It was a normal day in july. until i got a mesage - a message from an uknown number.
'my name is billy smith. I operate in the local weatheredspoons. i would really like to get more customers. send this to five people or i will rip out your jugular at 3am'
and what can I say? I did what it said. sent this to five people randomly on my contact list and googled my nearest weatheredspoons. It was Canterbury lane, canterbury. imagine my shock.
so, i stole some cash off my mum, and got a taxi over to canterbury.
Upon arrival, i noticed that it was packed with middle-aged men and had a strong and distinct smell of urine. i could be sure i was at the right address now. a man, big, burly and inbred-looking enough to be of the camelotian high class came up to me to give me a table.
'proper job!! well 'ello 'ere me 'andsum,' his voice is gravelly and menacing 'we are the local weatherspoons. we make the finest beer in the country, dare oi say.'
I nod, paralysed with fright.
'you wanna know 'ow we do it 'ere, luv?'
I shake my head furiously, horrified.
'well first, we harvest the blood of anyone from up country, or as I like to call them, em-'
'AYE, LOOK AT THAT LITTLE SAXON 'ELLER' a fat woman screams, pointing her stubby finger at my face with pure rage.
people start gasping, gaping and crying out,
'SAESSON SAESSON SAESSON SAESSON.'
quickly, multiple hands grab me, lifting me up into the air. i dont fight back, i am stunned, petrified even. what is happening? am i dead???
i am carried off into the kitchen by these celtic brutes. i eventually attempt to fight back, but these inbreds have strength, and with multiple of them, i have no chance. I was put down to the ground in the kitchen.
the waiter from earlier seemingly took pity on me, and handed me a glass.
'What is it?' I gasp.
'Billy's special,' he replies with a thunderous laugh. He means that Billy is in the beer. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Does that mean?????
IM GOING TO BE MADE INTO BEER???
Right infront of me is bubbling boiler. They grab me, and push me closer, and closer.
'GISS ON'
I have no idea what this means, but it makes them stop. The authoritative voice behind me makes me turn instinctively. A man with deep, starey eyes wearing a suit and top hat, making him look like an evil victorian business man who owns a mill, stares back.
It was my idol, Harry Styles.
OH MY GOD.
YOU ARE READING
me, harry, serbia
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