Ye Guts for Garters Pub
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I was waiting patiently for a shuttle bus today and just when it arrived an unseen horde clamoured up on to it,disregarding the orderly queue.I jumped on and sprayed invective at them,levelling the charge of filthy animals at them.To be more precise I ...
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..did compare them to filthy pigeons to do swoop upon the bus as if it were carrion,disrespecting any decent code of conduct. That soon silenced them but I did get a good chortle out of it later.
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Geoff hints that he was himself in such a said situation and used his trusty black-thorn loblolly to achieve much the same effect.He spoke with zeal,his spittle merging into the freshly poured beer foam,and with great aplomb it must be added whilst Mary Cuddihey warbled and chirped a soft melody with her half tongue,in what could be deemed as total agreement. -
They harped on and on as they hadn’t time for a note.
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Wee Billy T. Wangtree does the moonwalk to the loo as Gus Fagan taps his oblong blackhead ridden nose with a knowing look -Wee Billy had shat himself anew.
Such moves.Such a ripe pong. -
Geoff,after sweeping his sausage fingered hand negligently at the many curled dead wasps away from a can of sun bleached cherry-coke,seemed perplexed and somewhat nonplussed at the absence of the expected hiss from the newly opened can.We ourselves were left wondering after having observed Geoff.
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“666?,what significance has a number anyhow?”,asked the inquisitive cock-eyed Billy Page whilst carving a crooked pentacle onto the sleeping Rory’s forehead.
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My own taps,tapping on the pane have more effect upon the spiders just within than upon the egregious slump backed swollen headed Geoff behind his taps.
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A wee dram to see me on my way please.
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Sutch wrote:
I’m sure Geoff could siphon off something special from the village sump for you;you would be treated to a rare vintage that would most assuredly loosen the bowels with its uncorking alone.Geoff might have a toddy of grade A oil for Mr.Robot to delight and lubricate upon.A wee dram to see me on my way please.
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Since explosively inserting a small steel rod betwixt the first knuckle of my least favourite hand I find myself here today with a dull ache in that distant extremity and a powerful thirst for a tasteful or otherwise something - please - pour me a dram, good sir.
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And a dram and a galón you shall have good Turfa;Forged and varnished is your name upon the burnished bar.Conversations and arguments can be heard ,if one were to cast an ear,and include apricots,cloudbursts,freight-trains,knob-goblins,weave-wights,alliance jockeying and ketchup amongst other things.All vastly persuasive if one were of the mind to acquiesce or subscribe to such gaseous driven prattle,but between the catching bum belching and voice cord ripping harrumphs erupting from Geoff himself,I find myself distracted and quite unable to foster much or any interest or curiosity for the defunct,though well written,verse of ratings.Warble thee on Geoff.
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I passed by carriage, this very day, to see a dishevelled Geoff sat on a low window cill, starring to the ground, scouring the crevices between the cobble paving for the remnants of discarded roll-up cigarettes, searching for enough to perhaps make something worthy of a smoke. Nothing, just small snips of paper, perhaps corners of a betting slips.
His search continues. -
The rusted tin bucket, not much smaller than an old butter churn, appeared not fit for the purpose of its use; Geoff stood wobbly-legged with his todger in one hand aiming his wrinkled puddin into its wide ope, alas the holes around the bottom of the rust bucket of a former Mr. Robot impersonator leaked all over Geoffs trodden shoes leaving them steam fresh. A welcomed toe warming on this fresh morning for Geoff.
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Begone! This neighbourhood suits you poorly. Back to page one where you belong, ye dastardly raggard.
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The air is so heady with flagrant gases that Geoff is obliged to open the door and windows to relief the place of the pressure cooker atmosphere,such is the excitement in the Garter of anticipation of the last gongs of 2019.
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Mahogany and hemlock chanted drearies with a dollop of questionable cranberry to help guide the tongue along the ravished sturgeon’s womb,divested of its sought-after cargo with a swilled down Barry’s tea in answer to protesting tastes from questionable palettes.
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I have a sneaking suspicion Geoff and Gouki are one in the same...
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My in-laws, all so very fat, enjoy nothing more than stuffing their fat fucking faces with the worst of food there is to offer.
Should that not be enough they thoroughly enjoy following up on the fat-fest with an over indulgence of sugary sweet treats.
