So that was a right kick in the bollocks. You’d have to meet Barry to know what an insult that was. Don’t get me wrong, the puss-filled cheating little dog shit was my best mate. He’d never bail on you in a fight. If you’re ever flanked by Russian snipers in ‘Call of Duty: Modern Warfare’, he’d have your back, know what I mean. He’s the type of fella that’ll support you no matter what. That won’t hold you back once you’ve decide to set light to your pubes as a party trick at your nephews fifth birthday or anything like that. A real salt of the earth kind of bloke now that I come to think of it. Wouldn’t shag your wife in a million…hold on. That cuntard!
Naturally, she denied it. I produced the evidence, Barry's briefs, and threw them back in her face. That's when the waterworks started. Once the plumber had come round and fixed the taps, we sat down and had it out. On hindsight I should have tucked Wayne back into his cosy wee house instead of allowing him to hear cross words between us. He was used to the soothing tones of ‘Butchered at Birth’ and ‘Hate Eternal’ not two people screaming at each other like banshees.
Now I’m not normally a violent guy but she’d pushed me to the limit this time. I slyly lifted one arse cheek and ejected a silent jet through my nether throat while I sat at there innocently finishing my pop tart. Bet you thought they’d stopped making them didn’t you. Suffice to say I’d delivered a classic room clearer and Deb looked like she’d been hit by a ton of bricks. Victory was mine, or so I thought.
Unfortunately, she recovered enough to blurt out that she wasn’t even pregnant just as I finally admitted I’d been firing blanks all along. That bombshell hung in the air a lot longer than my air biscuit. It all happened so fast that time seemed to actually slow down. Me, mouth agape, jam running down my chin. Her, trying to muffle the smell with Barry's pants. And Wayne, rolling out of my hand and towards the edge of the table. Then OVER!
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