Cule has-beans so c**tgratulations to CRINDY for winkin'. PM me with a subject for next wank please.
Hence:

Votes - Points - Name
3 -10 - Crindy
2 - 5 me
3 - 1 - Gappy

Your next topic is DRINKS (chosen by GAPPY).
Rules: One entry / vote per human being. Anywank can enter regardless of sexual preference, inside ball measurement or humidity of gums, except Matt Cardle because he has kissed my favourite Spice Girl Mel C.
Can be a sketch, one-liner, song, whatever the f**k you like, as long as 'tis humourous and in some way linked to the topic.
Edit as much as you wank till it closes, i.e. 29.3.18.

Scorebored is now:
Position - Points - Name
1 - 15 - Crindy
2 - 11 - Gappy
3 -10 - Playfull
4 - 5 - me
5 - 1 - Patrick

DAVID: Ah, you're here at last. Grab a seat - you're gonna need to sit down once you hear my ideas.

JONES: These being your ideas for theme nights in the pub, I take it?

DAVID: Durr, Mr Area Manager, of course my ideas for theme nights in the pub. Check it out, I have loads. Monday: Singles night.

JONES: I see.

DAVID: That's a night where you are forcibly withheld from buying double measures of spirits! It's not really. That was a joke.

JONES: Well done.

DAVID: No, it's actually where we encourage people to come along on their own, have a wee drink, sit around...a bit...

JONES: Yes. I mean, Monday night's clientele is pretty much exclusively people sat alone stoically drinking.

DAVID: Yes, but now, who knows, come for a little sip, maybe meet a girl.

JONES: Fair enough, we'll trial it. Next idea, please.

DAVID: Tuesday night: Drinking Night! A night specially set up for drinking

JONES: Drinking night? In a pub? That's quite a stupid idea.

DAVID: I don't know, a pub seems almost uniquely set up to accommodate it, if you ask me. Picture it: meet a girl on Monday, come back for a drink on Tuesday.

JONES: Alright, alright, we'll try it. Jesus, if we're able to convince people to drink Lambrini and Drambuie, I'm sure we can convince them that it would be better on Tuesday.

DAVID: Good choice, sir! And then, following on, on Wednesday...we're shut.

JONES: Shut?

DAVID: The pub's shut, yeah. Because Wednesday night is Making Love Night. At home. So, you know, no point opening up.

JONES: Making Love Night? I was thinking of something like Curry.

DAVID: Bit kinky, but whatever.

JONES: As a theme night, not as an adjunct to love.

DAVID: *Making* love. That's what Wednesday's for. And Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Shut the pub, cut your losses.

JONES: Mr David -

DAVID: Call me Craig.

JONES: Mr David, shall I tell you how your one month trial as promotions manager is going?

DAVID: Why don't you fill me in?

JONES: Very poorly.

DAVID: Woah woah, wait! Re-rewind! I got loads of laydeez in here the first week.

JONES: By giving them free champagne.

DAVID: You never heard of a loss leader?

JONES: I have, but I did not know it featured pouring 4000 bottles of Pol<Roger into the snug area.

DAVID: You don't have a jacuzzi! I was improvising! What sort of a pub doesn't have a Jacuzzi?

JONES: A pub. All the pubs. Mr David, you're fired.

DAVID: Oh! But what about my idea for a loyalty app system, which allows users to unlock special deals by buying drinks during quieter periods, and receiving advertisements from selected promotional partners, who pay us revenue in turn?

JONES: That, err, does sound like a good idea. OK, you're not fire, you can finish the trial.

DAVID: Go me! I'm totally gonna take a day off to reward myself. Mark my words, I'm going to chill on Sunday!

JONES: Mr David, you don't work Sundays.

DAVID: Oh yeah! I'm a f**king cretin.

JONES: That you are, that you are.

Bar scene. A group of four people are getting to know each other......

Malcom: Well, welcome everyone. Welcome indeed to the first night out for the F.D.S.G, the Fussy Drinkers Social Group. I'm so glad we started this on-line and that we could all meet for drinks. So, my round, what would you like to drink?

Mary: I'll have a Gin and Tonic please. Bombay Sapphire Gin. Shwepps Tonic, slimline. With a twist of lemon. A straw. And a little bit of ice. Please. If that's no trouble.

Malcom: No problem Mary. That's exactly how I have my Gin too. You know I'm so glad we could all meet up like this. People who are fussy for drinks shouldn't feel pressurised to not ask for exactly what they want on a night out. How about David?

