Fella’s who can’t come out to the pub until about 10ish because “i’m under a tight rein today and the boss won’t let me”.
It’s not me i assure you, but you know the fella i’m talking about. A tall fella…
Tournafulla man, the lanky fooker.
Correct. I mean what kind of a sad fuck behaves like that. It’s criminal stuff, it really is. It’ll take longer than anticipated now to get toasted…
Many a good soldier has been lost in such circumstances
Have you got the green light for tonight yet runt?
Not required, I’m home alone tonight and not moving.
Not long after cooking myself a big curry, having a few bottles of cobra beer and i’ll be happy out on the couch for the night. The Paddys Day/Cheltenham combo made a serious dent in my wallet.
I’ve opted out of a night on the town myself. Wednesday night remains a series of bizarre puzzles and until I get to the bottom of at least a few of them I’ve no business engaging myself in any further adventures.
Opting out of nights out as well these days as they hurt both my pocket and my liver and I want to protect both, as they need protecting.
Obviously I don’t like the fitfull sleep or the dread of checking the bank balance that accompanies getting pissed on a regular basis, but it’s more the waking up on a Sunday morning to a series of unanswered questions that’s starting to bother me. I miss the good old student days of living with a good drinking crew who would for better or for worse fill in the blanks the following day. This craic of a night out randomly unfolding over the week through a series of flashbacks is starting to lose it’s appeal to be honest. I could do with some stability.
I found out yesterday how I got home from the pub, no idea how I ended up getting dropped home by that person (friend of the fathers) and don’t want to ask. I also found out how my jeans got ripped. Appartently Rintintin knocked me off a stool and I didn’t take too well to it, resulting in drunken wrestling on the floor of the pub.
After nights out I almost always suffer badly from what I call “the remorse of the drunk”. In other words, self hatred, and severe post drinking depression. There is no worse feeling. I have done some very stupid things up to three days after a drinking session due to this condition and I’m sick of it.
What Kingsley Amis called the Metaphysical Hangover. A horrible place to be.
It looks like a thumb.
Parents who buy John Rocha jeans for their offspring. I am sad to say that my brother is one such person.
This yokes
Great call Farmer.
Ah ooby manooby. Nooby.