Dr Johannesburg Swivel, our chief cultural correspondent and expert genital electrologist, requested £35,000 for what he claimed was a “week-long field study into the habits of primitive seaside land mammals.” He has been gone for two months now, and to date, the following is the only report he’s filed:
Yes, much to the bewonderment and bewowslement of many coastal local yokle folkles, the good patrons of Salty Jim’s Seaside Shanty Shack are getting Cabo Wabo shots at half their normal price!
The original price? Take that, and cut it down the middle. It’s insanity. A beautiful, good kind of insane measure, quite unlike the testicle-vice promotions of a bar I once knew in the Philippines. The townsfolk are ecstatic; Cabo Wabo, priced as never before!
I caught up with a Salty Jim’s regular: “I’ve heard of Cabo Wabo, but never at half price. And I’ve heard of half price shots, but never at Jim’s. Also I’ve heard of a bird that sings in Swedish, and a boat that’s shaped like a cactus. I’m a wealth of information. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go piss myself.”
Girls with seashell bras serve the shots on tiki plates with sides of pineapple and beef stroganoff. Apparently it’s the one thing the cook makes really well. I think I might whip my cock out for the hell of it. Viva Salty Jim’s!
Oh look there! A lady has ordered a round of shots for the whole family. The baby’s even comes in a sippy-shot glass! How darling. Dad is showing junior how to do a body shot; Christ man, with such a hairy chest you’re making it hell for the lad…
It’s becoming apparent that the Cabo shots are starting to take their effect on the establishment. I’ve had so many, I’m beginning to lactate it!
There is a man pounding his face into the jukebox, shouting at it to play a Cabo Wabo-themed love song that presumably doesn’t exist. Two women are alternating between dancing and holding eachother’s hair back. Mmm, dancefloor vomiting; a show like that could fetch a fortune in Taiwan, where vomit fetishists run wild, gagging themselves and others to induce peristalsis. It’s all very glamorous.
Oh, and now the police have arrived.
That was the end of Swivel’s formal field report. However, a good three hours later, he sent a brief follow-up telegraph:
Jimmy Buffet was not sought for comment.
What a cunt.