Dear Prostitute

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.

Disgustedly

Guy you poked in the back with your dirty fake nail.

8 Replies to “Dear Prostitute”

  1. SHE REMAINED FALLING EVERY WHICH WAY BY THE BAR AND ON THE WAY TO THE LOO AND WAS ESCORTED OUT BY A YOUNG DENSO…

  2. it’s back to being the scud and nanny. Anyone suprised by how many of them that you see around 7pm on Samora Machel – eish too much.

  3. My momma always taught me never order something you can’t pay for yourself later. That has held me in good stead for my 10 odd years in the hunting grounds. Because zvinoshaya basa apa wavekuudzwa kuti chimbopindai ku back sister mumbo kweshe ndiro since chibhanzi chenyu charamba.

Comments are closed.