Look at this crew.
Wrung out, bedraggled, and stumbling up to the end of the bar with nerves frayed by a week of piddling little firecrackers. You call yourselves English? Not Gordon, I know how he feels about being called English. He’s Scottish, or Polynesian or something, I’m sure. He’s not here?
I made this Smoke of Scotland for Nothing??
Lyle, Happy Birthday man. This is for you. No really. Take it. It’s a perfect chaser for your Kamikaze. You can share it with Mike who’s over there in the corner rimming a pumpkin.
Hey Mike! I couldn’t find pumpkin flavoured beer, so I pureed the Halloween jack-o’-lantern off my neighbour’s front step and added that. Should be fine.
I see Graybo’s quite enjoying his gin and tonic as he watches Pete sweat through this year’s NaNoWRiMo marathon. Nice word count you’ve got going there Pete. You pint’s gone flat. Why don’t you have some of that sparkling crème de menthe Graybo so generously ordered for Lyle? Lyle won’t mind. Look at him. He just called the coat rack a jizzing puckered fuckwit for blocking his way.
You tell’em, Lyle!
God, I love that toolhead.
Anna! I saved you a bottle of tequila and I have a case of marmite for you which I’ve poured into a plastic bucket and properly labelled, Grout. It will get to the US, no problem.
Clair, your hot rum is right here and you’re just in time for the toasts and the exploding birthday cake.
To Lyle! May his scorched-earth tongue be ever on my side. Wait. That didn’t come out right.
NEXT!
Let’s hear it, people. To Guy Fukkes Lyle!
Sorry Gordon, didn’t see you sneaking in there. I’ll make you another one. Double?
Wow, all for me. I’m touched. (Makes a change from touching myself, anyway)
Creme de Menthe brings me out in shudders – a traumatic event (from when I used to run pubs) of someone who’d eaten a full chinese meal, drunk lots of creme de menthe, and was then very very unwell. Cleaning up green minty rice is a memory that’ll never leave…
Other than that, fuck you all very much, it’s been lovely.
And Asta, be glad my scorched-earth tongue is on your side, and not anywhere else…
Lyle, I was thinking same thing.
Graybo, I hope you don’t mind,I have removed the creme de menthe from the room. *shudder* and put the sparklers in Anna’s tequila. She can pretend she’s on a cruise ship with her container.
I guess I’d better make this “thank you” a bit more brief then.
Thank you.
Doubles, fuck yes!!
Puréed jack-o-lantern works just fine for me. Cheers!
Sigh. I’m sooooo thirsty.
Happy Fucking Birthday, Lyle!