What's with all these customers all of a sudden?
Oh, I'm Skoob, by the way, the bartender here. I'm quite well known for being a miserable bastard who doesn't like work. A couple of weeks ago, I could just come in to work and watch TV and not really do much of anything.
The boss (Mark) was okay with that. He was quite reasonable back then. I mean, he wasn't ambitious or anything - he just wanted to rope a shitload of new writers in to support his ailing project, theSpoof.com
Don't know if you've ever had the misfortune to log on to that site. It's fucking terrible. Trust me. It's full of shite stories about turds, vaginas, penises (or is that penii?) Cheryl Cole, Pixie Lott, Justin Bieber and Rob Pattinson.
And likewise associated crap.
Which was fine by me.
But then this LaFete character swanned in here with some weirdo Eric Cantona lookalike who claimed to live under a bridge in Amsterjam, and they proposed a collaboration.
Good idea, great idea...unless you're me.
This LaFete character, he comes swanning in here, and the bastards all start talking about writing.
That's just weird.
I've gone from sitting on me arse doing sweet fuck all and getting paid relatively good money for it, to being given the right run-around by a bunch of thirsty writers.
Pint. Merlot. G&T. Jack on the rocks. Whisky Sour - what's that all about? I'm just a lazy barman - that Lowton fella doesn't pay me to think...
Come to think of it - he doesn't pay me at all...
But he reserves the right to give me the occasional bollocking and issue threats...
Where was I?
Pissed again you say. You're probably right. But I'd never admit it, because I am a consummate liar.
I've got all these writers who think they're all refreshingly original and uber talented, and they want drinks.
That Le Fete is really getting on my tits because this whole thing was his idea, and he's lording it up like he owns the joint. He seriously believes he's going to get beyond chapter nine.
Mind you, he might be on a winner there. I've put twenty quid on him making it beyond twenty chapters - even if it means I have to write eighteen of them.
You see, when you work the bar, the one thing you can't be doing with is customers. They just disrupt the ambience.
Anyway, good luck with the collaboration, just don't work me too hard, and don't swear at me.
I'm doing my best here. I may be a bit slow and doddery, but my heart's in the right place.
Kinell! Coronary infarction!
Cheryl Cole is still 5'3" and I wouldn't touch her with a shitty stick - the insincere cow.
Now then...who's next?
Oy! You there! Canadian bloke! No! No! No! No! Fish stretching may be acceptable in Ontario but it's frowned upon here! So don't do it!