Time to be French...

[Rsmacker]

And anytime you want to join me in holla' and throw down some 'shine you let me know, we'll find out who drinks the girly drinks in a hurry.

I can hear the banjos now. Can we shag your sister, or do we have to bring our own? (I'll bring Wilks in the Gimp box, we can share him)

If you want to go on a good day out, go on one of those "cider and perry" tours in the Autumn. It starts about 8am with a coach full of respectable ordinary citizens of all ages and backgrounds, very civilised. The coach takes you to various farms and micro-breweries, family owned for generations, all very rural and relaxed. You get to sip a cup of the particular specialities, noting the changes as you move from farm to farm and the favoured apple and pear varieties change. Somewhere along the line you stop for a nice lunch and discuss the rural beauty of England in its Autumnal glory and the selfless toil of our agricultural guardians, continuing the production of cider and perry despite the decline in popular culture due to fizzy yellow piss.
You visit loads of these farms, and even purchase a few bottles of your favourite beverage, helping to keep the rural economy afloat, after your little taste tests.........

........... Round about 6.30pm, the bus is rocking, there's a vicar standing up calling everyone a cunt and mooning out of the back window. Old ladies are spewing in other people's handbags, respectable churchgoers are waving their knobs at the Womens Institute members who are loudly discussing the new Rampant Rabbit Butt Burrower. The driver is desperately looking for a spot to pull over because another 8 people are promising a river of piss down the aisle any second. When he stops, only 6 get off and wander around in the headlights, pissing wherever. The other 2 have already pissed themselves and sat back down on the coach. One lady roars with laughter because she has actually shat herself.
All the so-called drinkers, the town piss artists, are long gone, snoozing away in their seats. This day out is not for any poofy Wife Beater drinkers, no, it's for the hardcore. Vicar gives the sleepers a Dirty Sanchez before baling out of the Emergency Exit to fight some coppers who he perceives "want some".
By 8.30pm, there's a pile of dead/dying/zombies in the car park they were picked up this morning, completely trolleyed. Someone is wandering about asking others to smell his fingers, there's a 50yr old female magistrate waddling after him giggling like a schoolgirl, telling all and sundry not to sniff them, they've been up her dirtbox. People are trying to remember their names, where the fuck they live, and more importantly "WHO'S GOT MY FUCKING CUNTING CIDER?" Calm down Dr, it's safe, now, put your trousers back on and let's get a taxi home shall we? No, you don't need a "fucking kebab".

Same time next week vicar? Splendid, see you then!


Anywhoo, never mind girly drinks, make some of that green jelly with a bottle of vodka in it (and a touch of 'shroom juice). Cuckoo!! Cuckooo!!!

Food? Food is for poofs, everyone knows that.