If these walls could talk, they'd vomit.

I was sitting in my local bar last night. It was after closing, and the manager had let a few of his regulars stay on. Including a girl I didn’t recognise, who had an Australian accent.

Myself: "Hey what are you doing? I’m the token Australian for this bar tonight."

Her: "You don’t remember me do you. I was here on Sunday. You were with a small group and you were all plastered. You and your mate were behind the bar pouring your own drinks. At one point you had a chick sitting in your lap and you were snogging her while you had a mouthful of Cashews. Your mate snorted a line of salt off the bar, then got up on the staircase and started singing Yothu Yindi songs while banging two wooden cocktail mixers together. I left at about 8pm, but apparently a few hours later people were walking around the pub naked."


My god, this chick has clearly not gotten her facts straight.





They were Pringles, not Cashews.