Single Status Update
has been declared. Two enter, only one will leave.
I have three mates; Jock, Paul and Shaun. Both Paul and Shaun own property right next door to each other. This is ironic and slightly tragic, because they fucking loathe each other.
Jock, Paul and I are in the pub getting minkit. Shaun is not in the pub, because he is banned again for twatting somebody during a particularly aggressive karaoke competition. Everyone is pished.
Jock and Paul go home together, and because Paul is stuck in the 90's, decides to start blaring Happy Hardcore on his stereo at one o'clock in the morning. This irritates Shaun, who proceeds to Paul's doorstep and has the mother of all chimpouts allover his welcome mat. Paul and Jock answer door and threats are made; things are said that cannot be unsaid. Shaun threatens to do Jock in, so Jock punches him in the face.
The police are summoned. Jock makes his escape out of a second floor window and flees into the night, a wanted man who is still, as far as I know, at large. Paul declares his innocence of the assault; as he is only guilty of terrible taste in music and not of actual assault, the police leave him be with a simple caution.
Fast forward half an hour after the police have left. Paul sits in his living room in a coma. He is rudely awakened by the brick that comes sailing through his front window. Clean through. There is no note attached to the brick, because Shaun has a bit more class than that. Paul rushes to his door to confront his attacker, but of Shaun there is no sign. Instead, he sees that someone has spent his half-hour productively, and has carved the word DICK nine inches high into his door with some sort of cutting instrument.
I fucking love my mates. But they are probably going to kill each other at some point this week.