Why God? Why?
So, last night Big Gay Paul called me and said "Hey, wanna go to the pub and play pool?" I considered this thoughtfully as, dude to a severe case of insomnia I was currently on hour 33 without sleep and seriously considering resorting to alcohol poisoning to get some sleep. A pint and some pool sounded more fun though so I said yes.
I shouldn't have.
We travelled to the Starboard pub, safe in the knowledge that no-one in their right mind goes there for a drink until all the other pubs have closed and we were planning to be long gone by then. We changed 5 quid into 20p pieces which really pissed off the bar staff and proceeded to play some pool on the wonkiest, most lop-sided table ever. Yay! Great fun.
About an hour into our peaceful play, we was hideously interrupted by what can only be described as "a couple of slappers", we went about ignoring them but it was kinda hard as every time we bent over the table to take a shot a cry of "look at the arse on that" would whoop from their direction. Not particularly funny the first time, incredibly unfunny the 3016th.
Eventually they clicked on that we were referring to each other by name and so took to calling out "hey Rob!" and "hia Paul!" at every opportunity that God gave them. Paul, being a big gayer and not at all caring as they both possessed genitals that he refers to as "the hairy hatchet wound" took it upon himself to start having some "fun" at the drunken slappers expense. I did beg him not to but he won't listen, God love him.
At this point the quieter of the two actually began to look a bit embarassed about their drunken idiotness and started trying to quiet down her friend who, let's be diplomatic about this, was the fuglier of the two. Damn, what happened to the diplomacy? Oh, well. Sadly, this fugly vision had taken a severe shine to me and so began the slapper courting ritual of throwing insults, taking every opportunity to rub herself against me (causing visible shudders from me and drink-snorting-from-nose from Paul,) slapping my ass if she could get a chance and screaming "BUY ME A DRINK!!!" every five fucking minutes.
As I was by now incredibly tired, mostly pissed and not at all attracted to this pig in clothes I'm afraid I resorted to auto-pilot put downs. I just let my mouth run and every single thing that came out of her mouth got turned around, slapped down or just ridiculed until she was bright red. At no point did I insult or belittle her, even though she had bright pink hair and actually said "every guy I'm attarcted to turns out to be gay." Oh, I should be given a medal for biting back "no love, every guy you've been attracted to says their gay to get out of shagging YOU."
At this point I got bored so I told Paul we were going for Kebabs and as we left she called out "Nice to meet you Paul, hope we meet again when you're not with your friend." I called back over my shoulder "You hope, I pray." I didn't actually see her reaction but I could hear the screamed insults all the way to the door. The "1950s haircut" one was particularly amusing from someone with a bright pink dyke cut.
Yet more fuel for the "never drink in small town pubs" fire. The kebabs were awesome tho...