Thir wis this belter ae a pint glass that hud lived in the pub fir going on 30 year. A right thick wan wae a handle n awe that n it wis aff its nut. Ye could drap it aff a bridge n it wouldnae shatter. That kind ae glass.
His name wis Rab and he wis the gaffer ae awe the glasses. So Rab had jist heedered a fair few nancy boy Guinness pints that always turned up in March and wis feeling brand new, by the way, pure brand new. Ye could feel his bravado radiating awe oer the place. This wis a glass that took nae shite fae nabdy. Nabdy!
It wis the end ae another Saturday night n Rab wis wondering who else he would smash before bed time. Could it be another shot glass? Too easy. Or wan ae them half pint poofters? He smiled. Too right it would.
“Right, whit wan ae you cunts is wanting a square go the night?”
“Oh come on, Rab. Ye smashed wee Gavin last night. Gee us a rest n go for the wine glasses.”
The wine glasses shivered n started greeting.
Rab cleared his throat. “Seeing as am a fair sort ae fella, al tell ye whit al dae—“
Before he could finish an unexpected hand grabbed his handle and fucked him against the wall. Whack!
Poor Rab cracked and they awe gasped. A cheer went oot only fir them tae realise awe the glasses wir getting smashed. Big Angnes hud found oot that auld Tam wis pumping that wee hairy he hired tae pour pints n she wis destroying the whole fucking place.
Big Agnes went mental so she did and a mean mental. She ended up no jist burning the pub tae the ground but the whole street! Fuck it wis a disaster.
The Muirhead polis let her aff tho cos they couldnae be arsed wae all these fannies greeting aboot no huving a hoose so they put it doon tae being a wee accident and shipped them awe aff tae live in St Barbara’s gym hall. Case closed. Fuck aff the lot ae yeez.