F**king Hell! C**tgtasulazioningd to me for winking. I'll PM me with a subject for next wank please. I won't really. It's a joke.
Meanwhilst...
Me - 3
Gappy - 2
Next topic: Down The Pub (suggested by Gappy)
Leg closed: 5.9.23
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 7 Me
2 6 Gappy
3 3 Otterfox
4 1 Firkin, APlate
Maybe it's Because I'm a Londoner
Tune. Maybe it's Because I'm A Londoner
Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
That I hate blackies so
Well, maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
When I drink, I smash the assholes with blows
I get an angry feeling mixed with glee
Look blackies up and down
Well, maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
I'd sell my wife for a pound
Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
That I'm one big asshole
Well, maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
That I think all foreign twats should go
Those Playboy bunnies feel a wad of me smee
While wanking up and down
Well, maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
That I hate anyone brown
When I'm away from London
I can't stop drinking at some of my favorite piss-holes
Beat the f**k outa poofs, get prossies bare, National Front
Gay-bashing gets me hard, I'm f**king them, badass
And every night, the froggie gets beaten over London Bridge
I get a funny feeling mixed with glee
While roughing up black clowns
Well, maybe it's because I'm a Londoner
That I love kicking in browns
That I won't pay for me round
And I will never be found
BARMAN:Good afternoon, and what can I get you? Oh, sorry! Didn't notice it was you, Mr Parsons.
PARSONS:No problem, Jack. Sally and I were in town for a meeting, and we thought we'd pop in for a drink and see how our new bartender is getting on.
BARMAN:Not too bad, thanks, I think I'm learning the ropes. What will it be?
PARSONS:A Fosters for me, please, and for you, Sally?
SALLY:Errr, best bitter, I think.
BARMAN:Coming right up. Those are pints, I presume?
PARSONS:Got it in one.
BARMAN:Not a problem. Here we go.
SALLY: Oh. Right.
PARSONS: Oh dear, Jack. I'm not very happy with these pints, I have to say.
BARMAN: Sorry, Mr Parsons! I just can't get the hang of that little frother button on the Fosters. It's always too much head, or not enough.
PARSONS:No, the head is fine, jack. It's just the rest of the pint. Is it cheeky, would you say?
BARMAN:I think...no. It's not.
SALLY:Well, it should be. These pints should be noticeable cheekier.
PARSONS:About 30 to 40% more cheeky. It is 5:45 after all.
BARMAN: Oh! is this like happy hour?
PARSONS:More like insolent afternoon. Between now and about 7:30, people expect their pints to be cheeky and impertinent.
SALLY: Or insouciant at the very least.
BARMAN:I see. And how do I do that?
PARSONS:It's quite simple. Just make the pints brazen and irreverent.
BARMAN: OK, I'll, erm, try next time.
SALLY: See that you do. Oh, and can we have some peanuts, please.
BARMAN: Of course. Salted, or dry roasted?
SALLY:Audacious.
BARMAN:I don't think we have any.
PARSONS:For God's sake, man! Just use the salted peanuts, but make them brassily presumptuous.
BARMAN:I really don't know how to do that.
PARSONS:[SIGH] This is very disappointing, Jack. We'll have to have a word with Donna and get you some emergency remedial training. Where is Donna?
BARMAN: She's in the back office, shall I call her?
PARSONS:No, no, we'll go through, this is something we would like to discuss in private. Think on, Jack, if you want to stay working for this brewery.
BARMAN:I, err, shall think about it. About increasing the beer's...sassiness.
PARSONS:Goodbye, Jack. [RECEDING] A pity, I really thought he'd be able to do the cheeky pints.
SALLY:[RECEDING] You'd think so, considering his last job was in Nando's...
NERVOUS, SHORT TEENAGE LAD ENTERS A PUB AND GOES UP TO THE BAR
LAD: Er, all right, mate. Can I have, um, a glass of beer, please?
BARMAN: A glass of beer, you say? Well, do you want a pint, or... (sniggers) half pint?
