Ladies and Gentlemen, the bar is open. Sit the f*ck down, shut the f*ck up. You’ll get the drinks in a minute – but if you don’t quieten down, I’ll throw ’em at you.
First of all, bloody Graybo wants a f*cking beer. In fact, he can have an IPA, also known as a “Boat-shag” because it’s f*cking close to water. While Doctor Pockless is definitely a complete Clocksucker, but gets a decent f*cking pint as he’s on the train to some dangling chuffnut of a place that I think the c#nt’s made up.
Vaughan on the other hand is being a complete pain-in-the-@rse, and wants a f*cking huge gin, with shitloads of ice, and hardly any f*cking tonic. (I’m beginning to think we should market the “F*cking” range of drinks, particularly mixers. F*cking OJ, F*cking Tonic, and F*cking Bitter Lemon for starters)
Annie (who left an email I can’t be keffed to link to) showed herself up to be the
smart-arse esoteric of the day, with a brief Spanish insult – classy. Job tvoyemadj (that may be mis-spelled, I couldn’t give a monkey’s left knacker) In a more decorous style, Clair has been provided with a pint of Old Rosie. It has to be said, Old Rosie isn’t looking too happy about this, but there we go.
In the name of Profanisaurii everywhere, Gordon has truly lowered the tone, and as such I’m debating withholding the tosser’s beer. We’ll see.
Ade, the theme-stealing twadge *grin*, has asked for a Craparinha. Me, I thought that was some kind of martial art, but obviously I’m just making a w@nker of myself by revealing that. He’s still a theme-stealing twadge, mind – and getting those links in, well, what a fudgenudger.
Karen’s being decorous, and just having a bloody Bloody Mary – don’t worry, I’m a specialist at this, and will even take the string out. And in a vein that I hope isn’t going to transfer through to their guestweek, Stuart wants an 18 certificate Screwdriver – AKA a “F*ckdriver* (I think he’s making that one up)
That rancid bag of festering spermbank samples Destructor is after a f*cking gin and f*cking lemonade, so I’ll serve that, but only with a side-order of spit, and Tucola is having a facking Vodka’n’Tonic.
Finally, Dragon has been doing some research, and came up with six sweary cocktails. So I’m going to put them all in one big bucket, and call it the “Ultimate Motherf*cking C*ntlicker Sh!tface”.
Additional : How to fuck up a drinks order
There’s always one, isn’t there? Makes his order, it’s part of a round, then the sod complains when it’s forgotten. Like it’s all the f*cking barman’s f*cking fault.
And, in the vein in which it was requested :
A Man called D with flowing locks
Requested a drink that tasted like socks
I forgot the bloody vodka
while guesting at uborka (close – no cigar)
Oh fuck it, oh cunt, oh bow-locks.
I thank you.
Of course I f*cking made it up!
It’s called a f*cking JOKE.
Next time make it a f*cking f*nny one then. :
Where’s my fcuking vodka, then, eh?
Wossup, not a sweary enough request 4 u?
Oh fluntcaps. Knew I’d forgotten one.
I think Lyle deserves to be knighted for services to the English Language for his use of ‘fluntcaps’.
I hereby pass the honour on to Dr Spooner.
No way. He was a vicar, and as such would never have used such a term as that might have been if run through him backwards, if you catch my drift.
I do. He’d have said “Mist All Chrucking Fighty” when he realised…