David: Could I have a real ale please?

Malcom: Sure, that doesn't sound fussy though.......

David: Well, if they have it at the bar, I'd like a pale ale brewed in Brooklyn, New York. Made with organic barley. Nothing too hoppy though.

Malcom: Sure. Pint?

David: Half please. I like to try different beers, a half at a time.

Malcom: So, you'll have a new order for a different beer after this one?

David: Yep. Sorry if that's a problem.....

Malcom: No, no, not at all. This is exactly why we're all here. To support each other's very particular drink requests on a fun night out. Now, last but by no means least, John, what would you like?

John: A pint...........Of your tears.

Malcom: (nervous laughter) Ha ha, good one John, you had me going there.

John: I'm not joking. I'd like a pint of your tears.

Malcom: A pint of my tears? You want to drink my tears in a glass? And a pint?

John: Yep.

Malcom: Well John.....how can I put this? I know we've only just met and that........and that this is a group designed to support our particular drink requests when we go out. But to ask for a pint of my tears........well, it's not so much fussy as.......

Mary: Weird.

David: And gross.

Malcom: Well now, let's not be judgemental. A pint of my tears, why do you want to drink that anyway?

John: Just thought you said we could ask for ANY drink? Most people cry out 8 pints of tears in a year. I thought you could support my preference.

Malcom: Yeah, but a PINT?

John: Ok, make it a half.

Malcom: You what?

John: Allright, I'll settle for a lager shandy.

Malcom: Ok. Lager Shandy. Any particular lager John?

John: Nah. But what about that with a chaser: a shot of your tears please.

Malcom: JOHN! PACK IT IN WITH THE BLOODY TEARS MAN! It ain't happening son. RIGHT. For f**k's sake. Let's get those drinks in: a G and T, Bombay Sapphire only, Shwepps, Lemon twist, straw and ice, a half of Brooklyn organic real ale, a lager bloody shandy and whatever I'm having. Is that all OK? Right, ok. Sorry I lost my temper a bit. Off to the bar.....

(Malcom leaves)

Mary: (to David and John as a whisper).....When do you think he'll ask us what type of glass we'd like?

END.

I went to the chippie: 'Portion of chips - with fish.' He said, 'Plaice?' I said, 'Next to the chips.'

Lemon's favourite group? Squeeze.

Gordon Ramsay's new TV show: 'If you can't stand the heat - f**k off.'

I had a dream about playing tennis with naked Spice Girls. The score got to deuce, and so did I.

Our café's so poor, the only thing on the menu's the plastic cover.

What does a cannibal choose? The tourist menu.

I'm so excited about the new Doctor Who, I'm gonna have a party last week.

Geri Halliwell has become a waitress. She says, 'Tell me what you want, what you really really want.'

Joe Cocker's apple pie is locked away. He says, 'Unchain my tart.'

Hamburger please- - With relish? - HHHHHHamburger, plllllllleassse.'

Why do I go to McDonald's when it's raining? To buy a big mac.

I've stopped eating fish - for the love of cod.

Meat or fish? Well as they say in French, one man's meat is another man's poisson.

My dad licked his shirt lapel. Must've had a chip on his shoulder.

Son's eating with his dad on an apartment block, a French fry falls. What a chip off the old block.

Fast food's suffering from the recession. The chips are down.

I went into the bar. I said, 'Irish coffee,' they gave me a cup of tea.

I don't like a mug of coffee. It's not my cup of tea.

My choice of after-shave represents my masturbatory habits. Old Spice.

I've told my mother to stop having blowjobs, for the humped teeth time.

My mother challenged me to a drinking contest. I think so, she said, I'll drink you under the table.

My mother's cake was perfectly appropriate. It had hundreds and thousands on top too.

I don't trust my dad's foreskin. There's something behind it, and it smells fishy to me.

Masochistic cannibals? Eat your heart out.

QUIET DRINKS a 4 hander by Frankie

INT. SCOUT HUT. 4 CUB SCOUTS. IN THE STYLE OF DAD'S ARMY.

MART:
Where the f**k is 'Akela'..

DANNY:
I thought his name was 'c**t'..

MART:
It is but..

FRANK: <cutting in>
Fer f**ks sake, who cares.. have you seen my latest badge? Look.. <holds badge up in air.>

DANNY:
Did you get it for being a c**t?

