The winning entry has been announced in this pair.There were 33 entries submitted in this pair during the submission phase, 3 of which were selected by peers to advance to the finals round. The winning entry was determined based on finals round voting by peers.Competition in this pair is now closed. |
It was an old two-storey with an attic, about to fall on itself. Its walls were tattered, its bricks obscenely on display, and the plaster crumbled away even as you looked at it. How the dump was holding itself together boggled me; I reckoned if a tram came clattering by, it’d take but a gong to bring it down. Except no tram had come that way in 15 years. The Swooning Bitch dwelt on the ground floor – now, after all this time, I afford it some leniency, she did not fall down after all, she did not hurt anyone, alcohol had been the only killer there. Strictly speaking, it occupied a low ground floor, sunk by a metre below ground – eh, the irony of fate acquainting drunkards with the dust early on. This Bitch was one mean joint… It was around Christmas time, the weather was fairish, you could still drink a case of beer and not end up with icicles dangling from your hooter. I went into the temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. Inside they were listening to French chansonettes at a well-nigh muffled level, but it still looked like everybody agreed with Edith who was regretting nothing. There were about ten people inside, a score of bleary eyes – or so I thought at first, I later found that I’d been wrong by nearly three – and each one was going about their business with glorified intent. Nobody spoke, yet they were a grand sight, they’d all lift their glasses at once, as if on cue, take two small sips, put the glasses back down; then one single glug came out, and one smack… yet there was communication, I could feel it, it was hanging in the air. I knew this was a solemn moment, but my throat was seriously dry, and the amoeba in my gut demanded to be flushed, flushed the harder the more it grew. So I wasted no time and insinuated myself like sweet sin to the bar, armed with enough gall and a few shekels, to grab a couple of beers for myself and my mate. The barman, a stubby fat fellow, with grizzled beard and moustache, a waggish mug and a white spot in the right eye, gestured me to shut up. “Esteemed feller revelers! Christmastide’s at hand, ya’ve been at it heartily this yea’, each with what you have in ya’, so, like any self-respecting business, we’ll give out yer’ bonuses now. Look, this here wad of smackers is for ya', go down to the bar and good ol’ Gelu’ll cut ya' a helpin'. I can’t stick around, someone’s got to rack up, but sousin’ greetings nonetheless!” | Entry #21547 — Discuss 1 — Variant: British Winner
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It was an old two-story house with a mansard roof, all but ready to collapse upon itself. The walls were chipped, the bricks were obscenely peering out, the plaster was thinning away by the day. I've no idea how the hell this wreck was still standing, I figured if a tram were to pass rattling by it would go crumbling down at the first whistle. But the tram hadn't been by in 15 years. The Limp Bitch dwelt on the ground floor - now, after all this time, I've gained a certain sufferance for it, it hasn't collapsed, it hasn't hurt anybody, only alcohol kills down there - it was in fact a semi-basement, sunken by three feet underground - oh, well, the ironic fate, getting the drunks accustomed to the gutter in good time - this Bitch was a hell of a dive... It was around Christmas time, the weather was so-so, one could still have a case of beer without growing icicles from the sniffer. I entered the temple of doom and my fate was sealed right up. Inside, French chansonettes were playing rather softly, at any rate, it seemed that everyone agreed with Edith who had no regrets. There were about 10 people inside, twenty bleary eyes - this is what I thought at first, I later found I was off by almost 3 - and they were each fastidiously engrossed in the task at hand. No one was talking, yet they were such a splendid sight, as if on cue they would all raise their glasses and down two small sips, then place them down on the table, you could hear but one gulp and one thump...and yet there was a communication of sorts, I could feel it, it was in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was freaking dry, the amoeba in my stomach needed watering, more and more watering the larger it grew. Without further delay, I slithered by the bar like a honeyed whisper, with enough cheek and some fold-ups to buy a couple of beers for me and my pal. The bartender, a short fat fellow with a grey beard and mustache, a sly mug and a defect in one eye, a white patch, waved me silent. "Honored mine guests! The Christmas holidays is upon us, you been working heartily this past year, each as best you could, and we, as any befitting establishment, are giving you your bonus. This here little wad of duckies is for you, so why don't you go over by the bar and let ol' Gelu over there give you your rations. I can't stick around cause I gotta bring home the bacon, but sloshy holidays!" | Entry #20432 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified Finalist
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It was an old house, one and a half storey, almost collapsing on itself. The walls were nicked, and the bricks were shamelessly showing themselves through the visibly decaying plaster. No idea how the hell did this hovel still stood. I actually thought that any trotting tram passing nearby would take it down on a first holler. But the tram stopped passing by there ‘bout 15 years ago. The Conked Bratch was laying on the ground floor - now, after all this time, I can grant her some indulgence, there was no crash nor got anyone hurt, the only one killing in there was the alcohol – she was, in fact, living on a low first storey one metre sunken into the ground - yeah, the ironical fate, it got the bibbers early used to the mud – that Bratch was a hell of a pub... It was around Christmas time, the weather was betwixt and between, so one could still drink a case of beer without getting nose-cicles. I have entered that temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. Inside the pub, nearly muted, they were playing some French chansonettes, and somehow everyone seemed to agree with Edith, who had no regrets. There were about 10 people inside, twenty turbid eyes – that’s what I thought in the beginning, just to find out later that I was wrong by about 3 - and everyone minded his own business with a holy carefulness. Nobody talked, but it was a beauty to see how, as at a sign, they were all lifting their glasses, having two tiny sips, then placing the glasses back on the table, so one could hear a single glug and a single pock ... and still there was some sort of communication, I could feel it, it was in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was bloody dry, the amoeba in my stomach needed to be sprinkled, increasingly as it grew. With no further waiting, I have insinuated myself next to the bar just like a sweet word, with enough guts and some readies for two beers, for me and my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with a witty pan and a white spot flaw in the right eye, wearing grey beard and moustaches, waved me silent. "My dear messmates! It's almost Christmas 'olidays, and yer worked with joy this year, as each of yer could, right, so ‘ere, like in any respectable ‘ouse, we give yer a prize. This little dough pile is for yer, go to unc’ Gelu at the bar to make yer portions. I can’t stay, cus right, I 'ave to produce, but ‘appy holidrinks!" | Entry #18955 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified Finalist
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It was an old house, floor and attic, ready to collapse any time. Under its peeled walls the bricks peeped out obscenely, while the mortar was conspicuously melting. I didn’t know how the fuck this shack could still stand; I thought it could collapse at the first holler of any pounding tram. But it had been 15 years since the tram ceased to pass by there. The weakling bitch was at the ground floor – now, after all this time, I feel a certain leniency towards her, she did not fall, did not hurt anyone, it was just alcohol that killed in that place - actually she lived on, at the same ground floor, one meter deep under the ground- eh, fate is ironic, by timely getting drunkards used with mud. This bitch was a hell of a tavern. It was around Christmas, the weather was so and so, and one could still drink a case of beer without making nostrils icicles. We entered the temple of doom and my fate was nailed. They were listening to the soft music of French chansonettes, while everyone seemed to agree with Edith not regretting anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty blurred eyes – that’s what I thought for the first time, but I later found out that I had been wrong by about 3 - and every one seemed to mind one's own business with a holy carefulness. Nobody was talking, but it as marvelous to see how as at a signal they all lifted their glasses and drank two sips, then placed them on the table, once could hear a single sip and a clatter ... and yet there was communication, I could feel it, it was in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as hell, the amoeba of my stomach needed to be heavily sprayed and sprinkled as it grew. Without waiting, I made my way and hinted by the bar, with a sweet word, enough guts and some bucks to get two beers for me and my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with grey beard and mustaches on his witty mug and a white spot flaw in his right eye, waved me to shut up. ”Dear fellow guests! It is the holidays of Christmas, each of you gladly busted your asses this yea’, as you could, so we, as any company of respeck