Went out last night with mates for "a drink or two". Quickly turned into shots of sambuca and many more pints. The psycho bird walked past me outside the chippy and I ignored her. She walked on and gave me the ol' finger. So I wake up this morning at about 8 and realise I've slept in. Got a text from her saying "Why didn't you talk to me last night? I really like you, can I see you again?" so I text back "Naw ya spastic, your ****ing mental in the heid" So, I'm running late and get the train instead of the bus. Sitting at a table with 3 schoolies (all legal ) and suddenly get the desire to whitey. Start sweating like a rapist and need to dash to the bog. Was a photo finish but got there on time. After that I just stand looking cool in my new sunglecs Sweat pouring over my brow and generally looking like a jakey ****. In work now and can't concentrate on a thing. Building getting done up across the street and got the pneumatic drill today. <****S!!!!>
It would be interesting 'Tales of drink and psycho moth maidens' will be the title No as good as JW Herons poetry book
all you had to add in was making sure the meatball sauce was getting stirred properly and delivering some handguns, making sure the ammunition is of the right calibre and that would have been the complete "Goodfellas " morning
