When I worked in a pub behind the bar, this geezer walked in one night and ordered fifteen whiskies.
"And line 'em up," he said.
So I poured these fifteen whiskies, and laid 'em all out on the bar in a perfectly straight line.
That's the OCD, you see.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
I don't see it as a problem, but the wife tends to complain when I demand she sits in symmetrical fashion.
Bit weird that - not your everyday order.
"What's the celebration?" I asked.
He looked at me a bit cock-eyed.
"Just had me first blow job," he said.
"Congratulations mate," I said.
"Congratulations my arse!" he snarled. "I need something to take the fucking taste away."
I'll get me coat...