I write this with homemade maple jalapeno cornbread in my mouth, gifted to me by the bar staff at my local pub this evening. This is simultaneously the best and most unexpected thing I’ve ever brought home from a bar, my significant other excepted.
This got me thinking: what is the weirdest thing you’ve brought home from the bar, Lemmy?
Borat voice my wiiiiiiiife
Many years ago I got to the bar early, before my friends, and while waiting I applied for a job using their Wi-Fi. And I got the job. The job looked good on paper but my new boss f***** me by wage theft and pocketing pension contributions. It was fun, but it would have been more fun if I had been paid according to the law.
Chlamydia!
I really don’t get how anyone can have sex at the bar, or in a random bathroom somewhere 🫥
In this case, it was a cheap blowjob bar in a shady red light district. I felt that something was wrong before I even made it back to my hotel.
A friend brought home a giant, bright blue, sparkly Mary-in-a-bathtub. We googled it afterwards and found out that it was super valuable, so we brought it back, but it took three of us to get it back there and was much less fun than stealing it.
The hell is a mary-in-a-bathtub?
Not from a bar but I got drunk as a teenager and brought a pair of skis I found back to my Mum’s house. My old room was used as a store room when I moved out and they were in there for like 15 years. I helped clear it out, asked where the hell these skis came from and was reminded of the drunken find I’d totally forgotten.
Skiison’s Greetings!
Be me: out drinking with friends for several hours.
Be them: acting completely normal.
Be me: drinking makes you pee, so me go pee, many times.
Be us: we’re drunk! Having a great time.
Be them: still acting completely normal.
Be me: say good night and put on my leather jacket.
Be me brain: Damn I’m drunk cuz this thing feels like it weights a ton ! Stumble home.
Be me front door: watching the confused, bemused, astonished drunk reach for his keys and pull lemon after lime after orange out of his pockets, but no keys.
Be me front door glass: Watching him stuff them into his jeans pockets like a never ending clown car of NINE pieces of citrus.
Be me keyhole: Watching drunk-e-poo finally find his keys, and let himself in.
Be me: laughing and drunk and wondering what the hell’s going on…
Be them: laughing their asses off, wondering when I’d finally notice that every time I got up to pee they took whole bar garnish and put it in my pockets.
This narration style is a bit tiresome
So are you man
A girl.
I brought home a spoon this week. Friend also got one. They’re really nice spoons. Trying to decide where to put it - silverware drawer seems a little dismissive of how excited we were to get them.
Frame it in a cheap glass case with a little placard that says “Break glass in case of cereal emergency”
Nothing, I’ve never been in a bar in my 35 years of life.
A man.
My ex wife.
Some guy known only as “The Brazilian”
The only thing I know about him is that he was not Brazilian.
Took an umbrella. Not like for rain, but for a patio. It was 3m wide and lasted me several years in the back yard.
Once got a chance of bringing home a girl but decided against it.
A sofa, which went into the attic until we moved out. We tried getting it out and made a hole in the wall.
Would be cool if the bar in question was a very small drive in an obscure location.
That way you’d have a hole in your wall die to a hole in the wall
This is why you have to PIV-VOTT!!!
