There was a hush as the other punters looked him up and down. It
wasn't often they got someone new at The Blue Oyster Bar, but this
one had been worth the wait.
Baron raised an eyebrow, there was going to be a rush to the toilet
when the new guy went for a piss. It looked like he had a cucumber
badly wrapped in tin-foil strapped to his groin. He noticed that
the new guy dressed to his right.
Johnny Sweetpea leapt to his feet and grabbed Frazer. Pushing him
into the back room, he pulled the door shut and bolted it. Frazer
always went for the fresh meat and he had put up with it for too
long.
He approached the new guy at the bar.
Johnny was completely unprepared for the reaction his seemingly
innocuous chatup line had received. As he lay bleeding on the
ground, he pondered on the thought that the new guy may not be gay
after all.
He groaned and tried to sit up but his intestines had made the
polished wooden floor of the bar far too slippy and he fell back,
suddenly tired as if the strength was leaching onto the wooden
boards around him.
The shrill sqeeks of his gay friends and the brutal grunts of the
new guy dealing life threatening blows with the seven inch kitchen
knife that had been strapped to his thigh faded to a gentle
hiss...
As the room spun and conciousness left him, he was vaguely aware of
the pandemonium escalating around him.
Edit - This is a desperate attempt to de-rail this thread - Vin,
help me out FFS!
"Guilty feet have got no rhythm,' sang the jukebox as Johnny died
on the bar room floor.
He was impressed at the group of buff angels that came to meet him.
The new guy moved with startling efficiency. His movements sure and
swift, he cut, gutted or stabbed everyone in the bar, pausing only
to hold Baron down while he ran the long knife up his inside thigh,
severing the femoral artery and leaving the man to twitch in his
blood and piss.
Job done, he moved to the door and exited, leaving trails of blood
where he had passed. A Harley could be heard firing up outside,
it's guttaral bark fading with increasing distance.
Somewhere, a pathetic banging sounded, "Help, let me out! It's dark
in here."
Frazer bashed on the door until the bolt became lose. Slowly he
opened the door into the quietness of the bar. The blood, guts and
handbags were more than he could comprehend and he fainted into
blackness.
Earl; (poor guy, aged 79 parents dressed him in cowboy gear) the
owner of the bar had been asleep with a horse upstairs and
strangely; the silence had woken him.
The horse was a rental and was due back... he would have to use the
bars takings to pay for it. He'd heard the loud crowd downstairs
earlier - his profits should be good.... But now it was too quite,
he checked the clock on the wall confused..
Earl made his way down stairs on his bandy legs, gripping the
bannister tightly and trying not to fall like last time.
Holding his aching back, he made his way into the bar.
He needed help from the blokes at the bar to get the horse down the
stairs.. He was still tired - it had been a rough round, the horse
surprized him a few times, more then he was used to. He'd forgotten
is glasses up in the room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he
stepped into some thing sticky. His feet shot out from under him
and he landed on this back with a loud thud.
Frazer, came to and started screaching like a cat on heat - running
around the bar flapping his hands. Tripping over Earl, while he was
trying to get back on his feet, his hip throbbing...
Finally getting to his feet, Earl grabbed Frazer as her flew past
him. Spinning him around, Earl slapped him hard across the face to
stop his screaming.
Then finding he enjoyed it, Earl slapped Frazer again.
In the distance, Frazer could hear the growl of a big bike. The
kind that fired a cylinder every lampost or so. The kind that
wasn't built to handle or brake or accelerate like any normal bike.
This bike was a triumph of form over function - it built to pose
about on. It was a Harley and it was coming closer.
Wide eyed, Frazer stared over the bar at the door. The half
finished pint of Midori and milk rippled, vibrating in time to the
firing of the Harley as it closed in.
Frazer knew the sound of the bike intimately. He had once been
dragged behind it for five miles after insulting the owner.
He gulped down the remaining Midori mix in fear and horror.
Aaron stepped off the 1300 Sportster, he'd had it bored out to
1560cc and he was proud that it now kicked out about the same
horsepower as a 125 dirtbike.
