Drinking is probably my favourite past-time. It goes well with my other hobbies of jousting on horseback, gunslinging with wombats and generally pirating around. There are several places that you could drink, but the most common (and possibly most fun) place is the humble pub, or ale house. Whichever pub you decide to visit to indulge in the consumption of the amber fluid, you will meet a few "undesirables". And here, my friends, is:
Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide to People at the Pub Who You Probably Didn't Invite (MEBGTPATPWYPDI)
The Prick Behind You
It's a busy night, and there are four or five queues at the bar. You're next in line and the person next to you collects their drinks and moves away. The guy behind you slides in next to you at the bar and orders his drinks without even acknowledging the fact that you were quite clearly next. The Prick Behind You will then order twelve cocktails and have to put it on his credit card just to piss you off.
The Fuckbrain Who Doesn't Move for You
You're carrying four schooners and two bourbons across the room, you have three shots in your pocket and a glass of wine balanced on your head. There's a guy talking to a girl (that he has no chance of scoring with) in front of you. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye but doesn't move to allow you to get past. You turn side on and try to sidle past him, gently giving him a push towards the girl he's trying to chat up. The Fuckbrain either stands his ground or moves back to unbalance you and your drinks. Beer is lost, usually directly onto your crotch. If you had a spare hand, you'd crowbar the cunt.
The Table of Imaginary Friends
It's Friday evening, and after a hard week of doing whatever it is that you do, you go out with your friends. Seems that everyone and their goat has decided to do the same. 'That's fine,' you think to your own goat. 'The more the merrier.' Checking out the pub situation, there are full tables all over the place. People are crammed everywhere, and one group has been forced to squish twelve people onto one seat. And there in the distance, is a seemingly empty table; the oasis of the crowded pub. And yes, it is a mirage. At this football-field sized table, surrounded by approximately seventy chairs is one measly gadge, sipping a Coke Zero (no ice) and reading The Da Vinci Code. He won't let you take any chairs, and won't give up his table for anything.
The Almost Made It Guy
Almost is a beautiful man. He's carrying more drinks than he can carry and has almost made it back to his table, which is always located next to yours. As he approaches his destination, he relaxes, and the frosty glasses of beer slip ever-so-slightly in his grasp. He holds tighter and the glasses slide faster through his fingers. Confused, he grips harder and increases his walking speed. The harder he holds them, the further they slip, and it becomes a race to get those four glasses back to his table before they fall to the floor. He's almost there and... nope. One goes, they all go, all over your table. He was within a metre of being a hero, now he's the Almost Made It Guy. He has to do another shout, and you have a table that will never be dry, nor rid of the stale beer smell again.
The Guy That Follows You Around
Everywhere you look, there he is. If you're in the toilet, he's there; at the bar, he'll be buying a drink; if you're outside getting a a kebab, he's deciding whether to get garlic or chilli sauce. He's at the table next to you, behind you, in front of you. If you dance, he's right there with you. He'll be there when you get money from the ATM and will be in the taxi line when it's time to go home. And he keeps staring at you the more you stare at him, probably because he thinks you're following him around as well.
Here's cheers! And watch the floor, I just dropped a glass.