All Dressed Up...
Last year me and my mate were "so poor we were sharing genes" and had had one of those weeks where come the weekend, you desperately need to get as drunk as possible, as cheap as possible. We set off into the nearby town, wondering how we could get drunk when all we had between us was about £5.27. As if by magic, we saw a a shitty little off-licence-come-newsagent. Our spirits (wahey) lifting slightly, we entered, and saw that they were hurredly selling off massively out-of-date cava. Not just that, but they were also flogging those thin Cafe Creme cigars that had big warning signs on them in Greek.

Putting two and two together, we went home with our cheap stash of booze and tobacco and put on some old tuxedos I had got as hand-me-downs years ago - and I mean the works; yellowing pleated shirts, bow ties, cufflinks, the lot. We even polished our shoes. We then proceeded to sit in front of the tv, quaffing this stale, flat wine and smoking crumbly cigars, stopping only to bark things at each other like:

"When is this BLADDY limosine going to get here, anyway? I'm not waiting all night, what what what"

"Look at that fine strumpet, I'd give her what-for"

"I'm glad they don't let women into the 19th hole of MY golf club, I tell you that, ho ho ho"

We looked like two dirty old men, and by the following morning, smelled like that too. At the time, I honestly thought we looked the cats pyjamas, but thinking back now, only a year later, I realised we're just a couple of cunts, really.
(Hammer Time, Fri 25 Aug 2006, 20:06, Reply)