The Linfield Bar | Comedy Open Mic Round 46

Image source: Flickr

There's a pub on Bridge street. If you've been to London, you might have heard of it. In the world of mortals it's only a good place to have a drink. For the Gorums, it's something else.

It was the evening of September 2018. There I was, struggling to fit in the tiny spaces my economy ticket could afford me.

"Clear view, innit?"

I looked across to find feisty eyes trained at me. I murmured in reply.

"Don't talk much, do ya?"

The shrill voice rattled the hollow passage in my left ear. How am I supposed to tell this white fellow that I forgot to clean my teeth that morning without letting out an odour with enough bacteria to infect everyone on the flight. I grumbled.

"Say what mate? How about we head for a drink? Could get you talking."

Hell, I could really use a drink. I nodded my head and whizzzzz

I noticed I had enough leg space. The seat was comfy too. I looked around and I saw... Let's say they weren't humans.

I turned to look at the middle age man that been disturbing my otherwise uneventful flight. I didn't see him. Instead I saw short creatures with bulges in their trousers. They were walking along a single line.

"Care for a drink?"

I was happy to hear my burdensome companion appear beside me. I took the mug from him and gulped it down.

"Take good ehn?"

I nodded, trying to hold a rebellious bleach.

"Lemme get you another. The Gorums produce the best drinks in all of England. Here, Rusk over here!"

Rusk broke from the line and stood before us.

"Rusk here is my favorite Gorum because he produces the best beer ever."

My shameless stomach began to groan for a drink. I watched as Rusk collected the mug and didn't walk away. Instead he pulled down his shots and began to pull out his dick

Damn! I felt my stomach churn and bent my head to vommit.

"Don't you dare!"

The kind voice was gone. My companion looked at me with a stern and then relaxed his face muscles. I watched as Rusk's software became hardware. Yellowish liquid oozed from the engorged member. Rusk handed over the mug to me.

"Now drink!"

I put the mug to my mouth, expecting to smell pissed. Instead it smelled like beer. Ice cold beer.

From there on, my memory is fuzzy. I must have gotten drunk at the pub while my body slumped in the cramped seats of British Airways.

Anytime I'm in London, I always visit the Linfield Bar. There's a door in the wall, where Gorums and Wizards and privileged folks like myself use to gain access to the great winery of the Gorums

Disclaimer: this is all imaginary. I used Linfield because it was a free to use picture

@mfunbee and @alrahman. Get your lazy asses over here