Bulmers cider on tap at my local Returned Services League (RSL) pisses me off. It was pretty hot today, so I stopped off at the RSL for a quick one on my way to an interesting ride up to Kinglake. The bastards sell it by the pint, and at $7.20, it's bloody cheap.
I woofed the first one down while I lost a small fortune on a poker machine, (all poker machines piss me off, but that's another story) and the painted harlot behind the bar cunningly offered me a bowl of chips. Fcuk they were hot, I burnt me fcuking tongue on the first one, so without asking for my permission, she quickly shoved another fcuking pint of this icy cold refreshing medicinal brew into my unwilling mitt, and without thinking of the consequences, I fcuking skulled that bugger too!
I'm starting to feel pretty bloody good by now, so I order another one, and wander off to take a piss. Whilst standing at the urinal (geez the water's cold in the bottom of those things!) I strike up a conversation with a regular that I vaguely know, and he reminds me that by now my blood alcohol level is around .08. Fcuk! The legal limit is .05, I'm already over the limit, I've got another one sitting on the bar waiting for me, and I'm supposed to be going for a ride!
Bugger it, I sat in front of that thieving poker machine for the rest of the afternoon feeling sorry for myself while quietly sipping my cider and batting off the advances of those old blue haired slot jockeys who were trying to take me home to play "hide the sausage in the dragon". It's hot, I'm half pissed, and there's not enough cider in the world for that sort of business ladies! Oh, but you've got some icy cold Bulmers at your place? And your cars just outside? And you'll drive me home afterwards? GET THEE BEHIND ME, WRINKLY BLUE HAIRED SPAWN OF SATAN!!!!!
What a fcuking day!