It was just after sunset and Harry and Bert were enjoying a quiet one in the bar of the local when Harry mentioned that he was starting a new job next week, going on to shift work, he was. At the mention of shift work, Bert looked at his watch, put his half-finished pot (of beer) down on the bar and bolted out the pub door. Harry was surprised at this unexpected behaviour of his old drinking mate, but drank on regardless. Exactly an hour later, a stinking wet, bleeding and very angry Bert staggered back into the bar and joined Harry. �Jeez, I�m pissed off!� he rasped. Harry just looked aside at him and said, �Yairs, I�m not surprised. You left you beer half full. Anyway, why did you bolt?� �It was partly your fault,� said Bert. �When you mentioned shift work, I remember an old girlfriend down the road who had told me her husband was on shift work this evening, and she gave me the nod that I could be in like Flynn.� �Ah, so that�s why you are pissed off, you found out he wasn�t at work,� said Harry. �No�, replied Bert. �Why do you think I am so wet and stinking � and have a look at me flamin� knuckles! I went round to her place, she opened the door and in pretty short order we were tucked up in her bed. I no sooner thought of what to do next when there was this sound of a car pulling into her driveway and the slamming of a car door. She told me to hide, quick smart, as it must be her husband coming back for his �lunch� box, which he had left on the kitchen table.� �Ahah! That�s why you are so pissed off � you dipped out and have a case of lover�s nuts�, interjected Harry. �No, wrong again,� said Bert. �I was going to hide under the bed, then in the laundry, and finally I crawled out the bedroom window and hung by my fingertips while the old flame closed the window and dashed into the kitchen. Her husband, the bastard, must have seen the look in her eyes when he ran into the kitchen, or twigged to the way she was dressed for romance, because he galloped into the laundry first, then looked under the bed, and finally caught me hanging on like grim death to the windowsill. He laughed like mad, then ran to the laundry and came back with a bloody mallet which he used on my fingers like a bloody xylophone. I hung on real tight, though, and then the bastard went to the bed and pulled out the half filled gazunder from underneath it. You know what happened next? He tipped it all over me.� �So that�s why you�re pissed off so bad�, commented Harry. �You got pissed on!� �No � I�ll tell you why I�m so pissed off�, said Bert as he drained his pot. �After dipping out on my naughtie, having my hands belted with a mallet and having a piss pot tipped all over me while hanging on for dear life at that bloody window, I looked down and saw that my feet were only three inches from the ground! That�s what really pissed me off! |
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