Jack, George and me

It’s 3am on Sunday morning at The Shack. A man in a peak cap comes over to me and asks for a light.


Me: Aren’t you Jack Parow??
Jack: Maybe.
Me: Yes you are! I have a photo of you at Up the Creek with brandy and coke down your front.
Jack: Oh. Nice.
Me: I also have a photo of you with your pants halfway down your bum.
Jack: OK.
Me: I cannot understand why so many women want to throw their knickers at you.
Jack: I think it's great!
Me: Well I think you are disgusting.
Jack: What?!

Two minutes later I turn around and see George from Taxi Violence (who's gig I was at earlier next door).

Me: Hey George, what you doing this side?
George: Er, having a drink?
Me: You just keep popping up everywhere don't you.
George: If you say so.
Me: I hear you puked on Elvis Presley.
George: What?!

Rockstars. They're such fun. I am probably going to the MK Awards on Saturday night. Imagine how much damage I can do there.

Would you throw your knickers at this man?

This is similar to the look I was given when I accused him of puking on a dead man.