Wednesday, 30 November 2011

A Narrow Escape

One young man was lucky to avoid a good beating last night, after accidentally bumping into Tony, in the pub, and sending his pint of lager flying in all directions.
Now, as you well know, Tony spilling his lager because of a shove in the back would normally result in a smack in the mouth, but because the festive season is almost upon us, and Tony was feeling happy, he merely gave the offender a mouthful of abuse, and told the little bastard to buy him and me a pint each, to compensate us for losing good lager because of another man's carelessness.
The young man - an office worker - was quick to oblige, and relieved to have escaped having his own blood splattered over his shiny new suit, he even went as far to buy us a double whisky each.
Tony thanked the young man for his gesture, and told him that although the pressures of modern life mean we need to run around at five hundred miles an hour, he should take time to slow down, unless he wants to be dead before he reaches twenty-five.
Sid, the landlord of our favourite pub, was most impressed by Tony's display of understanding, and was only too pleased that he wasn't obliged to wipe another man's blood off the bar, just like last week, after somebody else accidentally bumped into Tony, scattering his packet of peanuts across the carpet.

Sunday, 27 November 2011

Don't Worry, Because It Could Be Worse

We've just finished watching a documentary about the global unemployment disaster that's facing all of us, and how in a few years from now the number of unemployed people in Britain is going to explode, leaving society even worse off than ever before.
Tony isn't worried about the potential meltdown, because he reckons that the years we've spent doing nothing will give us an advantage, over those people who have never experienced unemployment before, and will leave us "standing tall, like giants, in a world of total chaos."
I can't help but think that the boy has got a point, and congratulate him on his assessment of our situation, which most other people would think is worse than dog shit.
We're now off to the pub to discuss the matter further, because as my fat friend also rightly says, it's no good worrying about tomorrow, because worrying never solved anything.
Once again, Tony's live for today and fuck tomorrow attitude seems to be the best approach to take in the face of impending disaster, because as he also says, after ten pints of strong lager, a few whiskies, and a couple of double cheeseburgers and fries, he doesn't give a fuck about anything!

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

Kevin, 44, Potato Peeler

One of our old friends, Kevin, is coming to visit us today.
Kevin lives on the south coast, and works as a catering assistant in a pub, where he peels potatoes for a living.
Kevin has never been to London before, and so in his latest e-mail to Tony, he said that he's really excited about the prospect of visiting our fine city, and is looking forward to seeing some of London's landmarks.
Naturally, when Tony read the e-mail, he chuckled, and said that Kevin obviously thinks that we're going to take him on a guded tour of London, so he can see Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge and all of the other tourist attractions.
Of course, and as my overweight friend rightly says, we weren't put on this planet to help people discover the delights of our home town, and if Kevin wants to spend his time in London taking photos of Big Ben and Picadilly Circus, then that's his problem.
But being an alcoholic, we reckon that Kevin will be more interested in seeing the interior of our favourite pub, tasting the delicious lager served by Sid, the pub landlord, and making conversation with some of the sexy female tourists who occasionally come into the pub, in need of a drink, and shelter from the mean streets of London.
I reckon that this week is going to be a disaster, because the last time we saw Kevin, it was on a camping holiday, when he decided to get very drunk, insult a family of German holiday-makers, and tried his luck with a couple of Swedish beauties from Stockholm.
Still, that was a few years ago, and as Tony says, age can only mellow a man.
Personally, I don't think that the potato peeler from hell has mellowed that much, but because Kevin enjoys a drink, and Tony and me don't have anything else to do with our time, we can only welcome him into our home, and drink ourselves senseless!

Saturday, 19 November 2011

Something Better Than Rough Sex

Apart from having rough sex with an eighteen year old virgin, Tony reckons that one of the finest pleasures in life is returning to our humble home, after an evening of heavy drinking, so that he can "close the door on the mad world", and sleep off the effects of drinking too much lager.
Of course, our home is hardly a palace, but more of a freezing cold hovel, with hardly enough space for us to stagger about drunkenly, after an evening at the pub, without bumping into our crap furniture, or one another.  Then there's the constant problem with the toilet, the damp patch on the ceiling, and the noise we have to tolerate from our neighbour, who spends most of her time fucking men she meets in nightclubs, and in the street.
Still, this little pile of shit is home to us, here in south-east London, and although it's not quite the sort of place we thought we'd end up living in, as the boy rightly says, with a pub at the end of the road, a twenty-four hour mini-market opposite our flat, and a burger bar not a million miles away, what else could two hopeless losers like us want from life?
I suppose my obese friend is right, and to celebrate the fact that once again he's got a clear idea of what our priorities should be, we're off to the pub for our usual Saturday lunchtime drink, after which we'll head off to the burger bar, to see just how many double cheeseburgers we can buy, with what ever money we may have left to spend.