LAD: A pint of beer. Please. S-S-Stella. Stella Ar - twaaar. (pause) I'm 19, by the way. So...
BARMAN: 19? Years old?
LAD: Yeah. And that was good, because people who are underage pretend they're 18, innit. So, yeah, that can't be me, 'cos I'm literally 19.
BARMAN: Hmm. Have you got any I.D.?
LAD: Er.. I've got a licence. For driving my car.
BARMAN: Really.
LAD: I enjoy driving my car.
BARMAN: What sort of car have you got, then?
LAD: (gulps) Big. Big car. I drive to work in my car.
BARMAN: Well, let's see this driving licence, then.
LAD: (puts hand in pocket) Ah, it's not there. I must've left it at home. But I can tell you exactly where it is...
BARMAN: (sighs) Look, you're obviously underage, so I can't serve you.
LAD: Oh, come on, mate! No-one will know. And there's hardly anyone here, except that old bloke over in the corner, stroking a tiny dog on his lap. At least, I hope that's a dog.
BARMAN: Oh, go on then, just the one. Pint of Stella, was it? That's £3.50.
BARMAN PULLS THE PINT, LAD GIVES HIM THE MONEY
LAD: Thanks, mate. Cheers for that.
LAD HURRIEDLY TAKES A FEW BIG SWIGS OF THE BEER
BARMAN: So, what do you..
LAD SUDDENLY COUGHS, SPLUTTERS AND A BIT OF VOMIT COMES OUT
THE OLD MAN SITTING IN THE CORNER LAUGHS
BARMAN: (shakes his head, smiling) Well, we all had to start somewhere.
CAPTION: FIVE YEARS LATER
LAD IS NOW AT LEAST 18, WITH A BEARD AND STUFF, SITTING AT THE SAME BAR
BARMAN: The usual, is it?
GROWNUP LAD: Yeah, cheers, Terry.
BARMAN SERVES HIM
GROWNUP LAD: You all right, Terry? You looked lost in thought there.
BARMAN: Ah, I was just thinking about the first time you came to this pub, all those years ago. Heh.. remember?
GROWNUP LAD: Ha, yeah... I was just a kid. Innocent times.
GROWNUP LAD HURRIEDLY TAKES A FEW BIG SWIGS OF THE BEER
BARMAN: So, what do you...
GROWNUP LAD SUDDENLY COUGHS, SPLUTTERS AND A BIT OF VOMIT COMES OUT
OLD MAN SITTING IN THE CORNER LAUGHS
BARMAN: (sighs) Every bloody week...
FX: SITCOM CHEER THEME MUSIC
A young British woman enters the Cheers bar.
BARMAN: Hello , what's your name ?
C: Chardonnay.
B: I know your sister Champaign , she was in Bucks Fizz. That's a Brit pop band right ? I'm going to have to ask you for ID.
CHARDONNAY HANDS OVER HER PASSPORT
B: Wow Chardonnay is her given name, pay up guys (PEOPLE SWAP CASH TO SETTLE THE BET)
C: I was 21 yesterday, so this is a big day for me. My first legal drink.
SAM: I'm sorry Chardonnay , the guys are just playing around . What will it be ?
C: My usual.
SAM: A British pint, of house white coming up.
A TEENAGED BOY ENTERS THE BAR , EVERYONE SHOUTS "Norm" AS A BEER IS SLID DOWN THE BAR TO HIS SPOT.
C: Why don't you ask him for ID ?
SAM: Everybody knows his name.
TOM SITS IN A PUB ALONE AND IMPATIENTLY LOOKS AT HIS WATCH. LIAM RUSHES IN AND SITS DOWN.
TOM:
Where the hell did you disappear to? You completely missed our weekly Tuesday night drink. You never even returned my angry face emoji.
LIAM:
Look, I'm sorry. I honestly would have made it if I could.
TOM:
At least you've made it for our weekly Wednesday night drink.
