Wedding Toast at The Ship
Dec. 21st, 2005 03:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stuntie_jedAt loose ends, once again, and not wanting to cling to Pete too much, I head for the harbor. Lot’s of fun company down there. I end up at The Ship, rough crowd around here, but I don’t give a fuck. Anybody that thinks they can take me is welcome to try. Twenty years in the stunt business and there’s not a lot of tricks I haven’t seen before.
The telly over the bar is a background drone, but when I’m hoisting my third or fourth Speight’s, I hear a name that I recognise and Sandy obliges me by turning the sound up.
Some pissed up entertainment show with some cow of a spinner going on all starry eyed . . . ”Rumour has it that international hot property Orlando Bloom has finally been made an honest man by his long-time lover, Viggo Mortensen. The famous pair were spotted at legendary honeymoon destination Niagara Falls wearing matching rings and reports say they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”
I shake my head in disgust, motioning her to turn it back down. What the fuck are they thinking? Much as I respect Viggo, he’s got to be crazy to want to get married. Marriage sucks arse. I don’t have any objection to two blokes wanting to get married, I figure if the gay boys want it so much, they’re more than welcome to it. But if’t were up to me, I’d make the whole fucking thing illegal, no matter who wanted to do it.
But this calls for a celebration, even if they never know it. I get another beer, and hoist it, turning to face the crowd. “To muh good friends Vig and Orli . . . long life. I’m getting the next round!”
Everybody approves of that and they join the toast, not knowing what the fuck I’m on about, and not caring. Not while I’m buying. But I know I’ve probably just guaranteed that one or more of these wharfies will try me on when I leave. Let ‘em come.
Hours later and I’m good and thoroughly plonked. Sandy takes my keys, says she’ll call a cab. She helps me out the door, and I grab her tit. “Gizza root, love. It’ll be good, promise,” I slur.
“Not likely, you piker,” she responds, batting my hands away. “Now get on, before I call the plods to give you a ride instead.”
I slouch out, waving the cab off and half hoping that the hoons will give me some fun.
The telly over the bar is a background drone, but when I’m hoisting my third or fourth Speight’s, I hear a name that I recognise and Sandy obliges me by turning the sound up.
Some pissed up entertainment show with some cow of a spinner going on all starry eyed . . . ”Rumour has it that international hot property Orlando Bloom has finally been made an honest man by his long-time lover, Viggo Mortensen. The famous pair were spotted at legendary honeymoon destination Niagara Falls wearing matching rings and reports say they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”
I shake my head in disgust, motioning her to turn it back down. What the fuck are they thinking? Much as I respect Viggo, he’s got to be crazy to want to get married. Marriage sucks arse. I don’t have any objection to two blokes wanting to get married, I figure if the gay boys want it so much, they’re more than welcome to it. But if’t were up to me, I’d make the whole fucking thing illegal, no matter who wanted to do it.
But this calls for a celebration, even if they never know it. I get another beer, and hoist it, turning to face the crowd. “To muh good friends Vig and Orli . . . long life. I’m getting the next round!”
Everybody approves of that and they join the toast, not knowing what the fuck I’m on about, and not caring. Not while I’m buying. But I know I’ve probably just guaranteed that one or more of these wharfies will try me on when I leave. Let ‘em come.
Hours later and I’m good and thoroughly plonked. Sandy takes my keys, says she’ll call a cab. She helps me out the door, and I grab her tit. “Gizza root, love. It’ll be good, promise,” I slur.
“Not likely, you piker,” she responds, batting my hands away. “Now get on, before I call the plods to give you a ride instead.”
I slouch out, waving the cab off and half hoping that the hoons will give me some fun.