are now giving you the bonuses. Here is this small pile of pretty polly for you. So, come and pass by the bar at master Gelu for your piece of dough. I for one, can’t stay, I am the big cheese round here, so happy holidays.” | Entry #18646 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house with two stories and a French roof, ready to collapse under its own weight. The walls were chipped, the bricks obscenely naked, the plastering melted under one’s very eyes. How the hell was this shack still standing I haven’t got the faintest; I figure, if a thumping streetcar rode by it would flatten it with the first tootle. But the streetcar stopped running by 15 years ago. The Woozy Bitch occupied the ground floor – now, after all this time I am somewhat softer on her, she didn’t collapse, she didn’t hurt anyone – the only deadly thing over there was the alcohol – in fact she inhabited a ground floor sunk one yard into the ground – well, the fate’s irony, from the get-go she got the winos used to the dirt – this Bitch was a devil’s own watering hole.. It was just before Christmas; the weather was so-so. One still could dispose of a pack of beer with no icicles hanging from one’s snout. I stepped into this temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. Inside one could hear French popular songs, somewhat muted; at any rate it looked like everybody was of one mind with Edith Piaf who had no regrets. Inside there were about 10 people – 20 eyes misted-over – that’s what I first figured, later I learned I was wrong by about 3 – and everyone minded his business with a religious attention to detail. No one was talking, but it was beautiful to behold: as if on clue, they would all lift their glasses, take two small sips, then plunk the glasses on the table; one could hear a single gulp and a single thud… still, there was some kind of communication, I could feel it floating through the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my gullet was bone-dry, the amoeba in my gut demanded to be watered more and more abundantly as it was expanding. Without further ado, sleek like sweet-talk, I eeled my way to the bar, with plenty of nerve and a few bucks to last me two beers for myself and my pal. The barman, a short fat guy with graying beard and moustache, a sly mug and a blemish - a white spot - on his right eye, gestured for me to keep quiet. “Honored mates, it’s almost Chriss’mas, y’all been workin’ hard dis year, everone as dey could, an’ dis place, like evry right business, we gives a bonus. Here’s dis pile o’ tokens for y’all, walk to de bar, Uncle Gee here’ will gives you shots. Meeh i cant, gotta work, but y’all - Happy Holibooze!” | Entry #18643 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with one story and a French attic, nearly falling apart. The walls were dented; bricks in obscene exposure, plaster melting like snow in summer. I have no idea how this joint was still holding, in my mind the first tramcar trotting nearby would have torn it apart at first horn blow. But tramcars did not pass by for 15 years, there. The Fainted Bitch lived at the ground floor – now, after all this time, I was feeling kind of merciful about it, it did not fall, did not hurt anyone, only alcohol was killing there – in fact, it lived at a ground floor sunk one meter underground – yeap, fate’s mockery, it was making drunk people get used to dirt, in advance – this Bitch was one hell of a joint … It was nearing Christmas, weather was between and betwixt, a man could still drink a case of beers without getting icicles in the nostrils. I entered the temple of doom, and my fate was nailed to the wall. There were French ditties floating through the air, almost muted, in any case it looked like everyone inside felt in line with Edith, who wasn’t regretting a thing. There were some 10 people inside, twenty pairs of murky eyes – or so I thought at the time, later I found I was wrong by almost 3 – and each minded his own business with almost sacred trouble. No one talked, yet it was a splendor to watch them, as if cued they all raised their glasses and sipped two small gulps, then laid them back on the table, there was one single ‘gulp’, one single ‘clap’ … and yet they were communicating, I could feel it, floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment; yet my throat was getting nastily dry, the amoeba in my belly demanded sprinkling, ever more so as it grew. Without further linger, I slithered like a smooth-talk towards the bar, with enough nerve and some doe to grab two beers, for both my buddy and me. The bartender, a short, chubby fellow, with grizzled beard and mustache, waggish face and a bad right eye - a white spot - shushed me down. „Fellow diners of mine! It’s almost Christmas times, ya’d worked cheerily this year, each as ya’ could, and us, like any prime company, are giving bonuses. Here’ this mound of greenbacks, it is for you, go by old Gelu there, at the bar, and he’d cut you a share. I can’t stay ‘cause I gotta knock up some money, but Happy Holydrinks!” | Entry #19417 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with 2 floors and an attic, almost falling down on it. The walls were nicked, the bricks obscene, and the coating was quickly vanishing. I had no bloody clue how this hovel was still standing, I imagined that if a tram were to pass tramping around, it would crumble at the first blow of the horn. But the tram stopped passing by 15 years ago. The Senseless Bitch occupied the ground floor - now, after all this time, I have a certain leniency towards her, she didn't fall, didn't hurt anyone, alcohol was the only killer there - she was in fact situated on a floor one meter down into the ground - oh, the irony of alcoholics getting used to the dirt early - this Bitch was one hell of a pub... It was around Christmas, the weather was fair to middling, you could still drink a case of beer without icicles forming on your beak. I entered the temple of perdition and my fate was settled. Some French chansonettes were playing inside, almost muffled, and it anyway seemed that everyone agreed with never regretful Edith. There were around 10 people inside, twenty clouded eyes - that's what I thought at first, later I found out that I was wrong by about 3 - and everyone minded their own business with holy carefulness. Nobody spoke, but they were a splendour to behold, all holding their glasses up at an imaginary signal, taking two small sips, and then setting them on the table; you could hear only one gulp and one clap... and yet there was communication, you could feel it floating in the air. I knew that this was a solemn moment, but my throat was bloody sore, my stomach amoeba demanded to be sprinkled, irrigated more and more as it grew. Without further ado, I slithered like sweet talk to the bar, with enough nerve and dough for two beers, one for me and one for my mate. The barkeep, a stocky fellow, sporting a beard and grizzled moustaches, ugly as a busted arse and with a white spot on his right eye, beckoned me to shut up. "Esteemed messmates! Christmas holidays are nearly 'ere, you've worked hard this 'ere year, each such as he could, and we, as every respected company, offer you a bonus. Look, this 'ere pile o' brass is for you, pass uncle Gelu by the bar and he will give you yours. I can't stay 'cause I need to bring home the bacon, but I wish you Happy Holidays to all!" | Entry #18473 — Discuss 0 — Variant: British
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This was an old 2 story house with an attic, on the verge of falling right onto itself. The walls had holes in them, the bricks uncovered themselves obscenely, the plaster was practically melting right in front of your eyes. To hell if I know how this ramshackle building was still holding up. I imagined that if a tram would go by clunking, it would tear it down with just a whistle. But the tram hadn't been running through there for fifteen years. The Senseless Bitch occupied the ground floor of the building - now, after so long, I am somewhat lenient toward it, it didn't fall, it didn't hurt anyone, back there the alcohol is the only killer - in fact it occupied a ground floor that was half a meter lower than ground level - oh, the irony of fate, it got the drunks used to the muck from early on - the Bitch was one hell of a pub... It was around Christmas, the weather was so-and-so, enough so you could still drink a crate of beer without getting icicles all around your snout. I entered the temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. Inside they were playing French songs softly in the background, but anyway, it seemed like everyone agreed with Edith who doesn't regret a thing. There were about 10 people inside, 20 cloudy eyes - that's what I thought at first, but later I found out I was off by almost 3 - and everyone was minding their own business with holy meticulousness. No one was talking, but it was just brilliant seeing them lift their glasses all at once, as if on a cue and sip two small sips, after which they set them on the table, so you could hear a single glug and a single clap... and yet there was a certain communication, I could sense it, it was floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was terribly dry, the amoeba in my stomach demanded that it would be watered, watered more and more as it grew. Without further delay I insinuated myself near the bar as smoothly as fine words, with enough nerve and some dough to buy two beers, for me and my mate. The bartender, a short stubby guy, with a grey mustache and beard, an ugly mug and a defect at his right eye, a white mark, gestured at me to shut up. "My fellow guests! The Christmas Holidays are near, all y'all worked fondly this year, each as y'all could, and like any self-respecting business, we're giving out bonuses. This here pile of greens is for you, come by the bar so old' Gelu can give you your cut. I can't stay cuz I gotta work, but Sippy Holidays to