August 27, 2004


No, not an irrational fear of a certain model of crap car, but slang for drinkytime.
The inimitable Doctor Pockless is trying to keep his fear of the lesser spotted belfry bat at bay with small, but regular doses of medicine in a pint glass, while Vaughan‘s tastes are simple and he just wants a tea, shaking not stirred.
Pete and Karen are actually at the Reading festival, so thankfully I don’t have to deal with my claustrophobic agoraphobia (being tightly enclosed by people while in an open-air arena) in order to serve their requested warm diluted Guinness in a plastic glass and warm Hungarian wine. I’m sure the festival beer tent will do that just fine.
Lori is more problematic, as she lives in Manchester and has a fear of Chavs. In order to help her with this, she wants a Bacardi Breezer, God help us all. However, the straw she’s requested is in the prerequisite Burberry check. That should help the phobia no end, and will also teach her to say please in the same sentence as the drinks request. What can I say? I’m rudophobic.
The still-hiating Dave is after a pint of Bishops Finger, which always used to be something the nuns worried about intensely. And on the subject of nuns, the linkless Annie will never get on with Pogo, but hopefully the large vodka tonic will help her on her way with the pogonophobic terror of beards. Thank heaves she’s not a circus freak – that would be really ironic.
I’m not going to add any ice into Mr. D.‘s Smirnoff Blue – in fact all I’m going to add into it is another one. Now that’s a proper measure of vodka.
Winging their requests in from afar, Adrian sounds like a really needs a cold shower, but instead I’ll provide him a sex on the beach, although with the girls he’s looking at, it’ll probably come with added crabs. S. is in a holiday mood too, avoiding the spiders (and I won’t mention the cockroaches that are probably round the pool instead) with a pair of huge jugs *cough* – of Sangria, of course. What else did you think I meant?
Continuing in an Adrianesque theme of sleaze, Pix wants a huge bucket. Although, considering the “pint of everything” request (<Adrian>surely that’s a bukkake moment?</Adrian>) I can imagine that she may just need the bucket after all.
Dragon is a bit confused, and is afraid of a fortnight ago. In order to catch up, he needs the fourteen pints of Stella (<Adrian>that sounds like Bukkake again</Adrian>) but he needs the fitness training too, so he can carry the buggers. D‘s demophobia has kept him quiet this week, but the whiskey sour should help loosen his tongue.
And finally, Ade is wanting whatever’s left. That might be a problem after Pix’s binge-drinking expertise.

And yes, I’ve ignored Angel‘s request for a stiff noticeable drink. Aren’t phobias a bitch?


4 thoughts on “Pintophobia

  1. Thank you kindly my JUGS of Sangria, and thanks for reminding me about the cockroaches but you forgot to mention the leeches that will be glaring at me in my skimpy little thong. Thanks again, the coldness was just what I needed trickling down my throat.

  2. I think I did actually experience some mosh-pit-induced claustrophobic agoraphobia last night, to the musical accompaniment of the Super Furry Animals. Fortunately I managed not to be afraid of The Darkness, so I got to see the fireworks. Not a drop of cserszegi fuszeres in sight.

    Karen on August 28, 2004
  3. a late thank you for the vodka tonic. And the beardy-weirdies.

    annie on August 31, 2004

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