Covered in Shite III

The table where B Shithouse had come from was occupied by a group of equally big equally dim looking hooligans. Cognac didn’t seem to know what to do other than placate - he promised to vacate the premise and apologised to the fuckface that was now openly spewing passionate nationalist tripe. Lil bruv just kept on tapping my shoulder whispering suggesting things were about to get ugly. Sure i liked Cognac but the truth is him getting kicked in didn’t really have anything to do with my duties for the evenin’.

Ring ring. 

“Hello darling,”

“What’s up baby, how’s my lil bruv?” 

“Row row row your boat!” 

“Who’s that in the back singing?” 

“Nobody. Is everything all right?”

Before i could make sure that the love of my life was better than fine - that she was happy which would forever be more important to me than anything - B Shithouse had now found something else to be offended about. Attention was important to him you see and i hadn’t paid him any so he (his mates called him bro) felt entitled to compensation. Accordingly he grabbed my kyocera and chucked it into what i only then disappointingly realised was my half empty carafe of martini.

“i was in the middle of a conversation then.”

“This is your turn to listen!” B Shithouse insisted.

“What is it big man?” i asked ‘em, half turning me neck before spotting the man who’d through pure neglect shaved away at what could have been a handsome tip, “and what the fuck is this bar person?” 

“Look at me!”

Another offence. Strike three. Truth be told, i thought he was becoming a little demanding. 

“OK.” i said and turned to face B Shithouse and co. as one of his mates had offered to play a supporting role. The two of them in front of Cognac looked like a scene from the Bible only David was smaller and Goliath had an identical twin standing right behind him. 

“Is a pregnancy registry in a country with an almost complete ban on killing babies terrifying?” 

No one knows exactly who’d asked the questionable question above but there is no dispute amongst any of the parties involved that this and a tone deaf ‘gently down the stream’ were the last that was said sung heard before the music started playing again. The punching kicking screaming i.e. the first part of the inevitable motherfucking horrorshow played out to the backdrop of The Beatles’ ‘Back in the U.S.S.R.’ 

Before the end of the song - ‘fore Dear Prudence could be asked to open their eyes - part two, the penultimate sin, started making groans and whistlin’. Which reminds me, Humble Reader, to give you the final warning: if you are squeamish sensitive or pussy-eyed stop reading watching listening whatever you’re doing eefuckingmediately. Then again if you haven’t yet guessed what happens next and i mean this with the greatest respect scratch that reverence i have grossly underestimated your ob-vi-us purity.