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Fan-Dan

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meesterboom
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2 months agoBusy3 min read

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Look oo it is! We mistcha last week. Onoliday werya?

TheBear-Man beamed a smile so wide it put me in the mood for a kebab.

Nah, no holiday for me.

I replied cheerily.

Who couldn't be cheery. It was Friday. And that meant a visit to my favourite beer shop to buy some gloriously exotic beers.

I grinned at the Bear-Man. It was good to be back in his shop. After the scabby shop that I had decided to visit for a change last week, walking into my favourite shop was like pulling on a pair of slippers.

Slippers that were refreshingly free of ejaculate.

Where was ya, then?

Grunted theBear-Man from his lair behind the counter.

Oh, I just popped down to that new beer shop on the south side. You heard of it?

The Bear-Man's head bobbed back and forth oddly, reminding me of the last time I had a turtle's head

Aye. Av eard of it.

Well, it was shit but I thought I would check it out, you know.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes.

Shit was it?

Aye, totally shit.

The Bear-Man drew himself up to his full height. He looked quite smug.

And now yer back. Fandan.

I crooked an eyebrow.

I beg your pardon?

The Bear-Man lowered his head as if to charge me.

Fandan.

He growled low in his throat.

Will, this was a little awkward. Fandan in Scottish slang pretty much means daftie or idiot.

Despite the massive size of the Bear-Man, my less than genteel upbringing took over.

Who are you calling a fanny?

I asked as politely as I could.

Eh, nobody said you were a fanny. I said fandan!

He sounded quite indignant.

So this was it. For months, I had been fearing that one day the Bear-Man would snap and try to shag me with his terrible penis and today looked to be the day.

Well, let no-one say I went into the night quietly.

Fandan. Fanny. Same thing.

I uttered grimly, settling my feet into an ancient fighting pose of a little known martial art, Broon Shooriken.

It was an ancient art of shitting backwards through the body, launching a horrifying payload at my enemies via my perfectly formed mouth.

He looked perplexed, no doubt this was how the southerners displayed terror.

No, ya fanny. Pandan!

He pulled a can of beer out from under the counter and held it before him. If he thought for a minute he should deflect the incoming shitstorm coming his way with that he was badly mistaken.

I took a deep breath and prepared to launch.

He jabbed a big beefy finger at the can.

Pandan, coconut and coffee milk stout, see?

I halted and peered closely at the can he was holding.

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Oh. That looks smashing. I will have two please.

He was right, it had Pandan leaf in it, whatever the fuck that was.

I relaxed my back bin a little. The crisis was averted.

For now...

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