How ya doin? When I walked into the Scud & Nanny, you were sitting with a dude. What happened? Oh, I remember, he went to the loo and arrowed for the door.
Shame, was that before or after he paid for the ribs you were wolfing at the bar? I’m guessing before, cos you started jonesing for my other mate real bad.
Gotta tell you though, you were out of line, poking me in the back with your finger, pushing up on me and demanding to know where he’d gone to. Listen bitch, I don’t have a GPS tracker on the guy. He’s probably moved somewhere he doesn’t have to fend off the advances of an ugly, no-English, bad-breath beeyatch.
You don’t quit though, cos you started stroking my OTHER mate’s face right there. Aren’t you the shameless desperado? Learn to take a hint, right? If I turn my back on ya, I don’t want you at my table.
So next time, whore, take your nasty, shiny-weave, granny-drawers-with-white-pants-wearing ass back to Tipperary’s where you belong.
I just wanna have a quiet drink without being accosted by Miss Baltimore Crabs.
Guy you poked in the back with your dirty fake nail.