Now this is a true story about what happened to a couple of my Newfie friends, Pat and Mike when they got a job in Gander at the airport fuelling up the Concord. They were working the afternoon shift and along about midnight they were both just dying for a drink. They were getting tired and Pat accidentally spilled some of the Concord fuel on his wrist and unthinkingly licked it off with his tongue.
"Hey! Mike," he calls out. "Taste this stuff. It's not half bad. Sorta tastes like Screech!!"
Mike tries the stuff and it's not too bad if you don't try to breathe when you're drinkin' it, so they filled up two gallon bottles when they left for the night at shift change and took it home.
The stuff had the kick of a mule and by two o'clock they were both nearly totally out of it. Mike loaded Pat into a taxi and passed out on his bed. He was awakened by the phone about 9 o'clock and on answering it found Pat on the other end:
"Oh, Mike. Forgive me for startin' us on that wicked brew. How are ye feelin"?"
"Lord Jaysus", Mike replied, "like me tongue was a carpet in the hallway of the great unwashed and it's been trampled by the bare feet of the multitude, and me head feels like a soccer ball after the World Cup. Lord, that was horrible stuff we was drinkin'!!"
"Mike," says Pat, "go to the mirror there and take a good look at yourself."
So Mike gets up and goes over to the mirror in his bedroom and takes a look and asks Pat
"Hey! Mike," he calls out. "Taste this stuff. It's not half bad. Sorta tastes like Screech!!"
Mike tries the stuff and it's not too bad if you don't try to breathe when you're drinkin' it, so they filled up two gallon bottles when they left for the night at shift change and took it home.
The stuff had the kick of a mule and by two o'clock they were both nearly totally out of it. Mike loaded Pat into a taxi and passed out on his bed. He was awakened by the phone about 9 o'clock and on answering it found Pat on the other end:
"Oh, Mike. Forgive me for startin' us on that wicked brew. How are ye feelin"?"
"Lord Jaysus", Mike replied, "like me tongue was a carpet in the hallway of the great unwashed and it's been trampled by the bare feet of the multitude, and me head feels like a soccer ball after the World Cup. Lord, that was horrible stuff we was drinkin'!!"
"Mike," says Pat, "go to the mirror there and take a good look at yourself."
So Mike gets up and goes over to the mirror in his bedroom and takes a look and asks Pat
"What am I lookin' for here Pat, all I see is me?"
"Now look at your hair," says Pat. "Is it all sweepin' forward and comin' up to a point on top?"
"By God," says Mike. "It is! It is!"
"And is your head bent all forward so you can’t hardly look up?"
"By God! It is! It is!"
"And are you bent over at the hips so you’re almost fallin' forward?"
"By God!" says Mike, "I am indeed."
"And are your arms just achin' to be pulled backward
and out from your sides?"
"By God," says Mike, "they are.
What the devil is goin' on here?"
"I don't really know.” says Pat.
"But for God's sake Mike,
if you gets the urge
don't you dare cut a fart,
"Now look at your hair," says Pat. "Is it all sweepin' forward and comin' up to a point on top?"
"By God," says Mike. "It is! It is!"
"And is your head bent all forward so you can’t hardly look up?"
"By God! It is! It is!"
"And are you bent over at the hips so you’re almost fallin' forward?"
"By God!" says Mike, "I am indeed."
"And are your arms just achin' to be pulled backward
and out from your sides?"
"By God," says Mike, "they are.
What the devil is goin' on here?"
"I don't really know.” says Pat.
"But for God's sake Mike,
if you gets the urge
don't you dare cut a fart,
“I'm phoning from Vancouver!!”
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