The Bloke With The Dodgy Hat

This is a story about a bloke with a dodgy hat. I hope you like it. I am going back to my comical roots with it.


1. The First

Sitting in the corner of the room was a hat. The hat, (Let's call it Bertie) was old and looked like it was recovering from a long party the night before. Bertie, (Cool name I know) was sitting on something, or, to be more precise, someone. The man underneath looked as tired as the hat. His name was Jerry. M.F.G. Bloke. (The 'M.G.F.' stands for Monkey Faced Gorilla - His parents were foreign and came from a place where it was usual to give your child an insulting name).

In Jerry's hand was a bottle of vodka. (Lets call it... Actually, lets stop with the name calling - It's russian so it might blow us all up if we upset it). It was slowly emptying into Jerry's blood, stopping half way at a grimey service station to urinate, before continuing into the brain, starting a full-scale nuclear war with common sense (An endagered species within Mokey face - Couldn't resist not using his middle name for a whole chapter) And causing Jerry to start a fight with a beefy bloke, who was playing a game of pool with his three-year-old daughter.

" 'Ello fatty" Slurred Jerry.

"Good lord sir!" exclaimed the muscly mountain, "You need to get some rest!"

"Oh, 'sh-sh-sh-shut up, Jebus... I don't care if you want all the catholics to get hammered on your blood..."

The big man, being a devoted catholic, gave Jerry a short, sharp jab in the stomach. Monkey Face's breakfast came up to say hello.

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