Larry and Mick Go Nightclubbing

'That's not a good look,' said Larry.
'I've got a bit of pea-skin between my teeth,' said Mick.
'It won't attract the ladies.'
'Hence my intended removal of such prior to departure.'
Larry & Mick had decided to go nightclubbing. It wasn't their normal mode of entertainment on a Saturday night. They normally preferred to play tiddlywinks, watch Burt Reynolds DVD's or do origami. On this particular Saturday night, however, they had both recently, by some weird and inexplicable coincidence, damaged their thumbs in stapling accidents, thus ruling out the tiddlywinks option. Also Mick had accidentally spilled some Sainsbury's Tomato And 3-Bean Soup in the DVD player. And they had run out of paper. They were therefore stumped. Stumped and baffled and bamboozled. Until Larry remembered he had a lovely cardigan his gran had given him for Christmas, and said to Mick...
'Why don't we go nightclubbing?'
'Nightclubbing?' said Mick.
'Nightclubbing,' said Larry.
'Why?' said Mick.
'Because I want to try out my new cardigan,' said Larry.
'Fair enough,' said Mick.
And so nightclubbing they did go. But not before sharing a tin of Happy Shopper Processed Peas. Because how can you go nightclubbing before you've had your peas? Exactly!

'Are you wearing that?' said Larry to Mick.
'What?' said Mick to Larry.
'That,' said Larry, as he pointed at the badge which Mick had pinned to the left breast of his padded orange bodywarmer.
The badge had a picture of Michelangelo's David on it.
'It illustrates my love of the arts,' said Mick.
'It might give the wrong impression,' said Larry.
'What's so wrong about having an artistic appreciation of the idealised naked male form?'
'Never mind. Let's go.'
And go they did.
They had never been nightclubbing before. They were therefore not entirely sure what to expect. They did know, however, that in order to engage in such an activity one had to dress appropriately. Hence Larry's cardigan (a lovely chocolate brown home knit, with cable stitching), Mick's padded orange bodywarmer, their matching blue lycra cycling shorts and stylish silken ballet pumps. As the proceeded to their destination, they met with much laughter, pointing and greetings in a language they had never heard before. Which was all very nice, they thought, although they did wonder why no one else was wearing ballet pumps, what with all the dancing that would be partaken of and suchlike. Maybe it would be different once they got inside the nightclub.
They approached the two burly-looking gentlemen on the door. They were dark of suit and dark of glasses and short of hair; and they each had, it has to be said, a less than overly pleasant demeanour.
'Greetings, fellows,' said Larry. 'May my friend and I please enter the discotheque-slash-drinking establishment of whose doors you are standing before?'
'Are you taking the piss, mate?' said one of the dark-suited gentlemen (it was hard to say which).
Larry looked at Mick.
'I think,' said Mick, 'he may be referring to some degree of sarcasm implicit in your phraseology.'
'I think you're both fucking loonies,' said the other gentleman (or it may have been the same one).
'How much for two tickets?' said Larry, as he extracted a small tupperware box full of copper coinage from his satchel, whilst ignoring the harsh tones of the two gentlemen, as his dear old mother had always advised was best when dealing with such effrontery.
'We're full,' said one or other of the dark-suited gentlemen. 'You can't come in.'
'Odd,' said Larry, 'considering that, by my reckoning, you have let in a dozen or more young ladies of the somewhat inebriated persuasion since our arrival. Ladies who, I might add, are all blonde of hair and long of leg and substantial of frontage; not to mention of an age that cannot exceed seventeen years.'
'Ladies? What ladies?' - the fellow turned to his mate - 'Did you notice any ladies?'
'Not for at least an hour,' said the other chap.
'Come, friend Mick,' said Larry; 'I fear the nightclubbing "scene" is not for us.'
'Let's go and find an all-night stationer's,' said Mick, who had not really been into the idea from the start.
'Yes, let's.'
And so they did.

EPILOGUE:

'How's your paper-folding coming along, friend Mick?'
'Not so good, friend Larry, what with the thumb injury and all.'
'Well as a wise man once said... no pain no gain.'
'Bugger that, I'm off to bed.'
And so he was.

[ FIN ]