Johnno Goes to the Pub

Man it was hot. Too hot to be carting bricks that's for fucking sure. Johnno had had enough. ‘Screw this shit,' he said to Robbo, 'I'm going to the pub.' Robbo just looked at him for a while with his durry hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 'I don’t think you heard me,' said Johnno, slightly pissed off that his remark had had no effect on Robbo, 'I'm going to the fucking pub and gettin pissed. 'Fuck off then,' said Robbo, not bothering to look up from his work. Johnno farted and then left.

Gees that beer was nice. Fuckin ace work, son; that's what I call liquid gold; you bloody beauty. With a wad of money from three weeks hard yakka, Johnno sat back on his stool and gulped down the rest of his cool, refreshing beer. 'Oscar De La Hoya!,' he said to old mate next to him, 'fuck that hit the spot'. He ordered another. He was staying til closing time he decided then and there. 'And then,' he thought, 'I'll be coming back at openers tomorrow and pissin on.' After all, it was a Friday tomorrow, and it was against his religion to spend a Friday sober.

If the next beer was good, the one following was fucking supreme. Beer, who invented the stuff - 'a fucking genius I say,' said Johnno to old mate beside him. After four more beers and a conversation with old mate about falcon utes, fishing, and footy, and a quick game of 'check out the tits on that thing, it was time to hit the form guide and pick a few winners. 'Well, son,' thought Johnno, rather pleased with himself, 'this sure beats luggin ten tonnes of fucking bricks around, whattya say?' He let out a laugh and winked and nodded at various rough heads close by. Out of all the rough heads in the pub, he felt by far the roughest, by far the dirtiest, by far the ugliest, and by far the smelliest. Yes, he was in his domain right here, boys; never you mind about that one; all taken care of, thankyou very much.

'A mans not a camel,' he said to the barmaid, 'another beer, thanks, and why not give me a straight whiskey chaser.' He'd show these cunts. Gees she had great tits. 'Thanks, love,' said Johnno with a wink and a smile. He was on fucking fire. You little bloody beauty, 'wait til the boys get here a bit later,' he thought, 'I'll have 'em in stitches.'

And so, as fate would have it, Johnno got pissed. Blind fucking stonkered, pisster than a plastered pastor, no holes barred stinking bloody drunk. He rolled. He reeled. He cracked uncalled for, unfunny, overly loud jokes about farts and sixty-niners. He felt the barmaids tits; he abused a well dressed yuppie faggot who intruded into the public bar; he spewed in the toilet; he put his arm around old mate and screamed along with Khe Sanh playing on the juke box; he laughed, he yelled, he cried. He passed out.

He woke up in the gutter. He struggled to his feet and looked around the blurry night. He was outside the pub. It had shut down, so it had to be after midnight. His head pounded like there was a bass drum playing inside of it. Christ, what he would do for a late nighter, early opener. A couple of beers to get rid of this fucking head ache. 'Oh well,' he consoled himself, 'I'll just have to find somewhere to kip 'til openers.'

He wandered across the road and onto the beach. 'You fucking champion,' he thought as he plonked himself down on the sand, 'I'm gonna sleep like that fucking van winkle cunt.' He layed back on the sand and shut his eyes. He was just drifting off, when all of a sudden he was awoken by a loud, 'Hey mate, you want a sip on this port, cunt.' He looked up and saw a local swaying and smiling at him, holding out a bottle. 'You little bloody beauty,' said Johnno, obliging with a nod and a grin, and taking the bottle and having a swig. Whatever was in that bottle burnt like all fuck, all the way down his throat, but by fuck it was just what the doctor ordered. 'Sit down, son,' offered Johnno to his new found friend. The local sat down next to him with a smile.

Three hours and many drunken, senseless yarns later the two of them sat there with drooping eyes and fuzzy heads, looking out over the ocean, watching the sun come up. The port had run out, but that wasn't too much of a concern. Sleep was Johnno's main goal at this stage of proceedings. He lay back on the sand and crashed.

He awoke several hours later with the sun beating down on him and his head swirling. The local was nowhere to be seen. He reached for the back of his jeans and checked for his wallet. It was still there; he pulled it out. He opened it up and checked his cash, hoping that he hadn't been rolled. 'That can’t be right,' he thought, after he had counted it. He counted it again with shaking hands. 'You bloody beauty!!' he yelled out to the heavens. He had over twelve hundred dollars in his wallet. He had somehow earned himself seven hundred dollars during the course of the day, and that didn't include the amount he had drunk. He racked his sloshed brain, trying to think where he may have earned it. He couldn't remember playing the pokies, but hold the phone, baby ... that's right, he had won a trifecta! A fucking tri fucking fecta. 'You bloody beauty!! Come home to papa!!'

Johnno got up from the sand and brushed himself off. He headed across the road and back into the pub, where he ordered himself a Crowny. As he sat there slowly topping up, he thought about his brilliant decision to head down the pub early yesterday afternoon. 'A weeks wages in an afternoon,' he thought with a grin, 'you bloody beauty!'