Pot Noodled

You got your Lotto tickets on for tonight?

My mate Daz raised a pint of beer appreciatively at me as he said this and clinked it to my pint.

I took a deep slurp of the amber nectar, it was a fine pint. I couldn't remember the name of it as I was already three sheets to the wind as we had been out for several hours already. I had a vague recollection of the Beer Pump having a picture of a Robber's dog on it.

Or had the barmaid that had served me looked like a robber's dog? I had no fucking idea.

I dragged myself back to the matter at hand and let out a contented sigh. It wasn't often that we escaped to the pub these days.

The lottery? Nah mate, I haven't put a ticket on. Can't be fucked with it.

I waved a hand dismissively to the side narrowly missing chopping a bystander in half with the mighty blade of my palm.

Seriously?! Seriously?! But what if you win? You've got to be in it to win it?!

Daz looked aghast at my non-lottery playing antics.

Ach mate, you know I don't believe in all that stuff. I would rather make my own luck than waste my life waiting for lotto lightning to strike.

I nodded contemplatively, it was good to be having such a deep philosophical discussion powered by the thinking juice. Somehow it felt right. Like when you are little and have that recurring nightmare where you are being chased down the street by giant vaginas and your mum wakes you up to see if you are ok just before they catch you

They catch you in the end though.

I muttered forlornly to myself before finishing my pint.

Shall we have another?

I swirled the dregs in my glass like a Portuguese man making custard.

Already on it, mate.

And sure enough, like some kind of rogueish smuggler with a heart of gold, Daz plopped down another couple of pints.

I narrowed my eyes. Was that the sixth one? I hoped it was because everything seemed a little wonky and that just simply would not do on only five pints.

Tonight is going to be the big one, I can feel it in my water.

Daz pursed his lips and made a noise like a disapproving sea.

If I win I am going to go mental. Big house, Fancy car, you name it. Fuck it. I am going to have a big room full to the fucking brim with Pot Noodles! RAAR!

Daz roared at the ceiling as if challenging the gods to end him now or face his wrath.

A room full of fucking what now?

I made a phlegmy harrumphing noise of distaste.

Pot Noodles man, wall-to-wall fucking Pot Noodles. Every flavour but one wall will just be Chicken and Mushroom. That's my favourite.

He looked dreamily into the distance as if he were already padding naked through his roomful of Pot Noodles, stroking each and everyone in turn like the Gladiator in that fucking cornfield at the end.

Pot Noodles? Pot fucking Noodles?? Are you mental? You would have millions of bucks and you would have a room full of the cheapest shittiest unhealthiest snack in the world?!?

I shook my head. He couldn't really mean he would fill a room with Pot Noodles? And even if he did, Chicken and Mushroom? Yuk, everyone knew that if you had to eat a Pot Noodle then it could only be a Bombay Bad Boy one.

On nights like this I would probably go home and put six of them in a big pot and eat them all in a massive bowl... Mmm mmm.

Daz stumbled slightly despite standing still and leaning on the bar.

The barmaid with the face like a robber's dog looked over at him suspiciously.

I put my pint half finished on the bar and eyed him speculatively.

Six pot noodles at once. That's your idea of heaven?

I shook my head and chuckled at the very idea.

Aye man. Big fucking vat of them. Nom nom.

He started sliding downward into a heap and I leapt forward and pulled him up.

Right you, come on. Let's get you home and tell you what, I will buy you six fucking pot noodles and you can feast like a king when you get in.

I hauled his arm over my shoulder and we attempted the perilous journey through the choppy waters of the pub.

Yer a fucking saint, Boomy. A fucking Saint.

Daz slurred and hiccupped all at once.