less than normal)and turned round to wash my hands. I was greeted with the sight of a man, with no trousers, or pants on. He was drying (in tandem) his trousers and his crotch. I enquired to the barman whether he might like to adjust his list of priorities given the big boss was coming, the answer was 'no...he's alright, he's probably just pissed himself'. I haven't been back since.
(badgermonkey007, Mon 9 Feb 2009, 22:36, Reply)