[Scruffington laughs (although it's hard to tell where a laugh ends and a sob begins, or where there was only ever a sob...), sloshing his rum everywhere, including all over Badou. Sorry bro.]
Pork sword! That's brilliant! [slaps Badou on the back with a hit so hard he nearly sends the redhead flying into the six-pack, not noticing the cocky (........) way he was looking at Scruffington before] Does that imply a certain meatiness to it as well? Pork, of course, coming from--well, I'unno where. Pork sword!
[Careful, Norrington, if you keep saying it someone will think there's a reason...other than the obvious extreme drunkenness]
I'll have to remember that one!
[He won't remember it.
But anyway, he as usual has not understood but three (and that's generous) of the redhead's words involving something about a "rats chest" but went to take a good, long swig of the beer Badou had opened for him--before he realized it had been dropped.
Then he saw it, clearer than, well, most things, at this point in alcoholism--one large, green eye staring widely at him. The last few shudders and shakes of a crying fit left him as the words of the Ginge, so carefully uttered like a chain-smoker's on the wind or some other gay stuff like that, no homo (whispers all the homo) swirled around inside his alcohol-riddled head.
Sl-slim Jim?
Then with the force of a thousand cockful oceans (full of pork swords) Norrington has a flash of a memory so quick he's not sure how he caught it--that smell...like he was drowning in an ocean of cigarettes...he remembered it once before...and something about a bed.
And then the tears are brimming in his eyes again and in a single (actually three) graceful (he knocked over the six-pack and almost the table) motion (stumbling) he threw his arms around his old buddy, his old pal. His baby mama.]
I-I-I'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH
[he blubbers into Badou's hair, using it at tissue to wipe away the snot and boogers freely flowin']
OH, OF COURSE YOU WOULD BE THE ONE TO T-TEACH ME ABOUT PO-PORK SWORDS
MY ONLY FRIEND IN THIS WOOOOOORLD
[Slim Jim is starting to sound like the saddest bird on the planet. Nothing new, really.]
But'ah'm su-sorry, I can't seem to remember your name...
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THIS IS THE TERRIBLE REPLY ITS ME
8/3/13 12:36 (UTC)Pork sword! That's brilliant! [slaps Badou on the back with a hit so hard he nearly sends the redhead flying into the six-pack, not noticing the cocky (........) way he was looking at Scruffington before] Does that imply a certain meatiness to it as well? Pork, of course, coming from--well, I'unno where. Pork sword!
[Careful, Norrington, if you keep saying it someone will think there's a reason...other than the obvious extreme drunkenness]
I'll have to remember that one!
[He won't remember it.
But anyway, he as usual has not understood but three (and that's generous) of the redhead's words involving something about a "rats chest" but went to take a good, long swig of the beer Badou had opened for him--before he realized it had been dropped.
Then he saw it, clearer than, well, most things, at this point in alcoholism--one large, green eye staring widely at him. The last few shudders and shakes of a crying fit left him as the words of the Ginge, so carefully uttered like a chain-smoker's on the wind or some other gay stuff like that, no homo (whispers all the homo) swirled around inside his alcohol-riddled head.
Sl-slim Jim?
Then with the force of a thousand cockful oceans (full of pork swords) Norrington has a flash of a memory so quick he's not sure how he caught it--that smell...like he was drowning in an ocean of cigarettes...he remembered it once before...and something about a bed.
And then the tears are brimming in his eyes again and in a single (actually three) graceful (he knocked over the six-pack and almost the table) motion (stumbling) he threw his arms around his old buddy, his old pal. His baby mama.]
I-I-I'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH
[he blubbers into Badou's hair, using it at tissue to wipe away the snot and boogers freely flowin']
OH, OF COURSE YOU WOULD BE THE ONE TO T-TEACH ME ABOUT PO-PORK SWORDS
MY ONLY FRIEND IN THIS WOOOOOORLD
[Slim Jim is starting to sound like the saddest bird on the planet. Nothing new, really.]
But'ah'm su-sorry, I can't seem to remember your name...