you!" | Entry #20174 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old, one-story house with a garret, ready to crumble on itself. Its walls were toothless, the bricks exposed themselves obscenely, the plaster was melting away. I don’t know how the hell that damn shack managed to keep standing, I imagined that if a tram went pounding by, it would come crashing down at the first signal. But no tram had passed by for 15 years. The Fainted Bitch lived in the ground floor of the building – now, after all this time, I feel rather lenient towards it, it didn’t fall, it didn’t hurt anyone, there it’s only alcohol that kills – in fact it lived in a recessed ground floor, one meter below the earth – what an ironic fate, it accustomed drunkards early on with the dust– this Bitch was one hell of a tavern… It was around Christmas, outside it was so and so, you could still drink a whole crate of beer without icicles growing from your nostrils. I entered the temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. Inside you could barely hear some French chansonettes playing, but it didn’t matter, because everyone seemed to agree with Edith, who didn’t regret a thing. There were about 10 people inside, twenty murky eyes– or so I thought at first, but later I found out I was wrong by almost 3 – and each minded his own business with saintly diligence. No one was talking, but it was a splendor seeing them lift their glasses, as if a signal had been given, and sip two small drops, after which they laid them back upon the table, and you could only hear one gulp and one clack… and still there was communication, I could feel it, it was floating in the air. I knew this was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as hell, the amoeba in my stomach kept asking to be sprinkled, sprinkled more and more as it grew. Without waiting any further, I insinuated myself like a whisper at the bar, with enough audacity and some dough, to take two beers, one for me and one for my companion. The bartender, a short fat guy, with grizzled beard and moustache, a fucking wag with a white stain in his right eye, gestured at me to shut up. “Mah fellow guests! It’s almost Christmas, you been working hard this year, to the best that you could, and we, like any company that respects itself, will give you a bonus. See that lil’ pile of cockades is for you, Mr. Gelu here at the bar will make you a portion. I can’t stay cuz I got stuff to do, but merry drinksmas y’all!” | Entry #18494 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was a multi-storey mansard-roofed old house on the verge of collapsing. The walls were blunt, the bricks emerged obscene, the plasterwork was wasting away. Dunno how the heck this shack held out, I imagined that should some tram pass by stamping it’d shatter at its first signal. But the tram hadn’t passed by for 15 years. The Faint Bitch Hound dwelt on the ground floor of the building – now, after all this time, I entertain some sort of leniency toward her; she didn’t fall, she hurt no one, it is but the alcohol that kills there – as a matter of fact she dwelt on a floor sunk by one meter beneath ground – meh, the irony of fate, she would get the drunkards acquaint themselves to mud early. This Bitch Hound was a hell of a boozer. It was around Christmas, the weather was betwixt and between, you could still drink a crate of beer without icicles forming ‘round your nostril. I broke into the temple of ruination and my fate was sealed. Inside one could listen to dimly sung French chansonnettes, anyway it seemed that everyone went along with Edith who regrets nothing. There were about 10 people inside, twenty turbid eyes – so I thought at first, later on I found out I was mistaken by almost 3 – and each of them was minding their own business with saintly scrupulosity. No one spoke, but it was a splendor to behold them. As if at a signal, they would all raise their glasses and sip two little gulps, then they would place them on the table. One could hear one single gurgle and one single clap…and yet there was some sort of communication, I felt it, it was floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, albeit my throat had gone damn dry, the amoeba in my stomach called for watering, more and more watering as it grew. Without further ado, I brought myself forward like sweet talk to the bar with enough guts and some bucks, to get two beers for myself and my pal. The bartender, a grizzled bearded and mustached short and fat guy, with a cunning mug and a white stain on his faulty right eye, beckoned me to be quiet. “Honorable commensals of mine! ‘Tis nearly Christmas, you’ve worked dearly this year, each as he could, and we, like any respectable company, give away the gratuity. Have a look at this pile of greenbacks. Pass by the bar so uncle Gelu make you a portion. I can’t stay cuz I gotta make some money, but merry Boozemas to y’all.” | Entry #21758 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with an extra floor and an attic ready to fall in at any moment. The walls were crumbling, the bricks looked obscene, the plaster was melting right in front of your eyes. I don't know how the hell that shack was still standing, I was sure that any tram passing by would demolish it just by honking. But the tram doesn't pass by there for almost 15 years now. The Swooning Bitch was on the building's ground floor - now, after all this time, I developed a certain sort of leniency towards it, it didn't fall in, didn't injure anybody, there, only the alcohol was doing the killing - in fact it was on a ground floor that was caved in for about a meter underground - ah, the ironic fate, making sure that the drunks are used to the mud - that Bitch was a hell of a tavern... It was around Christmas, the weather was average, which meant that you could drink a case of beer without growing icicles around the nasal area. I entered the temple of doom and my fate was sealed. Inside they were listening to French chansonettes, almost as a background, it seemed that everyone was agreeing with Edith who regretted nothing. There were around 10 people inside, twenty muddled eyes - that's what I thought at first, later I realized that I was off by at least 3 - and everyone was minding their own business with sacred meticulousness. Nobody was talking, but it was wonderful to see them all pick up their drink in unison, as if on command, taking two small sips, and putting it back on the table, you could hear one single gulp and on single clack... and still, there existed a certain kind of communication, I was feeling it, it was in the air. I knew that it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry, the amoeba in my stomach was begging to be sprinkled, sprinkled even more abundantly, the more it grew. Without waiting any further, I slicked my way to the bar, with sufficient nerve and a few bucks, to get two beers, one for me and one for my buddy. The barman, a short and fat individual, with a grey beard and mustache, and a defect on his right eye, a white spot, motioned for me to shut up. "My dear guests! The Christmas holidays are almost upon's, y'all worked very hard this year, each doing the best you could, and 'ere, as in any other respectable firm, we give bonus. Look at this 'ere little pile of cockades, it's for you, come to the bar to uncle Gelu, and he'll give you your share. I can't stay 'cos I have to produce, but I wish you happy holidays!" | Entry #18725 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with a story and attic ready to implode. The walls were chipped off, the bricks were obscenely displayed, the plaster was quickly melting. I don't know how the hell this ramshackle joint was still holding together, I figured if a tram would trot by, it would make it collapse as soon as you could hear it. But the tram hadn't passed by there for 15 years. The Fainted Bitch resided on the ground floor of the building—now, after such a long time I feel a certain lenience towards it, it hasn't fallen, it hasn't hurt anyone, alcohol is the only killer there—actually, she was living on a ground floor one meter under ground—oh, the irony, she was helping the drunks get used to the dirt ahead of time—this Bitch was one damned bar... It was around Christmas, outside was so and so, you could still drink a crate of beer without getting icicles around your snout. I went inside the temple of doom and my fate was cast. Inside they were listening to French chansonnettes, nearly muted, it seemed anyway that everybody agreed with Edith who had no regrets. There were about ten people inside, twenty blurry eyes—or so I thought the first time, later I found out I was off by three—and each was minding their business with a sacred meticulosity. No one was talking, but it was so splendid to watch them, as if given a sign, they would all raise their glasses and take two sips, after which they would put them on the table, there would be a single gulp and a single clap... and yet there was communication, I could feel it floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my gozzle was bloody dry, the amoeba in my stomach was demanding to be sprinkled, even harder sprinkled as it was growing. Without waiting, I slid like sweet talk towards the bar, with plenty of nerve and some dough to buy two beers for my buddy and me. The bartender, a short and chubby fella, with a beard and grizzled mustache, sly-mouthed and with a flaw on his right eye, a white stain, pointed out to keep quiet. "Esteemed brothers in tables! It's almost Christmas, y'worked gladly this year, each to 'er own ability, and just like any otha' respectful business, we also give the bonus. Here, this little heap of cake is for you, go by the bar by uncle Gelu so he can cut you your slice. I can't stay 'cause I have work, but happy holiboozedays!" | Entry #18436 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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There was an old one-storey house with