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Pic related is me.
Hope you cunts enjoy.
(1/2)
>Be pub crawling with the lads down souf
>for background, I’m loaded
>mates are some lanky geordie twit and a baboon looking git from Liverpool. I’m a fat brummie bastard.
>we are the norf
>Met in Uni when studying finance, decided to have a reunion and booze it up like the old days
>plan was simple - get car, find bar, drink pints, find birds, stagger back to my place for some tekken 4 and electro music, and then finally pass out blissfuly
>Mates come down on the Friday
>drive the merc up to some club nearby
>slip valet 50 and tell him to not scratch my bloody car. I’ll get it in the morning.
>Bouncer thinks he’s well hard, doesn’t want to let 3 fat blokes in
>slip him 100 quid and tell him to fuck off as I push way into club
>that’s when the stench hits me
>The combined odor of 200 or so gyrating sweaty bints and blokes and their flatulence overwhelms us.
>Shitty music pounding through speakers at all corners of room
>Poofish lights strobing purple and pink triggering seizures left and right
>No footy on the telly above the bar
>order pints because we’re not poofters
>”round of lagers for the lads please, pints yeah”
>bartender ogling my nether region, my wallet pads out my pocket nicely
>many rounds later, some Londoner comes to the bar next to us to order a drink
>hey darling, I’ll have a round of mojitos for that table over there. Thank you darling”
Hope you cunts enjoy.
(1/2)
>Be pub crawling with the lads down souf
>for background, I’m loaded
>mates are some lanky geordie twit and a baboon looking git from Liverpool. I’m a fat brummie bastard.
>we are the norf
>Met in Uni when studying finance, decided to have a reunion and booze it up like the old days
>plan was simple - get car, find bar, drink pints, find birds, stagger back to my place for some tekken 4 and electro music, and then finally pass out blissfuly
>Mates come down on the Friday
>drive the merc up to some club nearby
>slip valet 50 and tell him to not scratch my bloody car. I’ll get it in the morning.
>Bouncer thinks he’s well hard, doesn’t want to let 3 fat blokes in
>slip him 100 quid and tell him to fuck off as I push way into club
>that’s when the stench hits me
>The combined odor of 200 or so gyrating sweaty bints and blokes and their flatulence overwhelms us.
>Shitty music pounding through speakers at all corners of room
>Poofish lights strobing purple and pink triggering seizures left and right
>No footy on the telly above the bar
>order pints because we’re not poofters
>”round of lagers for the lads please, pints yeah”
>bartender ogling my nether region, my wallet pads out my pocket nicely
>many rounds later, some Londoner comes to the bar next to us to order a drink
>hey darling, I’ll have a round of mojitos for that table over there. Thank you darling”
