Posted 14 January 2009 - 03:16 PM
Rory's got few interests in life; darky music, football, bees and honey
and kicking the shizznit out of anyone that interferes with that shortlist.
A few nights ago Rory's Roger iron rusted, so he has gone to the
battle-cruiser to watch the end of a football game. Nobody is watching
the custard so he has turned the channel over. A fat man's north opens
and he wanders up and turns the Liza over. `Now eff off and watch it
somewhere else.' Rory knows claret is imminent, but he doesn't want to
miss the end of the game; so, calm as a coma, he stands and picks up a
fire extinguisher and he walks straight past the jam rolls who are
ready for action, then he plonks it outside the entrance. He then
orders an Aristotle of the most ping pong tiddly in the nuclear sub and
switches back to his footer. `That's effing it,' says the man. Rory
gobs out a mouthful of booze covering fatty; he flicks a flaming match
into his bird's nest and the man lit up like a leaking gas pipe. Rory,
unfazed, turned back to watch his game. The flaming man and his chinos
ran outside to extinguish the flames, and Rory cheered on. His team won
too, four-nil.
if i encounter the demons in hell, i will kill them all..
vi veri veniversum vivus vici.