attic ready to fall on it. The walls were crooked, the bricks looked smutty, the plastering was wasting. I do not know how on earth this hovel was still resisting, I thought that if a tramping tram was passing by it would demolish it at first sound. But the tram hadn't passed by there for fifteen years. Căţaua Leşinată functioned at the ground floor - now after all this time, I feel sorry for it, it did not fall down, it did not hurt anybody, only alcohol kills there - in fact it functioned in a one meter deep ground floor - eh, what irony, it accustomed the drunkards with the sludge - this Căţea was one heck of a beer house... It was around Christmas, outside the weather was so and so, therefore one could still drink a crate of beer without getting a frozen nose. I entered the temple of doom and my fate was sealed. Inside French chansonnettes were heard almost in a damper, anyway everybody seemed to agree with Edith who did not regret a thing. There were approximately ten people inside, twenty pairs of injected eyes - this was my first thought, but later I have found out that I was wrong with almost three - and everyone minded their own holy business. Nobody talked, but it was delightful to see that at a signal they all lifted their glasses and sipped two small rouses, after which they put them on the table, a spout and a clap were heard... but still there was communication, I felt it floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as dust, my stomach amoeba was demanding to be watered as it was growing. Without waiting I went to the bar like a sweet word, with enough nerves and some chink to buy two beers, one for me and one for my friend. The bartender, a short fat guy, with grey beard and mustaches, small balls and a problem at his right eye, a white spot, signaled me to shut up. 'My dear messmates! The Christmas holidays are near, you've worked dearly this year, each one as he could, and we, like any honorable company, we give your bonuses. This wad of banknotes is for you, go to the bar at mister Gelu to make your shares. I can't stay because I have to produce, but happy drinking holidays!' | Entry #18485 — Discuss 0 — Variant: US
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It was an old, one-store, lofted house, ready to collapse on top of her. The walls were nicked, the bricks revealed themselves obscenely, the plastering was melting away in front of your eyes. I couldn’t figure out how that hovel could hold, I would imagine that if some tram had clattered it would have immediately destroyed it. But the tram stopped passing by fifteen years before. The Cold Barker lived at the ground floor of the building – right, after such a long time, I have somewhat of an indulgence to her, she didn’t fall, she didn’t hurt anyone, only alcohol kills over there – she actually lived on a ground floor buried one meter under the ground – well, ironic fate would beforehand accustom drunks with dirt – this Barker was a hell of a pub… It was around Christmas, the weather was so and so, you could still drink a case of beer without having icicles at the nostrils. I went into the temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. Inside, French chansonettes were playing, almost muted, and in any case everyone agreed with Edith who didn’t regret anything. Some ten people were inside, twenty cloudy eyes – or so I thought at first, later on I found out I was wrong by almost three – and each of them would mind their own business very carefully. No one spoke, but it was a sight watching them, how at a signal they’d hold up their glasses and sip two thimblefuls, then they’d place them on the table, one single gulp a one single clap… and yet there was communication, I could feel it, it was in the air. I knew it was a solemn occasion, but my throat was very dry, the amoeba in my stomach was demanding to be washed, washed heavier as it grew. Without waiting any longer, I insinuated myself like a sweet talk near the bar, with enough nerve and little money, to buy a couple of beers, to me and my buddy. The bartender, a short, fat fellow, with a grizzled beard and moustache, smart-mouthed and with a deficiency in his right eye, a white blur, beckoned me to shut up. “Esteemed messmates! Christmas is near, you’ve worked hard this year, each of you in their own capacity, and here, as in any other well-respected firm, we offer bonuses. This here small wad is for you, pass by the bar to poppy Gelu to prepare you a serving. I can’t stay ‘cause I have to produce, but happy holidays!” | Entry #18449 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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The house was ragged, bearing a floor and an attic ready to crumble upon it. Walls were looking shabby, with decrepit bricks and poor plastering. I was having no idea about how this shack was still standing; any moment, a roaring tram would go by and it would fall to pieces. There had been, however, no trams going by for the past fifteen years. The Sloppy Bitch was living at the ground floor - after all this time, I had a certain indulgence towards it; it didn't crumble, it didn't hurt anyone, the only life-claimer on that side was alcohol - she was actually living 5 feet underground - so that drunkards would get used to the mud sooner than expected, the irony - this Bitch was a hell of a shanty. It was around Christmas, the weather wasn't too bad, you could still have a pint without freezing your nostrils off. As soon as I entered the temple of undoing, my fate was sealed. Sounds of French chansonettes sparkling in the background were defining the mood, as everyone seemed to agree with Edith about not regretting anything. There were about ten people inside, twenty troubled eyes - or at least that was my initial thought only to find out later that I was almost three people off - and everyone was inadvertently minding their own business. No one was making a sound, but it was marvellous watching them as they were raising their glasses and having a sip upon the signal, there was just one mouthful and one clap ... and still, there was communication, I felt it, it was invisible, floating in the air. I knew it was a silent moment, but my throat had gone exceedingly dry, the plant in my stomach asking to be sprinked, more and more as it was growing. Without any hesitation, I've snooked up to the bar table like a snake, with enough dough and gut to have two beers, for me and my comrade. The bartender, a short and fat fella with grizzled beard and mustache, hideous and stained for one eye, shushed me. "My fellow colleagues! Christmas is upon us, you've worked dearly this year, each at your own strength and, as so, you shall receive a bonus for that. This little pile of smackaroos is for ya, get down to the bar so mister Gelu can hand you your share. I can't be staying as time is money, but I still wish you a Merry Little Christmas!" | Entry #18419 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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There was an old house, with a floor and garret, ready to fall on it. The walls were hacked, the bricks were obscenely showing themselves, the back coat was visibly melting. I don't know how the hell this hovel was hanging on, I was thinking that if a tram goes clatter, at the first signal it will fall into pieces. But the tram was not passing by anymore for 15 years. The Queer Bitch was living at the ground floor of the building - now, after all this time I have some kind of indulgence towards it, it didn't fall, it didn't hurt anybody, there only alcohol kills - in fact, it was living in a ground floor deepened one meeter under the ground - eh, the ironic faith was early getting the drunks into the sludge - this Bitch was a bally boozer... It was near upon Christmas, outside it was so-and-so, a rack of beer it could still be drunk without making icicles at your schnozz. I went into the temple of the bad and my faith was sealed. Inside there were french chansonnettes listened, almost hummed, anyhow it seemed that everyone is agreeing Edith who regrets nothing. There were about 10 persons inside, twenty cloudy eyes - so I thought the first time, later I found out that I was mistaking almost 3 - and everybody was minding its own business with a saint carefulness. No one was talking, but it was a splendour to see them, like at a signal they all lifted their glasses up and sipped two small draughts, afterwards sat them on the table, there was only one slurp and one clap heard...and yet there was a communication, I was feeling it, it was in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat has dried as hell, my stomach amoeba was asking to be doused, doused more and more as it was growing. Without waiting, I got in like a soft whisper near the bar, with enough nerve and some dough to get two beers for me and my companion. The bartender, a short and fat guy, with grey beard and moustache, sly at the mug and with a flaw at the right eye, a white spot, signed me to shut up. "Honourable table companion! It's almost Christmas holiday, you've worked hard this year, everyone as you could, and we, like any worthy firm, give bonus. Look this pile of silver is for you, pass by the bar at uncle Gelu to dole. I can't stay 'cause I have to produce, but happy holiday!" | Entry #18815 — Discuss 0 — Variant: British