LIAM:
You won't believe what happened me last night. I-
TOM:
All right, what are you having?
LIAM:
Listen for a second. I was on the most fantastical journey last night.
TOM:
Did you eat some of that green cheese at the back of your fridge again?
LIAM:
No. You know the way I'm always afraid of taking that big hill by Turnpike Lane.
TOM:
No.
LIAM:
Well I finally took it.
TOM:
So you walked up a hill. Take out the crayolas!
LIAM:
Did you ever see where it leads though?
TOM:
Yes. Up through the bogs of Calagascar Hill.
LIAM (STORYTELLER MODE):
Calagascar Hill; Covered in an eerie mist it was but something kept telling me to move forward. It was pitch black save for my trusty phone. The strange thing was that as soon as the battery died another light appeared in the distance. I was entranced and I felt I had to follow it.
TOM:
You know what that was; Will O' the Wisp.
LIAM
What o' the whisk?
TOM:
Will O' the Wisp. He made a deal with the devil and is now forced to wander over marshes and bogs using the light of his lantern to lead travellers into the darkness never to return.
LIAM:
Oh right. This light was a mountain bike though. I hopped on and cycled upwards. After what seemed like surely forty or fifty metres I collapsed exhausted and fell asleep under a stone. After a couple of hours I woke up but it wasn't fully bright so I went back for another kip. When I woke up the second time it was fully bright, but there was a bluish grey hue surrounding of me. When I tried to move, the hue blocked me.
TOM:
Some sort of plastic mountain plastic I'd say.
LIAM
Wrong again. It was the wind challenging me to a whistling match but no normal wind; it was the swirling winds of Calagascar Hill.
TOM:
This is ridiculous. You've totally lost it this time.
LIAM:
It howled up a storm so I whistled for all I was worth but it had my lungs pinned back. It clearly won the power whistle. Next was the danger challenge. It won that one by knocking four climbers over a ledge. It told me it would let me go if I managed to win on melody but he used the holes in the trees and the rustling of the leaves to create a beautiful orchestration. I started my chirpy whistle but it sounded a bit like a thrush being tickled to death with his own feathers.
TOM:
Do you really expect me to believe this?
LIAM (ANNOYED):
Luckily I still had my tin whistle from the ceili, you know, from our weekly Monday night drink. I gave him a few bars of 'The Dawning of the Day' and he smashed into smithereens. Still following the light I had to sing my way up some vines, defeated a gang of cuckoos in a dance-off and slid back down the mountain.
TOM:
Unbelievable!
LIAM:
I know, crazy, right.
TOM:
No, unbelievable in that I don't believe you.
LIAM STANDS UP.
LIAM:
Right! Let's go! I'll show it to you.
TOM:
You know something; lets do it if it will prove you wrong!
THEY BOTH WALK TOWARDS THE DOOR. LIAM LOOKS BACK IN THE DIRECTION OF THE CAMERA. PROLONGED CLOSE-UP OF EVIL SMIRK EMERGING ACROSS HIS FACE.
PAN OUT TO SHOW TOM OBSERVING HIM IN AN INQUISITIVE MANNER.
TOM:
Why are you making that face?
LIAM:
Oh, I-I t-thought I saw something. C'mon, lets go.
TOM STEPS AWAY FROM LIAM WORRIEDLY:
TOM:
No way! I'm definitely not going up there after you made that face. You can forget it!
LIAM:
Well how about another pint?
TOM LOOKS AT LIAM INCREDULOUSLY.
BEAT.
TOM (NONCHALANTLY):
Yeah, alright.
Otterfox gets in just before the midnight deadline and gets my vote. I like the building up of drama to then become a comedic anticlimax (will o the wisp/mountain bike, and of course the ending) and stuff like "a thrush being tickled to death with his own feathers".
Otter's f**k.
Love Gappy's cheeky premise, but Mike makes a profound point about Londoners struggling for identify post Brexit. Gappy this week.
A plate, I fancy.
Between Gappy and A Plate but A Plate pips it.