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

The Art Of Conversation

What would have been a great evening in the pub last night was ruined, when a group of spotty students, brandishing their latest Blackberry mobile phones, decided to amuse themselves by reading out loud their text messages and e-mails, much to the annoyance of Tony, me, and the rest of the pub.
Tony reckons that communicating by text has helped kill off the art of conversation, and if God had intended us to speak to one another by sending such pointless, fucking messages, why the hell did he give us a mouth and vocal chords?
Once again, my obese and highly volatile friend seems to have a point, and I can't help agreeing with him when he says that listening to somebody reading out the contents of their mail in-box, very loudly, in a pub, shouldn't have to be tolerated by decent, non hard-working, idle bastards like us.
Sid, the landord of our favourite pub, told Tony that if felt like beating the students senseless, he was prepared to allow him to, because not only were they very childish, with their stupid girly laughs, but they also complained about the quality of the lager that Sid served them.
Fortunately, however, Tony said that although physical violence may have been an ideal way to rid the pub of the Blackberry-wielding youths, he simply turned his back on the crowd, saying that his anger-management therapist has taught him to accept that spotty students are sadly a fact of life.
Now, I know I've said it a hundred times before, but I'll say it again: I'LL DRINK TO THAT!

Sunday, 13 November 2011

Made In China

Tony and me have just returned from Hyde Park, where we've spent the last few hours selling cheap and tacky souvenirs, of some of London's finest landmarks, to tourists who wanted to take home with them a little reminder of our fine city.
Of course, the source of our stock of souvenirs was far from bona-fide, but any fears I had about the origin of our crap gifts were soon washed away by a tsunami of eager customers, who helped bring a smile to our faces, and put some much needed cash back into our pockets.
Tony also reckons that we've done the British economy a massive favour, by selling our "Made In China" rubbish to mainly Chinese tourists, who were more than pleased to hand over their cash.
I agree with the boy, and whilst it's nice to know that our models of Buckingham Palace will soon be returning to where they came from, thanks to a bus-load of visitors from Shanghai, it's even better to know that we can now go to the pub, and get completely drunk!

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Tony's Getting Ready For Christmas

As the festive season approaches, Tony's getting really excited, with him telling me that this Christmas is going to be like no other, and even if we're unemployed, penniless, and without a future, there's no reason why we can't enjoy ourselves like everybody else.
My fat friend reckons that too much emphasis is put on the birth of Christ during the festive period, and although he agrees that the birth of our Lord was an important event, people now seem to overlook the fact that Christmas is also a time when families come together, vast amounts of alcohol are consumed, and people stuff themselves as if they haven't had a decent meal all year.
Personally, I'm finding it hard to share the boy's enthusiasm, telling him that our families can't stand the sight of us, we consume vast amounts of alcohol all year long, and only last night I broke my own record by eating five double cheeseburgers, two hamburgers and a large fries, without even feeling slightly sick.
Tony says I'm probably right, but when all is said and done, it's just great to see little children getting all excited over the imminent arrival of Father Christmas.
Of course, Tony seems to have overlooked the fact that he DOES have a son, and when I asked him the other day what he was going to buy his child for Christmas, he replied FUCK ALL!

Sunday, 6 November 2011

A Weekend With Glen, Andy, Emma & Linda

We've had one hell of a weekend in north London, where Tony and me met up with our friends Glen and Andy.
Glen was pleased that we both made the effort to go and see him and Andy, telling Tony that a change of scenery sometimes does wonders for a man's morale, and that north London has some of the finest drinking establishments on the planet.
Apart from drinking, smoking and watching football, we were also introduced to Glen's new girlfriend, Emma, who he describes as a down to earth sort of girl, who likes nothing more that the most basic things in life.
To be fair to Glen, I must congratulate him on his latest choice of partner, who Tony reckons is a cross between Jennifer Lopez and Kylie Minogue, with a little bit of Amy Winehouse (before she died), thrown in for good measure. Emma seems to be madly in love with Glen, and although their romance is in its early stages, she's already had Glen's name tattooed on her left arm.
Tony says that love is a wonderful thing, and that it's a pleasure to see two young lovers burning bright, in an otherwise dull and loveless world.
Andy agreed with the boy's sentiments, saying that now Glen has got himself a new girl, perhaps she will help tame him, and take the agressive edge out of him, in the same way his own girlfriend, Linda, has done for him.
Personally, I can't see Glan and Andy turning from wild beasts into cuddly toys, because as Tony rightly says, love may be a splendid thing, but compared to getting completely hammered, hitting people for no apparent reason, and going on the rampage because your favourite football team has just lost a very important match, it doesn't really seem that great after all!

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

No Job, No Sex & No Love

Tony's been thinking recently about his love life, and reckons that women are currently shunning him because he's unemployed.
Of course, I told my friend that unemployment may not be the only thing coming between him and true love, because he should also consider the fact that he's very fat, he finds it difficult to express himself without swearing, he drinks heavily, and he has an annoying habit of staring at people menacingly, if he thinks he's being made to look a fool.
I remember his last girlfriend as if it was only yesterday. She was called Pauline, was very shy and timid, and was madly in love with Tony. They had a child together, and their little boy seemed to make the happy family complete.
Sadly, Tony soon fell out of love with Pauline, and to escape her clutches, he moved to London with me, where he says he's a million miles away from Pauline, his little boy and a life of utter boredom.
Naturally, before parting company with the dreadful Pauline, Tony cleared their bank account of their life savings, which although he agrees was immoral, he considers the money as compensation for having to put up with Pauline and their son for so long.
I wasn't that bothered by Tony's cold-hearted theft, because the two of us blew all of the money in a single weekend, down at the pub, having the time of our lives.
Anyway, we've all moved on since then, and so the two of us are now off to the pub to have a few drinks, and work out exactly how Tony can boost his chances of finding true love with a woman, who he insists, should be prepared to accept him for what he is.