As mad as that shindig was Boris would never be needed.
Fucking crying here seeing the bank statement.
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Yep, that’s the one.
Ah righto, I enjoyed it there to be fair, two yanks were on the ale and had a laugh with them before it went downhill (the lad I was with took the knock in there and fell off his stool asleep, his Missus was with him and he was trying to keep it together looking sharp after 25 pints of Guiness to these yanks, he forgot he Missus was there and she proper tore him to shreds and dragged him off the deck to outside after he was eyeing up wonkingly one of them), as I say it was that sought of weird evening where mad stars aligned (the previous night was just as mental but that was to do with a barney after similar amounts of alcohol and a kebab and streaming music videos) where I ended up in the garden watching a Steven Seagal movie and woke up with a can in my hand and one shoe outside.
Fuck haven’t been that twisted for years, breakfast consisted of Don Henley and the doors shotgunning cider and desperados…
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I think that’s the most sense you’ve ever made 
Welcome back, Barry *
* Are you back, or is this some kind of chemically inspired message from the B-Zone?
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That session destroyed me maybe something has changed deep within, fucking doubt it though.
I think Barry’s account has been hacked.
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Has it fuck I’m still a bellend.
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And that’s why we love you Barry.
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The lad I was with I’ve known for 20 years, one of my closest friends but fuck we’ve all one friend (or 2 or 3) where it always goes wrong and theres a story to tell, he got the train back to Cork last night still boozing in a vain attempt to fend off the horrors, shakes and sweats, it never works.
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Fear and Loathing in Baz Vegas 
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