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There was an old house, with a floor and an attic , which was on the brink of falling apart. Its walls were worn out, the bricks were looking obscene, its plaster was melting as you looked at them. I don`t know how the hell was this poor house resisting, I was imagining that if a tram were to pass by it would tramp out the house at the sound of the first horn blow. But the tram was not passing by that place by more than 15 years. That Fainting Bitch was living at the ground floor now, after quite a while I have some indulgence for her, she did not fall, she did not hurt anyone, in there only the alcohol kills- actually she was living at a level one meter lower than the ground floor- eh, ironic fate, it helped the drunk people get used to the dirt- This bitch was a hell of a cottage... It was around Christmas, the weather was fine, you could still drink half a dozen of beers without getting cold. I went in the temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. In there you could hear french songs, in a quiet manner, anyway it looked as if everyone was agreeing with Edith who did not regret anything. There were around 10 persons inside, twenty troubled eyes- as I believed first time, later i found out that i was wrong with nearly 3 of them- and everyone was minding his own business with a holy fervor. Nobody was speaking, but it was a delight to look at them, at a signal everyone was raising their glasses and were taking two little sips, after they would place them on the tables, you could hear a single pouring sound and a single clap...and yet there was a communication, i could feel it, it was floating in the air. I knew that it was a solemn moment, but my throat had dried out, my amoeba which was in my stomach was asking to be wet, wet the more it was growing. Without waiting, I got at the bar like a golden tongue, with enough boldness and some money to get two more beers, one for me and one for my companion. The innkeeper, a short and fat man, with both the beard and the hair whitened, a hideous face and with a flaw at the right eye, a white stain, made me shut up. "My honored guests!It is almost Christmas, you have gladly worked this year, everyone as you could, and here at us like at any other respected firm we offer the first one. Look, this pile of insignias are for you, come to the bar to be served by mister Gelu. I can`t stay because i have to produce, but i wish you happy holidays!" | Entry #18424 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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An old house it was, with one floor and attic ready to crumble over. Walls were broken and bricks rose naked and the coating was melting under your eyes. Dunno how the hell this rookery kept standing, one trolley should trot near and there it would fall down at its first horn, I thought. But there were 15 years since any tram ceased passing by. The "Hungry Bitch" dwelt downstairs - nowadays, after all this time I keep it some kind of mercy, it didn't crumble, killed no one, only booze kills inside- as a matter of fact its floor was already drowned one meter underground - eww, as a mark of fate, the boozers got used early with the mud down there. It was about Christmas, outside the cold was so and so, one could still drink up a crate of beer without growing icicles under the precious nose. I entered this temple of perdition and my fate got nailed. Inside they were playin' french chansonettes, almost low, anyway it seemed that everyone agreed with Edith who had no regrets. There were around 10 souls inside, 20 troubled eyes - so I thought at first, latter I found out I missed 3 more, and each of them was performing his task with sacred care. No one spoke and yet what a wonder it was to glimpse them raising their cups, all at once as if signaled, sipping twice and cups were laid down again, one swig, one bang against the table .... though, there was a communion between them, I could sense it wandering in the air. I knew, it was a sacred time, but my throat was too damn fried and the amoeba in my belly was crying for getting more and more wet as it raised up. In an instant, with a sweet word, I brought myself near the bar, having enough guts and pence to grab two beers for me and my fellow. The tapster, a short fat guy, wearing gray beard and whiskers, witty faced and with a blank eye, silenced me in the spot. " My honored fellows at this table! The feasts of Christmas is almost here, you've all worked hardly, each upon his power, and we, as all respected houses, we give the first shot. There you have, this pile of bills goes for you, come by the counter to have old pa Gelu cut you a share. I can't be more late, cause I've money to make, but merry drinks everyone! | Entry #18388 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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The house was old, several stories high with an attic atop, barely keeping from collapsing over it. The walls were gap-toothed, the bricks maintained an indecent allure, the plastering was melting before your eyes. I'll be damned if I know how this dump was still holding out, I figured that a tram tramping by would put it down at its very first hissin’. But the tram stopped passin’ for more than 15 years. The Lazy Bitch was living at the ground-floor of the building – now, with so much time gone by, I feel a sort of indulgence for it, it didn't fall down, it didn't hurt anybody, booze alone is the murderer there - actually, it was living at a ground-floor dug almost 3 ft under – well, the irony of it was that it made drunks used to the clod before their time. This Bitch was a hell of a joint... The Christmas was near, the weather outside was so-so, you could still drink a whole case of beers and not grow icicles under your snout. As soon as I set foot in this temple of perdition, my fate was sealed. French chansons were being played inside almost quietly in the background and, anyways, everybody seemed to agree with Edith qui ne regrettait rien. There were about 10 people in there, twenty bleary eyes – or so I thought first time I caught sight of them, only to find out later that I had been wrong by nearly 3 – and everyone was minding their own business with sacrosanct carefulness. Nobody was breathing a word and, still, it was just splendid to watch them all, as if at a sign, raise their glasses and have two sips, then put them back on the table. No more than one gulp and one thump were heard...and, yet, there was a communication of sorts, I could feel it, it was hanging in the air. I sensed the solemnity of the moment, but I could feel a damn burn down my goozle as the amoeba in my stomach was in desperate need for a swim, an ever growing need as it got bigger and bigger. With no waste of time, I cozied up by the bar, armed with sufficient guts and enough clams to buy me and my pal a couple of pints. The bartender, a chunky fellow, with grizzle beard and moustache, a joker face with a white stain marring the right eye, beckoned me into silence. "My dear chaps! The Christmas holidays is upon us, you worked your buns off this year, each with your might and, as a respectable company that we are, we give bonuses. Look, this wad of dough is for you, you go to the bar and ask ol' Gelu to set your cut. Me ain't stayin' 'cause I've got to clean up, but merry drinksmas to you all!" | Entry #20366 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with one storey and a garret, ready to crumble under its own weight. The walls were cracked, the bricks were obscenely showing off, the plaster was literally melting off. I don't know how the hell this shack was still standing; I imagined that it would be shattered by the mere whistle of a tram passing by. But the tram had not made an appearance in the last 15 years. The Wasted Bitch was living downstairs - now, after all this time, I have become quite lenient towards her; she did not hurt or fall on anyone, only booze can kill you in there - in fact, she was living in a pit one meter underground - oh, the irony... she was getting the drunks accustomed to the ground with time to spare - This Bitch was one hell of a pub... Christmas was around the corner and winter was still undecided, so you could drink a crate of beer without your nose freezing and falling off. I stepped inside the temple of doom and my faith was sealed. They were playing French chansons, which you could barely hear; otherwise, it seemed that everyone agreed with No-Regrets Edith. Around ten people were inside, twenty cloudy eyes - that was my first guess, later I discovered I was off by almost 3 - each going about their business with sacred diligence. No one was talking but it was brilliant just to watch how they all would raise their glasses on signal and have two small sips, after which they would set the glasses on the table, you could hear a uniform gulp and a single clap... and yet, there was communication between them, I could feel it, it was hovering in the air. I knew this was a ceremonial moment, but my throat was damn dry, the amoeba in my stomach demanded to be sprinkled, watered down longer as it was growing. Without hesitation, I crept in near the bar like an accolade, mustering enough nerve and some bucks to get two beers, one for me and one for my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with a grizzled beard and moustache, with a sly expression and a faulty right eye, a white spot, shut me up with a signal. "My honourable guests! The Christmas holidays is round the corner, you been working fondly this year, each in his own way, and in here, as in any respectable company, the first round is on us. Lookey here, this pile of cockades is for you, see don Gelu at the bar, he'll give you a piece. I can't stay, I have to provide, but Happy Groggydays!" | Entry #20338 — Discuss 0 — Variant: UK
