Another story from the scabby nightclub.
Hello hello.
A long time ago in a nightclub far, far away, I collected glasses to eke out an existance.
One night I was wandering around mopping up spillages with blue roll (it's like giant fuck-off toilet roll. And it's blue) when I heard a yell from a table in the window.
"Oi! Mate! Can my mate have some of that?"
"No worries" I say, reeling some off. "What's he spilt?"
"He ain't spilt nothing, he's havin' a wank, is all."
I look up and sure enough there's a gurning little jock half-sat half-stood, pumping furiously away with his trousers round his ankles, his proud little soldier turning red with stage fright (I assume it was stage fright. It probably wasn't used to all the attention) while several guys and girls cheer him on and film him on their phones. Not only was he in full view of the whole room, he was sat in the center of a floor-to-ceiling window, and it was only about half ten so there were still families wandering about outside.
He left. They all left. Very quickly. Backwards, in his case.
What a wanker.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:37, Reply)