The Exorcist

There was this lovely guy sitting in the pub. He was brand new by the way. Brand new. Some stinking workies wir on his usual seat by the pool table so he had tae make do wae a seat at the bar next tae this moany auld fenian bastard.

So this lovely guy turned tae the barmaid and said, “Ma nickname is the exorcist coz when a leave the pub thirs nae spirits left. Ahaha.”

She gee him a cheeky wink ae approval.

“But you only drink lager. You’re in here every night and you only drink lager,” the auld guy beside him said.

“Aye, but you get what a mean.”

“Naw a don’t. You’re no the exorcist. A drink gin so if embdy is getting called the fucking exorcist it’s me.”

“Whit? Your nickname is auld fenial bastard. Am the exorcist. No you. Me!”

“Is that right? Am jist here having a quiet gin and a have tae listen tae your shite patter-”

The exorcist sank his pint and glassed auld fenian bastard over the head. Grabbed him by the hair.

“Who is the exorcist?”

“You, big man, sorry.”

“Too fucking right a am.”

That should have been the end ae that but auld fenian bastard’s gin and tonic was pure raging. It grabbed a lighter, set itsel on fire and jumped intae the exorcist’s mouth.

Auld fenian bastard mouthed a thank you tae the herioc gin as both it and the exorcist died in a loving firey embrace.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s