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It was an old house, with one story and an attic ready to fall over. The walls were encroached upon, the bricks appeared as being obscene, the wallpaint was melting before his eyes. 'Don't fucking know how this jerrybuilt house was even whitstanding, I was imagining that if another streetcar was clumping its way by, it would have fallen at its first sound. But the streetcar hadn't been passing by by there since 15 years ago. The Fainted Bitch was living at the ground floor of the building- now, after so many years have passed by I have somewhat of an acceptance for it, it didn't fall, it didn't hurt anybody, there only the alcohool kills- in fact it was living in the one meter deep ground floor- oh, the ironic fate, this way it grew the drunks accustomed to the mud- this Bitch was a hell of a pub... It was near Christmas, it was so and so outside, you could've drank another case of beer without getting icecles hanging from your nostrils. I entered the temple of perdition and my fate got set in stone. Inside it was playing French ''chansons''(songs) in the background, however everyone seemed to agree with Edith who had no regrets. There were almost 10 people inside, 20 bleared eyes- as I thought the first time, later I found out that I was wrong by 3- and everyone was minding its own business with holy scrupulosity. No one was talking, but there was a pleasure in seeing them, as if by a signal they all raised up their glasses and they took two small sips, after they put them back on the table, you could hear a single gurgle and a single clap...and even so a conversation still existed, I could feel it, it was floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat got dry as hell, my amoeba from my stomach was asking to be watered, watered even more as it was growing. Without even waiting, I hinted myself as a sweet word near the bar, with enough gut and some money to order two beers for me and my fellow. The Bartender, a short and fat guy, with a beard and some grizzled moustaches, with a waggish blow face and with a faulty right eye, a white stain, motioned me to shut up. "Esteemed table companions! The Christmas holidays it's near, you've worked dearly this year, each at his own pace and us the same as any respectable company offer a bonus. Here this lil' pile of money it's for you, go by the bar to see uncle Gelu to prepare for you a serving. I can't stay because I have to deliver, but happy drunkdays!'' | Entry #18722 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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That was an old house, with 2 stories and an attic, ready to collapse. The walls were crumbly, the bricks were indecently showing through the rapidly vanishing plaster. I´ve no idea how the hack that shack was holding on, I figured any tram trotting bye would put it to the ground at the first horn. But the tram would not pass bye, not did it for the past 15 years. The Fainted Bitch lived on the ground floor – now, after all this time I feel a certain indulgence towards her, she did not fall, did not injure anybody, only alcohol was killing in there – in fact she was living on a ground floor which was one metre below the ground – well, the irony of fate trying to get the drunkards accustomed to the mud – this Bitch was a really darnt joint… It was around Christmas, the weather was so-so, you could still have a whole case of beer without getting your nose frozen off. I entered the temple of perdition and my destiny was thereafter cast in stone. Inside you could hear French chansonnettes, almost muted, and everybody seemed to agree with Edith who does not regret anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty blurry eyes – so I thought in the beginning, then I realized I was wrong by about 3 – and everybody was minding their own business with religious meticulousness. Nobody would talk, but they were a sight to behold: as on a cue, they all lifted their glasses at a time and took two small sips, then put them back on the table, one could hear a single nip and a single clap… and yet there was a communication, I could feel it, it was floating into the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as hell, the amoeba in my stomach required to be sprinkled, sprayed more and more as it grew. Not waiting any further, I insinuated myself like a sweet word next to the bar, with enough guts and some bucks to get two beers, for me and my mate. The bartender, a short, fat guy with grey beard and moustache, waggish face with a defect in his right eye, a white spot, waved me silent. “Dear fellow guests of mine! It's almost Christmas holidays, al' of you have been working heartily this year, each of you as ´e could, and us as any respectable company we give bonus. See this small heap of doe, it´s all for ye´, go to the bar and uncle Gelu will give you your share. I can´t stay ´cause I have to boss, but happy holydrinks everyone!” | Entry #18481 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old-fashioned house with storey and loft, on the point of falling over. Part of its walls were broken, bricks were looking bad, the plaster was melting very quickly. I just don't understand how the hell its roof could still be so resistant, I was thinking if only a tram was passing nearby, it will be demolished at first alarm. But fortunately, tram stopped coming over here for 15 years now. "Cataua Lesinata" was living at the ground floor of the building- nowadays, after so much time, I display a certain kindness towards her, didn't fall over nor did she hurt anyone, alcohol is the only killer there- and she was living downstairs, wrapped in a deep underground- well, the merciless fate I guess, being an early muddy introduction for the drunkards- "Cataua" was a hellish boozer, It was near Christmas, weather was unsettled, you could still be allowed to drink a beer crate without freezing up your nose. I was stepping into the temple of perdition and my fate was decided. Inside, they were listening french chansons, quietly, however, it seemed that everyone agreed with Edith, who had no regrets. There were 10 people, 20 watery eyes- at least that's what I thought at the beginning, only later I discovered that I was wrong about 3 of them but all were working with a sacred diligence. No one was talking but it was pure delight in watching them, at one signal they were raising their glasses, taking only 2 small sips, after that the glasses were put back on the table and you could only hear one gulp and one clap......and yet, there was communication, I could just feel it, hovering in the air. I knew it is a serious moment, but my throat was running dry because of the damn thirst, my gastric amoeba was begging to be drenched more and even more as it was getting bigger.Without being hesitant, I projected myself like a sweet whisper, straight to the bar, with enough guts and some money to buy 2 beers for me and my mate. The bartender, a stocky fella, with beard and greyish whiskers, a cunning expression and a right eye imperfection, a right patch, beckoned me to shut up. My dear fellas! We are near Christmas holidays, you've worked with your whole heart and soul this year, each one of you, according to his ability, and, therefore,us, like any respected company, we offer a gratification. Take this pile of banknotes, it is for you, and please drop over Mr.Gelu for a booze. I can't join you because I have to work, but I wish you all, Happy Hollydrinking! | Entry #21505 — Discuss 0 — Variant: British
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It was an old house, with floor and attic, ready to fall on it. The walls were toothless, the bricks looked dirty, and the plaster was visibly melting. I have no fucking clue how this rookery was still standing up, as I imagined that if a tram would pass by pounding it would be collapsing at its first holler. But trams stopped passing by 15 years ago. The Fainting Bitch lived on the ground floor – as now, after so long, I have some indulgence towards it, it did not fall, it did not hurt anyone, inside there just alcohol kills - in fact it lived in a ground floor one meter deeper in the ground - well, an ironic fate as drunks were getting used ahead of time drunks with mud – this Bitch represented a hell of a tavern... It was around Christmas, weather was middling, so much so that one could still drink a case of beer without making icicles around his nostrils. We entered the temple of doom and my destiny was set in stone. Inside, they were listening to French chansonettes almost muted, however everyone seemed to agree with Edith who does not regret anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty troubled pairs of eyes - so I thought the first time as I later learned that I was wrong by about 3 - and every one minded his own business with a holy carefulness. Nobody talked as splendor was there however to see them as a sign lifted all glasses and drank two sips, then place them on the table, he heard a single gurgling and a single clap ... and yet there was some communication as I felt it floating up in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as hell, my stomach amoeba required to be sprinkled, sprayed louder as he grew. Without waiting, I infiltrated like sweet talking next to the bar with enough guts and some bucks to get two beers, me and my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with gray beard and mustache, witty face and a right eye defect similar to a white spot, waved at me to be silent. "Dear my fellow guests! It's almost Christmas holidays, you have all worked hard this past year and the best you could individually, and we do respect hard work now is the time for bonuses. Look at this stack of money, you should all stop by the bar and get your pile from Uncle Gelu. I can stay no longer since I have to make money, but for all of you a 'Happy Boozing Holidays!' | Entry #18415 — Discuss 0 — Variant: US