FRANK:
No, I made my own rope..

MART:<Looking through the window>
Well, that's f**king useful ain't it ..I still can't see Akela..

FRANK: <Throws badge over shoulder.>
Oh come on, f**k it, let's have a nice quiet drink ..and hope the c**t doesn't show..

FRANK PRODUCES A 3/4 FULL BOTTLE OF TEACHER'S WHISKY FROM HIS SCOUT RUCK SACK AND SOME PAPER CUPS.

THEY HAVE A QUIET DRINK WHILE DOING UNSCOUTLY LIKE THINGS SUCH AS PICKING THEIR NOSES, FARTING, READING 'RAZZLE' AND CLAWING AT THEIR CROTCHES.

FRANK:
Got any dope, Mart..

MART:
I've got Danny..

DANNY: <Irked>
F**k me, what is it about me today.. And I've lost my pissing toggle..

MART: <Looking through the window>
Look out he's here.. ..f**king 'Akela..'

THE CUB SCOUTS IMMEDIATELY RETURN TO SCOUT LIKE TIDY APPEARANCE AND BEHAVIOUR

AKELA DAVE ENTERS BUT IS UNSEEN

AKELA DAVE:
What have you been playing at? What kind of behaviour is this?

THE CUB SCOUTS LOOK AT EACH OTHER SHEEPISHLY

AKELA DAVE: <Now revealed as wearing full pantomime dame regalia>
Well, f**k me boys. Where's the whisky?

FRANK PRODUCES THE WHISKY AND PAPER CUPS AND THEY ALL HAVE A RIP ROARING DRINK UP

CLOSING CREDITS
You have been watching...

INT. OFFICE - DAY

A set of desks in a typical office. JOHN and MARK sit at their computers. DAN staggers in and sits down, a little worse for wear. The other two notice this.

JOHN
Hah. Big session last night?

DAN
Yeah. Went down the pub for a quick half, ended up being a proper mad one! Had about six pints in the end!

MARK
Psh. Six pints? Is that all? I had eight last night. And I was in before you.

DAN
Well...yeah, six pints. Before I switched to spirits. Probably had half a bottle of rum to myself.

JOHN
Half a bottle? Bloody lightweight. Last Tuesday night, yeah? I got through two bottles of whiskey, was out clubbing until three in the morning, and I was still in for eight the day after!

MARK
Three?! Lightweight! I was out til five last night!

DAN
Yeah, well I haven't been to bed yet! Came straight here from the club.

JOHN
Then how come you've showered?

DAN
Used the changing rooms downstairs. Bloody had to after the night I had! Did I tell you that the rum was overproof?

MARK
Really?

DAN
Yeah, about 80% proof or something.

JOHN
Psh. 80%?! Is that all?

DAN
Well, what were you on last night?

JOHN
Pure ethanol, yeah?

MARK
Pure ethanol?

JOHN
Yeah. Got it from a mate who works in a chemistry lab. 100% pure ethanol. We must have had about fifteen shots of it!

MARK
Psh. Only fifteen? Lightweight.

JOHN
Well...yeah. But they were just chasers, right? To go with the fifteen pints.

DAN
Fifteen pints of what?

JOHN
Meths.

DAN
Meths?!

JOHN
Yeah, proper old school meths. Every round. Pint of meths, pure ethanol chaser. Proper lads drinks, yeah?

MARK
Yeah, well that's got nothing on my weekend, right? Started out Friday after work. About a dozen pints of vodka, went to the club and switched to this house cocktail that was basically just gin and hydrochloric acid. Stayed up all night, no sleep, back on it Saturday afternoon with the lads: Ten more pints of tequila. Then we broke out the drugs. Took a couple of dozen ecstasy tablets, dropped a load of acid, then partied through til Sunday where we basically spent all day drinking yards of ale. Except it wasn't yards, it was miles. And it wasn't ale, it was liquid nitrogen.

DAN
Bollocks!

MARK
Nah, mate. All true. And I was still in for seven in the morning on Monday!

JOHN
Any heroin with all that?

MARK
Nah.

JOHN
Psh. Lightweight! I shot up just this morning!

MARK
Bollocks!

JOHN
Nah, it's true. And it's proper nasty stuff. Laced with that stuff they use to tranquilise elephants.

DAN
Elephant tranquiliser?

JOHN
Not right now mate. Maybe after lunch.

