Tuesday, 29 April 2008


“Hello. I'd like 3 schooners of New, a schooner of VB, one of James Boag, and a schooner of James Squires thanks. Also, 6 shots of black sambuca ... ”

“That's 12 drinks, sir.”

“Yes, it is. There's 6 of us.”

“Sir, unfortunately, and under new
Federal Government laws and guidelines as part of the War on Binge Drinking, I can only serve any patron a minimum of 1 drink per time ...”

“But there's 6 of us.”

“They'll have to buy their own, sir.”

“I see. Okay, gimme a schooner of New and a shot of blac –“

“One at a time, sir.”

“The New, then.”

“A pleasure.”

“... Right. I'm back. I'll have that shot of sambuca now, thanks.”

“You haven't drunk your beer, sir.”

“I'm having a shot and a beer chaser.”

“I'm sorry, sir, we can't allow that.”

“But ...”

“Not on, sir.”

“It's ...”


“I ...”

“Can we call you a taxi?”

“I just got here.”

“You may become intoxicated and abusive, sir.”

“I haven't had anything to drink yet!”

“But you will, sir. You will. Best to be safe than sorry, and pack you off home right now, before anything regrettable happens. I'm sure a
nice cup of tea, an Iced-Vovo biscuit and everything will settle down just nicely ...”

“I don’t want no fucking biscuit! It's my birthday, for Christ's sake!”

“Please don't take the Lord's name in vain, sir ... random acts of carelessly unthinking blasphemy have been demonstrated to have a downward impact on rates of productivity, thereby placing upward pressure on interest rates as well as grossly inflating various other, er, inflationary factors and, heaven knows sir, surely you don't want to be responsible for placing increased stress on all those dear hearts and gentle people who quietly suffer so on the frontiers of the mortgage belt ... Think of the children, sir.”

“Oh, fuck the children!”

“Oh, my Lord! ... Security! ... We have a raving drunk and potentially violent pedophile on the premises!!”

“I'm not a ... it's my fucking birthday! All I wanted was a drink to celebrate!”

“Yes, well, that's what you all say, isn't it?!”


“A beer on your birthday?! ... YOU! MAKE! ME! SICK! ... One beer?! HUH! ... Then it’ll be two! ... Then a third! ... And from thereon, God only knows what vile and hellish pit of alcohol-sodden depravity you’ll drag us all into to satiate your ghastly and unnatural desires for the touch of innocently squeaky young fleshlings!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake ... I ... I ... I just ... oh look, can I just have a packet of chicken chips then?”

“Absolutely not.”


“Bad for you, sir ... War on Obesity, you know how it is ... I’ve got some lovely carrot sticks and radish florets if you’d rather?”

“Oh, alright ... Could you pass the salt?”

“You’re really beginning to try my patience, sir, do you know that?”


Damian said...

Very noice work.

Ross Sharp said...

Fanks, Damian.

Terry Wright said...

Weel done Royss.

Why oh why does your script/analogy send off warning bells? Something like this is sci fi, isn't it?

My doctor who specialises in D&A matters is really cynical about the "binge drinking" issue. He laughed at the stupidity of putting warning labels on alcohol and said he just expects political stunts like this. He reckons they all know it's a crock but dealing with it in properly requires changing normal human behaviour. He thinks it would take over 100 years and several generations to shift behaviour enough to make any sort of difference and would require full intervention into how we raise children.

Very funny Ross, I'm still laughing.

Ross Sharp said...

Tanks, Terry.

The whole moral panic thing really is giving me the complete and utter shits. Seems like any time someone sees 2 or more 19 year olds at a pub about to pick up their 4th schooner, it signifies the collapse of civilisation as we know it.

No doubt, come Christmas, some tediously pseudo-puritan, moralising knobjockey somewhere will suggest the cancellation of office Christmas parties as a "community service". Dickheads.