It began with the lock-in at the Coach & Horses. My bestie wouldn't take no for an answer. She rampantly insisted I ride along with her to watch a dangerously obese kebab shop owner called 'Johnie Two Shots' make his own rules up in a pool comp. At one point the white ball flew off the table and only marginally missed smashing someone plum-full in the face. I kid you not. It could have cracked her dentures, blackened her eye, or broken her nose. The strange thing was, she didn't notice the flying object narrowly avoid potentially costing her a visit to A&E and maybe ruining her looks. She was in the middle of telling a joke...something to do screaming chimpanzees, meat paste, and blenders.
His bestie (a sex pest going by Archie Trickle), tried to seduce me with a pricey novelty phone that could project its screen onto the ceiling in IMAX proportions. He showed us a video of himself busy at work fitting a Formica table top in a celebrity’s residence. I think he name-dropped the celeb as Noel Edmonds, who wasn’t available for a signature, a selfie, or even a brief hello. Apparently, he was away filming a documentary in a high-end grooming parlor.
I wasn’t the least bit impressed by his futuristic mobile, his equally statement-making leather two-tone cowboy boots, or his diabolical beard lights. Beard lights are like mini Christmas decorations in a man's facial hair. I kept expecting them to start flashing rhythmically, but they never did. Perhaps they were a purposeful intended distraction, to free his gaze up for snatching glimpses at my deep plunge cleavage.
He never commented on my tits, but he did keep pointing at them to his mates. He accompanied this repeated mannerism by dry humping with his crotch.
A brief extract from Erika’s doorstop
opus, “What not to think about when engaged in affairs of minutiae down the
local boozer with people you do not care about.” (22 word title)
No comments:
Post a Comment