Roll Out The Barrel... A Drunken Trio Made Their Way

Roll Out The Barrel... A drunken trio made their way down the street, covered in tinsel and crazy foam. It was Christmas Eve and they had all partaken in the office Christmas party, a pub crawl. Now, though, it was 11.30pm and they were on the search for a kebab. "What the bloody 'ell is he moanin' at now?", shouted Jonesy. "Think he's got a fit of the 'un-loved blues'", laughed Stokesy. They both looked at Fletch. Certainly, he did look down but that could have been the beer. Actually, he had split up with his missus six months ago and this was his first Christmas on his own. "Shurrup, both of ya", Fletch snapped. "C'mon mate", said Stokesy, "only havin' a laugh". "Yeh well, I've been listenin' to you two all bleedin' night, rabbittin' on about birds", Fletch complained, "I 'ant 'ad a bit for months". "Ya mean six", laughed Jonesy. "Iv'e not done too bad a-lately", said Stokesy, and launched into a resume of his latest conquests. The secretary, (married), cleaner (supposedly a lesbian, (don't worry, Stokesy had cracked that)), and a woman from the nightclub. "It's a wonder ya not riddled", said Fletch. "Is it true ya went with the 'Whore of Holbeck?", asked Stokesy, to Jonesy. "Nah then, she were a nice girl", said Jonesy, "it was when she wanted to move in that were 't problem". They all laughed at that one. Stokesy lit a cigarrette and had a slash. "Tell ya what", he said to Fletch, "you WILL get your end away tonight mate, no worries. I know it sounds a bit wierd but at Temple Works, there's a barrel tailor-made for men in your position. Me mate's tried it and sez its just like real thing. You wanna go?. The beer had taken hold long ago and Fletch was up for anything. "Yeh, orate man", he said.

When they got to Temple Works, it was past midnight. The concrete pillars were casting shadows on the pavement. To the right of the railing, in the darkness loomed the barrell. "Go on then pal", said Stokesy, "do ya stuff". Having never dipped his wick in a barrel before, Fletch somewhat reluctantly made his way over. He was gone for thirty minutes, bearing in mind, he'd had about twelve pints. He emerged, zipping up his flies, a drunken grin spread across his face. He took a fag off Jonesy in a 'how-was-it-for-you' attitude. "God, ya rate!", he said, "it DID feel like t' real thing. I drop the sprogs off at four tomorra, might come down 'n 'av another go". Jonesy and Stokesy looked at one another and burst out laughing. "We know you'll be here tomorra", said Stokesy, "it's your turn in the fucker...", and with that, they both staggered off in uncontrollable peals of laughter... Fletch felt very sober....and very sick..... The moral to this story is:- Don't go round humping heavy barrels. If you don't know what's in them, they could be hazardous to health. Merry Christmas!!