He loved the bling that only half a ton of chromed mild steel could
bring. He loved the fact that the bike ground out on every corner
making him look like a complete knob as he tried to compensate for
the massive footplates. He loved the fact that women adored the
machine and hated the fact that by the time he'd given them a lift
home, they were all worn out from orgasming to the pounding
vibrations of the decades out of date (but still brand new,
straight out the shop) engine. No woman needed a man after spending
30 minutes astride a Harley, they all ended up soaking and
knackered. He used women as saddle polish.
Real bikers sneered when they saw his beast, telling him he was
riding a piece of agricultural machinery but what the fuck did real
bikers know about Harleys? Real bikers were tough fuckers and he
daren't answer back or they'd wheelspin on his bollocks for fun,
hence he was back at the Blue Oyster Bar. He'd forgotten his Midori
and milk - you don't get to ride a Harley by forgetting to drink
your milk.
It was now early morning and Aarons footsteps echoed on the
concrete pavement slabs that led to the Blue Oyster bar; clutching
his seven inch kitchen knife that was strapped to his thigh, he
broke wind then sniffed the early morning air breathing in the egg
aroma.
Then a sound broke the stillness; (the sound was like the engine of
a lawn mower that was going to conk out any minute) what’s that
thought Aaron? Then Dick Hertz pulled up on his moped outside the
Blue Oyster, he was calling in for a quick drink on his way home
from his job as a Durex condoms and lubricants tester.
Aaron burst through the doors of the bar. Frazer screamed and
fainted. Earl squinted, trying to focus his poor eye sight on the
doorway. Fear rising up inside of him..
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'A Midori and milk in a pint please, handsome.'
He approached the new guy at the bar.
He groaned and tried to sit up but his intestines had made the polished wooden floor of the bar far too slippy and he fell back, suddenly tired as if the strength was leaching onto the wooden boards around him.
The shrill sqeeks of his gay friends and the brutal grunts of the new guy dealing life threatening blows with the seven inch kitchen knife that had been strapped to his thigh faded to a gentle hiss...
As the room spun and conciousness left him, he was vaguely aware of the pandemonium escalating around him.
Edit - This is a desperate attempt to de-rail this thread - Vin, help me out FFS!
He was impressed at the group of buff angels that came to meet him.
Job done, he moved to the door and exited, leaving trails of blood where he had passed. A Harley could be heard firing up outside, it's guttaral bark fading with increasing distance.
Somewhere, a pathetic banging sounded, "Help, let me out! It's dark in here."
Holding his aching back, he made his way into the bar.
"Oh - shit! I think my hips shot out again.."
Then finding he enjoyed it, Earl slapped Frazer again.
Wide eyed, Frazer stared over the bar at the door. The half finished pint of Midori and milk rippled, vibrating in time to the firing of the Harley as it closed in.
He gulped down the remaining Midori mix in fear and horror.
He loved the bling that only half a ton of chromed mild steel could bring. He loved the fact that the bike ground out on every corner making him look like a complete knob as he tried to compensate for the massive footplates. He loved the fact that women adored the machine and hated the fact that by the time he'd given them a lift home, they were all worn out from orgasming to the pounding vibrations of the decades out of date (but still brand new, straight out the shop) engine. No woman needed a man after spending 30 minutes astride a Harley, they all ended up soaking and knackered. He used women as saddle polish.
Real bikers sneered when they saw his beast, telling him he was riding a piece of agricultural machinery but what the fuck did real bikers know about Harleys? Real bikers were tough fuckers and he daren't answer back or they'd wheelspin on his bollocks for fun, hence he was back at the Blue Oyster Bar. He'd forgotten his Midori and milk - you don't get to ride a Harley by forgetting to drink your milk.
Then a sound broke the stillness; (the sound was like the engine of a lawn mower that was going to conk out any minute) what’s that thought Aaron? Then Dick Hertz pulled up on his moped outside the Blue Oyster, he was calling in for a quick drink on his way home from his job as a Durex condoms and lubricants tester.
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