Watch out lad!!
Bellowed a beefy voice in alarm as I entered the Beer Shop.
I flinched and automatically dropped into a low crouch. My eyes flicking left and right looking for danger.
What was it?
There!
Behind the counter, barely hidden, lurked an unruly mop of hair on top of two twinkling eyes.
I straightened up and dusted myself down as if I had just been kneading some floury baps.
Is that you?
I called to the Bear-Man, who himself was straightening up from where he had been hiding.
Me? No. I died in my sleep last night and came back to give you one final message.
I cocked an eyebrow at him like I was throwing a stick at a crazy dog.
And what would that be then?
Yer a cunt!
He laughed and clutched at his sides.
I sniggered a little myself.
Ha. Then I'm glad you died.
Raaaaa, am only kiddin anyways. Am not dead.
I shook my head and made a flubbly-bubbly noise with all the lips on my face.
Very good. So, you got anything new in?
I asked, doing my best not to look like a Spaniel that smells a dried pig's foot in its owners pocket.
if soaked overnight, you would be amazed at how similar to a porn stars vagina these things can look..
Av I got anything new!! Oh aye. You bet your Aunt Nelly I have.
The Bear-Man preened like a teenager shouting Poached eggs!! whilst ejaculating into a bath.
He then lifted an imaginary shotgun to his shoulder and peered down its sights at me before pulling the trigger.
Boom!
He mouthed.
I looked at him askance.
BOOOOM!!!
Again he mimicked pulling the trigger.
Double barreled!
He said triumphantly, propping his invisible shotgun down beside the till.
What are you on about?
I sighed.
I was on my lunch after all. I didn't have all day to play mimey bajimey with strange bearded men.
He pulled a can out from seemingly nowhere.
It was a big orange fucker.
I took it and examined it.
Maple Bourbon and Marsala Wine Barrel Aged Stout... 12.5%!?! Bloody hell, that's danger town. How much is that?
I had to ask because these things can be expensive as fuck.
£11.50.
Smirked Beardy-Robbing-Bastard.
What, fuck off. That's mental!?
Beardy-Robbing-Bastard leaned close.
For you, a fiver.
I eyed him suspiciously. I had a bad feeling that one day all of my cheap/free beer markers were all going to be called in and I would wake up in a Russian brothel with pink Crocs on my feet and a feather in my hair.
Aye go on then. Give me two.
After all, when in Rome...