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It was an old house, with floor and attic, ready to fall in. The walls were hags, the bricks looked obscene, plaster visibly melted. I don’t know how in the hell stood up this shack, I imagined that if a streetcar would pass by pounding it will collapse at it first holler. But streetcars stopped passing by 15 years ago. The “Fainted Bitch” was on the ground floor - now, after so long I have some indulgence towards her, it did not fall, did not hurt anyone, there just alcohol kills - in fact it was underground one meter deeper in the ground - eh, ironic fate, it was timely adapting the drunken men with the dirt – this “Bitch” was a heck of an old tavern. It was around Christmas, outside was so and so, but one could still drink a case of beer without making icicles around schnozzle. Once I entered the temple of doom my fate was set in stone. The French chansonettes were listened almost muted inside, however everyone seemed to agree with Edith who did not regret anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty eyes troubled - so I first thought, I later found that I was wrong by about 3 - and every one was minding his own business with a holy carefulness. No one spoke, but it was a splendor to see them all, as though there was a sign, rising glasses and drinking two sips, then placing them on the table, you could hear a single gulp and a single clap ... and yet there was a communication, I felt it, floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as hell, my stomach amoeba required to be sprinkled, sprayed harder as it grew. Without waiting anymore, I insinuated myself as a sweet word next to the bar with enough guts and some bucks to get two beers, for me and my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with a gray beard and mustache, witty talk and a defect in his right eye - a white spot, waved me silent. “My dear fellow guests! It's almost Christmas, you’ve worked dearly this year, each one as you could, and we, as a respectful firm, will give you bonus. Look, this pile of greens is for you, so come to the bar and Uncle Gelu will give you your part. I cannot stay ‘coz I got to work, but happy holidays!" | Entry #18412 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with floor and attic, ready to fall. The walls were crooked, the bricks were coming out dirty, the plaster melted visibly. I don’t know how the hell that hovel resisted, I imagined that if a tromping tram passed by, broke it down. But the tram stopped passing by for over 15 years. The Cold Bitch was living on the ground floor of the building – now, after such a long time, I have some indulgence towards her, she didn’t fall, she didn’t hurt anyone, there only the alcohol kills – actually she was living in a ground deepened by one meter below – eh, ironic fate, accustomed early the drunks with mud. This bitch was a hell of pub. It was around Christmas, outside was so and so, you could still drink a case of beer without freezing your nose. I entered into the temple of doom and my fate was sealed. Inside you could listed to French songs, almost throwaway, anyway everyone seemed to agree with Edith who doesn’t regret anything. There were about 10 persons inside, twenty cloudy eyes – that’s what I thought the first time, later I found out what I was wrong with almost 3 – and everyone minded his own business with a saint almond. Nobody was talking, but it was a splendor to see them, at one sign, rising their glasses and drinking with small sips, and afterwards putting them on the table, you could hear only one gurgle and a single clap … and yet there was a communication, I could feel it, it hovered in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry like hell, my stomach amoeba asked to be showered, showered louder as it was growing. Without waiting, I got in with a sweet talk near the bar, with enough guts and some money to take two beers, for me and my pal. The bartender, a short fat guy, with grey beard and mustaches, with a mischievous face and with a defect on the right eye, a white spot, he waved at me to shut up. “My dear fellow guests! The Christmas holidays are close, this year you have worked with pleasure, each as you could and at us, like at every respectful firm, we give you bonus. Here, this stack of bills is for you, go to the bar to Mr. Gelu to give each a cut. I can’t because I have to perform, but happy holidays. | Entry #18452 — Discuss 0 — Variant: UK
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It was an old house with an upper floor and an attic about to fall down on it. The walls were holey, the bricks displayed themselves obscenely, the plaster was melting down before your eyes. I’ve no fuckin’ idea how this hovel held on, I imagined that if a tram passed by trampling it would fuckin’ take it down at the first signal. But the tram had not passed by there for 15 years. The Groggy Bitch dwelled at the ground floor of the building – now, after so long a time I am more or less lenient towards it, it hasn’t fallen down, hasn’t hurt anyone; in there only the alcohol kills – in fact, the ground floor was one meter lower in the ground – well, what an ironic fate, it accustomed its drunkards to the sludge aforetime – this Bitch was a bloody pub. It was around Christmas, the weather was in between, you could still drink a boxful of beer without forming icicles under your nose. I went in the temple of doom and my fate was sealed. Inside they were listening to French chansons, kept very low, and anyway everybody seemed to agree with Edith who regrets nothing. There were around 10 persons inside, twenty turbid eyes – that’s what I thought at first, but I found out later that I was wrong by almost 3 – and each of them was minding his own business with saintly carefulness. No one was speaking, but it was splendid to watch them; as if at a signal they would all raise their glasses and take two small sips, then putting them down on the table; a single gurgle and a single chug would be heard… and nevertheless a kind of communication existed, I felt it in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was damn dry, the amoeba in my stomach requested watering, abundant and more abundant watering as it grew bigger. Without waiting any longer, I slipped in like a sweet word by the bar, with enough guts and money to get myself and my mate two beers. The barman, a short fat guy with grizzled beard and moustache, with a witty word hole and a flaw in the right eye, a white spot, shushed me with a sign. Esteemed fellow attendants! Is almost Christmas holidays, ye’ worked merrily this year, devil take the hin’most, and we too, like any other respectable firm, give a bonus. See, this pile of dough is for you, come over the bar to mister Gelu to get your share. Me can’t stay, ‘cause I’ve got to produce, but happy holidays! | Entry #19555 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with storey and mansard, ready to collapse. The walls were gappy, the bricks were showing obscene, pargeting were melting under your eyes. I don' know how on earth resisted this rookery, I imagined, when a tram passing by it ruins her at the first ringing. But the tram hasn't passed there since 15 years. The Vertigo Bitch was on the ground floor - and now, after so many years, I have a kind of lenity for her, she didn't ruin, didn't hurt anyone, alcohol kills only there - in fact, she was on a low-pitched ground floor - the ironical side of her being was that she put to use the drunks with mud - this bitch was a hell of tavern... It was around Christmas, the weather was so and so, it was still possible to drink a crate of beer without icicles in mouth. I entered the sanctuary of perdition and my destiny was decided. French chansonettes were listening to, almost in sordino, anyway it seemed that everyone agreed Edith, who did not regret anything. There were about 10 persons inside, twenty turbid eyes- that I was thought at first, later I found that 3 of them were delusive - and all of them cared about their business with a holy scrupulosity. None has talking, but it was a splendor to see that everybody lifted the glasses at the same time and sipping small quantities, then placing them back on the table, there was a single noise and clap... in spite of this there was a communication, I felt it floating in the athmosphere. I knew it was an exalted moment, but I felt hell thirsty, my amoeba from the reticulum urged to be wet, more and more as growed. Without waiting, I insinuated near the bar as a sweet word, with some nerve and money, to buy two beers , one for myself and the other for my mate. The barkeeper, a small and fat man with grayish bear and mustache, ugly face and an eye-imperfection, a white stain, waved me to shut my mouth. "My dear messmates! It's almost Christmas time, you worked affectionately this year, everyone up to its ability, and we give the bonus, as every other reputable company. Here you have this pile of cockades, come to Gelu barman to give you your parts. I can't remain, because I must product, but merry drinkmas to all of you!" | Entry #20509 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with floor and attic, ready to fall on it. The walls were toothless, the bricks looked dirty, the plaster visibly was melting. I do not know how the hells withstand this dump, I figured if any tram clattering to pass, it will crumble it at the first signal. But the tram did not pass by from 15 years there. The fainted bitch lived on the ground floors of that building - now, after all this time I have some indulgence towards her, did not fall, did not hurt anyone, there just alcohol kills - actually she lived in a ground floor deepened by one meter below ground - eh, the ironic fate, it used the drunks from a while with the mud - this bitch was a hell of sideboard… It was around Christmas time, outside was so and so, still it could drink a case of beer without making icicles to the gig. We entered the temple of perdition and my destiny was set in stone. Inwards listened to French chansonettes , almost in a whisper, however everyone seemed to agree with Edith who does not regret anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty troubled eyes - I thought so the first time later I found that I was wrong with almost 3 - and everyone sees their own business with the holy carefulness. Nobody talked, but it was a splendor to see them, that at a signal raised all glasses and drank two small sips, after which places them on the table, could hear just single clap sound… and still there was a communication, I felt it, it was floating in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat were dry as hell, my stomach amoeba required to be sprinkled, louder sprinkled as he grew. Without to wait, I insinuated myself as a sweet word next to the bar with enough guts, and some bucks to get two beers, for me and my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with beard and gray whisker, tricksy at blowjob with a defect to the right eye, a white spot, beckoned me to shut up. "Dear my fellow guests! It's almost Christmas holidays, 've worked with love this year, each as at 'could, to us too as any firm we give respect first. Look at this cocarde's pile is for you, go to the bar to Uncle Gelu to make you a portion. I cannot stand because I have to product, for Happy holidays! " | Entry #18416 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with an attic and a stratum, ready to fall on it's own. The walls were cracked, the bricks... obscene, the plaster was almost melting. How the heck did this hovel still stand? I imagined that if a tram would pass pounding the house would fall at the first sound. But the tram had not passed for 15 years there... The fainted b*tch was living at the bottom floor of the building - now, after all this time, I have some pitty toward her, she hadn't fall or injured anyone, over there, only the alcohol kills - actually she was living in a floor made under 1 meter underground - heh, sarcastic fate, she was hardening the drunken people with the mud - This b*tch was a good damn pub. It was around the Christmass, outside was this and that, you could still drink a boxful of beer without your nose to freeze completly. I entered in the temple of perish and my destiny was nailed. Inside, you could hear french chansonets, very queitly, anyway it seem that the whole worls agrees with Edith, whom doesn't regret a thing. There were around 10 persons inside, 20 troubled eyes - so I thought at first, later I found that I was wrong with almost 3 - each was minding his own bussines with a godly carefulnes. Noone was talking, but it was a beauty to observe them, just like at a signal everyone raised their glasses and drink 2 small sips, after that they put them down on the table and I could hear one glup and one clap... and still there was communication, I could feel it, floating in the air. I knew it was a serios moment, but my kneck was so damn dry, my amiba from my stomach was asking to be splashed. harder and harder as it grew. Without waiting anymore, I talked my way at the bar with sweet words, with enough courage and some bucks to get two beers for me and my pal. The bartender, a short and fat guy, with a beard and greyed moustaches, ugly at face and a defect at the right eye, a white stain on it, made me a sign to shut my mouth. "My dear table coleagues! It's almost Christmass celebrations, you put your soul into the work you did this year, each of you as you could and we, as every respectful company, we give first. Look, this pack of bucks is for you, go at the bar at mr. Gelu to give you a fill. I cannot stay because I have things to do, but happy holidays. | Entry #18709 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old two story house with an attic on the point of falling on it. The walls were dull, the bricks looked obscene and the plaster was melting visibly. I don’t know how the hell this ramshackle was resisting, as I imagined if a tram was clattering around, it can be pulled down at the first whistle. But the tram did not passed over there for 15 years. The Fainted Bitch lived at ground floor – now, after such a long time, I have a certain indulgence towards it, as it did not fall and injured nobody, there only alcohol kills-in fact it lived on a ground floor deepen one meter under the ground – well, the ironic fate inured the boozers with the mud in time – the Bitch used to be a hell of a tavern… It was around Christmas, outside, so so, one can still drink a crate of beer with having icicles at nostrils. I got into the temple of perdition and my fate was nailed. People were listening French chansonettes inside, almost in the background, anyway it seemed that everybody agreed with Edith who did not regret anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty dim eyes – that was what I thought first, but later on, I learned that I was wrong about three people- and each of them minded his own business sacred carefully. Nobody was talking, but it was splendid to see, how, like on a gesture of command, all raised their glasses and drank with small sips and then they put their glasses on the table, only one gurgle and one clap were heard… and though there was a communication, I felt it, it was floating in the air. I was aware about the solemnity of the moment, but my throat was a hell of a dry, my amoeba from the stomach asked to be soused, more and more, as it was growing.Without waiting, I creeped like a sweet word near the bar, having plenty of sauce and some brass to buy two beers for me and my companion. The bar tender, a short and fat guy, bearing grizzled beard and moustaches, waggish at his blowjob and with a defect ay his right eye, a white spot, made me a sign to shut up. „My dear table companions! There is almost Christmas holidays, you worked eagerly this year, each of you how you could, and at us, as in any respectful company, we offer a bonus. Look, here you are a small heap of brass, go to the bar to uncle Gelu to make you a portion. Me, I cannot stay that I have to produce, but happy holidays!” | Entry #18565 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with floor and attic, ready to fall on itself. The walls were toothless, the bricks looked obscene, plaster, visibly, melted. I dont know, how the hell, that resisted this tumbledown building, I imagined, that, if any trampling tram, passed, a collapsing would occur at it first signal. But, tram stoped, 15 years, ago, passed by. „Faint Lady-Dog” lived on the ground floor - now, after so long time, I have some indulgence towards it, it hasn’t falled, hasn’t hurt anyone - there, just alcohol kills - in fact, it lived on a ground floor, one meter deeper in the ground - eh, ironic fate, it used to familiarize drunks with mud – this Lady-Dog was a hell of a tavern… It was, around Christmas, except it was so and so, still, one could drink a case of beer, without making icicles in nose. We entered the temple of doom and my destiny was sealed. Inside, there were listened to French chansonettes, almost muted, however, everyone seemed to agree with Edith, who does not regret anything. There were about 10 people, inside, twenty troubled eyes - so I thought, the first time – later, I found out, that I was wrong by about 3 - and every one to his own business with a holy painstakingly. Nobody talked, but, it was a splendor to see them - as a sign, they all lifted glasses and drank two, small sips, then, placed them on the table, it was heard a single gurgling and a single bang ... but, still, there was a communication, I felt, it floated in the air. I knew, it was a solemn moment, but, my throat was dry, as hell, my stomach amoeba required to be sprinkled, sprayed all over, as it grew. Without waiting, I insinuated, as a sweet word, next to the bar, with enough cheek and some bucks, to get two beers, me and my companion. The barman, a short and fat guy, with gray beard and mustaches, a sly man with an infirmity in the right eye, as a white spot, waved me silent. "Dear my messmates! Christmas holidays are near, you have worked with heart and soul, this year, each, such has could, and, to us, as to any company, that respects, we pay bonus. Look, this small bundle of money is for you, go to the bar, where, uncle Gelu will make you shares. I can’t remain, having to produce, then, ‚happy holidays!’” | Entry #18916 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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It was an old house, with floor and attic, ready to fall on it. The walls were toothless, it looked dirty bricks, plaster visibly melted. I'm not-as fuck resist şandramaua this, I imagined that if goes any tram pounding a collapsing at it first holler. But tram stop 15 years passed by. CATA faint lived on the ground floor - now, after so long I have some indulgence towards her, did not fall, did not hurt anyone, there just alcohol kills - in fact he lived in a ground floor one meter deeper in the ground - eh , ironic fate, he used the time drunks with mud - it was a bodega Cata hell ... It was around Christmas, except it was so and so still could drink a case of beer without making icicles in Naret. We entered the temple of doom and my destiny was set in stone. Inside listened French chansonettes almost muted, however everyone seemed to agree with Edith who does not regret anything. There were about 10 people inside, twenty eyes troubled - so I thought the first time I later learned that I was wrong by about 3 - and every one to his own business with a holy carefulness. Nobody talked, but it was a splendor to see them as a sign lifted all glasses and drank two sips, then place them on the table, he heard a single gal and a single clap ... and yet there is a communication, a felt, was in the air. I knew it was a solemn moment, but my throat was dry as hell, my stomach amoeba required to be sprinkled, sprayed louder as he grew. Without waiting, I insinuated that a sweet word next to the bar with enough guts and some bucks to get two beers, me and my companion. The bartender, a short, fat guy with a beard and gray musteţi, witty blowjob and a defect in Ochiu 'as a white spot, waved me silent. "Dear my fellow guests! It's almost Christmas holidays, at 'worked with drag next year that each such at' could, and to us as we respect orce firm first. Look tenc'şoru badges that give it to you, go to the bar to make you nea Gelu portion. I do not stand cripple Io product, yes sărbăutori happy! " | Entry #18628 — Discuss 0 — Variant: Not specified
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