Fat fucking blimps the lot of them. Exercise and sports non-existant. No shame. -
“I wouldn’t dare even hazard a guess,” blurted Deadly with sudden panic in his eyes whilst hastily waving away the proffered cork from Geoff’s greasy digits.”Who could know from where or who he had dredged it from?”,were questions oft best left unchallenged at the Garter.
Geoff flourished the offending article about his bushy nostrils,breathed a heavy sigh and shuddered heavily with eyes almost rolling back into his head.Deadly wordlessly watched keen-eyed as Geoff angled off to seek some quiet corner to better further sample the puzzling aroma exuding off the cork. -
Mr.Robot,being a patron,was afforded a tab at the Garter and asked to settle this tab presently.Trilly,Geoff’s niece was summoned by Geoff and bid to keep Mr.Robot engaged which would allow him the time to finish up scribbling a list of reckoned expenditure that would go aways to settle up some older accounts from now expired customers.
The exercise was needless in the end for Mr.Robot,perhaps sickened by how Trilly’s weak silky black hair sloughed off and lay over her left ear like a jostled wig as she advanced towards him,had unknowingly dropped his padded wallet as he quickly turned to take up his jacket at which it was duly snatched up by the hawk-eyed Charlie Siega.Begging pardon that the tab could not be settled,Mr.Robot thanked Geoff for generously allowing the newly amended tab with new additions to remain open,bade a good day to all and took his leave.Wishing Mr.Robot well,Charlie looked up only to duly give Geoff his cut.Dear Trilly set her hair to rights and all was well at the Garter. -
There was a murmured hush in the air of the Garter today as VW stood up slowly,tendered his account with dignity and made for the exit.He could be seen from the windows with many rubbing circles of clarity through the grime of the panes which had a near opaqueness.It could be seen that he walked with purpose towards the city’s main gates and beyond to slowly disappear from their view. It was with a touch of sadness that many sat back and silently return to drinks.Muted talk of his deeds filled the dusty sunlight stillness this morning as patrons reflected on this titan of the TW world.The newly formed vacuum left a massive rend in the fabric in the tapestry of this world.Glasses and tankards were risen in near unison to toast to his good health and wish him well on his journey. Farewell VW,take care.
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There’s an open door policy at the Garter where strategically placed stout wedges keep the unwanted riffraff out. Those who don’t know the knock code can gain entry through ingenuity and in their desire to get in,through mistake or not,are invited to part coin and revel in the choice company of the keep.
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It is common curtesy to greet the Madame who stands idly by the eatery section if one were there with set intention to bravely dine in the place.Languid disinterested gestures might condescend to point you to an available table which may or may not have been wiped down heavy-handed lay with a greasy rag.A compendium of smells wafting and lurk from every corner and are always at first harsh and offensive to the violently quivering nostrils though the sensation abates but never goes away,coating the customer in a tangible film that may take days of washing to remove and necessitate the binning of clothes for those of the more conscious of such strong odours. Those are the terms but seen as a badge,of sorts,of honour and belonging to such an historical establishment.
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🧐🧐👏👏
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It is seen that tales of derring-do can be generally sourced from sojourns to the bog; recounts of oozing treacle and illicit fondling from said haunt might call for investment into colostomy bags or at the least having an empty plastic lucozade bottle at hand.The arguments are compelling.
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*heavy handedly.A correction from a prior post. Calls of foulness afoot as the last page cannot be accessed but from the web.Echoes of the shutting down of the Valhalla readily comes to mind.
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After sometime scribbling and drawing Geoff finally consented to the singular chastisement.Such much formulating only served to seek further appeasement from the job in hand.A mere pup of a noob had stumbled into the bar and scrawled his code over the fine bamboo screens separating the toilet cubicles.Setting Mr.Robot,Charlie Siega,Deadly and Maddux to still his appendages,Geoff pounded skilfully at the head,making it malleable.
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Then with forceps removed the splintered bone from the orifices.All agreed that it was a job well done and commended Geoff for his obvious skill.The young tyke was released and even invited to a tipple though his head was as a rag with holes on his shoulders and the effort of downing the drink proved quite beyond him.A straw was offered and this certainly helped and the youth was indeed grateful for such kindness.He bade his leave and ,on leaving,a breeze struck up and his head flapped as a proud pennant,though at times it flagged and flapped depending on the turns he took on his was home.
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I’ll have what he wasn’t having.
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