Today Mr Spoon called round to say that him and some of the other residents had heard of my pissing through Hooka and Fat Rab's door. He said they were all thoroughly disgusted and started going over some other crap about decent behaviour and animals.
I'd half a litre of vodka in me at this point so I asked him if he'd like to see the inside of his living room from my living room.
He said he didn't know what I meant.
I asked him if anyone had ever put his head through a brick wall and would he like me to do it for him.
He said no.
Then I told him that I'd let him off this time but he'd best fuck off and mind his own business unless he'd like to wake up some night and find himself dangling over his wife in a suspension harness.
He said I was vile and bared his teeth at me.
I asked him if they were false teeth.
He said they were.
I told him mine were real and unlike his they could break open boiled sweets.
He burst into tears.
I opened the door for him and he hobbled out of it dejected.
That felt great. I stuck on this snoop and JT song on repeat:
I danced round the living room until I boked all over the sofa. I'll clean it up in a bit but I'll have a snooze first.
