My N-N-Name’s Nuts

So this guy – let’s call him Idiot – gets to the Keg after work yesterday. Dunno whether he was celebrating Spain’s victory, his little lady’s spectacular UNISA results, or meeting the coolest cat alive.

So this idiot goes at the whisky like a sailor on shore leave, kicking ass at pool, shooting the shit, generally having a whale of a time. Idiot was loving it.

At some point, our Idiot decides to ditch the Red Label and have just one Black, to “remove witchcraft”. And he sticks to it for the rest of the night. At $6 a shot. Hooray.

He plays more pool, lounges about with his mates, jumps up and down like a chimp (see what I did there?) when Balotelli thumps the goal of the tournament past Germany. Good times are had by all.

He gets home sozzled, passes out like a punched baby, and wakes up buggered the next day. Late for work. Sick as a dog. Feeling like hammered shit.

How stupid is this guy? Pretty damn stupid, I’d say.

And that was only Thursday.

Watch this space.

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