MARK
Still reckon I'm madder.

JOHN
Bollocks!

DAN
Right, there's only one way to settle this. Drinking contest!

Dan pours out three shots of bleach. They down them, and immediately collapse to the floor, frothing at the mouth. ROB, another employee, walks over and sees them in distress.

ROB
Psh. Lightweights!

THE END

YURI: Grigori at last, I thought you weren't coming. Here sit (HE GESTURES TO AN EMPTY CHAIR AT HIS TABLE). look I have brought you a glass of that Kirsch you are so fond of.

GRIGORI: How kind old friend. But look i have brought you a vodka, one of Russia's finest.

BOTH MEN STARE AWKWARDLY AT EACH OTHER FOR A FEW MOMENTS. GRIGORI PUTS THE VODKA ON THE TABLE THEN PICKS UP THE CHAIR AND TURNING IT OVER EXAMINES IT.

YURI: What are you looking for? Novichok? Polonium? Or maybe a 12-inch spike which automatically shoots up when the chair is sat on?

GRIGORI: No, no it is just these British chairs, you cannot be too careful, they are not as sturdy as Russian chairs... The spike thing is that real?

YURI: No...the prototype did not work...please sit.

GRIGORI SITS CAUTIOUSLY AND IS OBVIOUSLY RELEIVED THAT NOTHING HAPPENS. HE THEN VERY DELIBERATLY PUSHES THE VODKA ACROSS TO YURI, WHO LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY AT THIS. YURI THEN SLOWLY PUSHES THE GLASS OF KIRSCH ACROSS TO GRIGORI. BOTH MEN STARE IN DREAD AT THE GLASSES FOR A MINUTE.

GRIGORI: So old comrade what brings you to London?

YURI: I have come to see the sites.

GRIGORI: Really? Which ones?

YURI: All of them.

GRIGORI: You are not here to kill me then?

YURI: What! Why would you say that?

GRIGORI: Because you are a KGB trained assassin?

YURI: As are you my old friend.

GRIGORI: And maybe because I called Yeltsin a pig?

YURI: An "ugly, lying, fat, gay, bear hugging pig". If I remember correctly.

GRIGORI: Ah, but not to his face.

YURI: No, to his wife's face.

GRIGORI: Ah yes, too much Kirsch, it will be the death of me.

BOTH MEN STARE SILENTLY AT THE GLASS IN FRONT OF GRIGORI

YURI: Why do you not visit your family in Russia Grigori?

GRIGORI: Because I have a strong dislike of funerals, particularly my own.

YURI: Things have changed a lot in Russia.

GRIGORI: Yeltsin is no longer an ugly, lying, fat, gay, bear hugging pig?

YURI: Well some things have changed...Is living in London any better?

GRIGORI: No! they do not like us. Unless you are a prostitute you are 'just another f**king Russian!'

YURI: But if you have spied for them they will treat you better surely?

GRIGORI: Then you are 'just another untrustworthy f**king Russian!'

BOTH SIT STARING AT THE TABLE

YURI: Vladimir personally sent me to kill you.

GRIGORI: I know, he told me. He said if I killed you first then all would be forgiven.

YURI: Ah, then we are both dead.

GRIGORI: I know.

THEY BOTH LOOK AT EACH OTHER FOR A FEW MOMENTS

YURI: I put Polonium in your car a few days ago. It will be a slow death...

GRIGORI: They fixed the problems with the prototype chair.

YURI: Pointing to his chair you mean...

GRIGORI: Yes, triggered when you stand. A painful end I am afraid.

YURI: We had some good times.

GRIGORI: To the good times!

THEY BOTH PICK UP THEIR GLASSES AND KNOCK BACK THE DRINKS.

It's Crindy with his four Yorkshire men tribute for me - but good ideas all round.

Crindy.

So f**king hard to choose, all brilliant this week ..well.. not mine, but the rest of you.
It could be any one of them. As I have to pick I'll do a Michael and just have to toss for it..

<5 second pause>

OK, I've just finished tossing..

GAPPY

Playfull for me.

playfull for me as well, just inching ahead for topicality. Really good week all round though.

Honestly the best week for ages, well done everyone. Runners-up to Playfull, excellent as ever, and Crindy, very good but the Yorkshiremen lineage was a touch too evident for me. Patrick gets my vote: a lightly silly set-up, a very silly development (love the idea of a pint of tears), and a good old-fashioned punchline.