So we're sitting around in Moriarty's drinking, as my regular pip-boy updates will testify to, I am a man of moderation and abstinence. We we're just shooting the breeze and having a bit of the old banter with Mr. Burke, who had just come back from compassionately assassinating some bloke out in the Wasteland.
Then Jericho came in and he was more interested in being moody about his lack of direction in life. As a boon to him I set him up with the GOAT (Generalised Occupational Aptitude Test). He chewed on his pencil and drummed his fingers on the counter and after an hour had only completed three answers.
The night before Jericho came to me looking for advice. Normally I would listen intently to what he says and then provide him with the kind of advice that would provide us with comedy moments for years to come. However, this time I felt I should do the right thing and help him out. In fairness there's only so many times you can have a man arrested/hospitalised/traumatised/circumcised.
He looked frustrated and his frustration turned to even more frustration when Ladleface walked through the door. Ladleface is one of Jericho's arch-enemies and is called Ladleface because his face looks like you're looking at his reflection in the back of a ladle. By a strange coincidence his brother is known as 'Forky' but that's because one night Jericho stabbed him in the top of the head with a fork and he was so drunk he didn't notice. He went around most of the night with the fork sticking out of the top of his head. Eventually somebody removed it but not until the name had stuck.
"Hello lads", he said, "long time no see."
We muttered our hellos while Jericho muttered things like "Fuck off you shit-box. Long time without seeing you is fun time. I hate you."
"What are you doing there, Jericho?", he asked.
"G.O.A.T.", said Jericho.
"Ahh, that's a good reason to come join you. A pint of vodka mixed with rum please Moriarty."
Moriarty gave him a pint of whiskey.
"Race ya", said Ladleface, who has always been very competitive, "and you've even had a head-start!"
Ten minutes later Ladleface is holding aloft his GOAT, the exam entirely finished, waving it around in the air like he just don't care.
"Finished! How're you doing, Jericho?", he asked before grabbing Jericho's paper in which he had filled in one more giving him a grand total of four.
"Ye big fool!", he said. "Only four? You're thicker than two short planks."
"Fuck off, Ladleface, you strange-headed prick", said Jericho, who doesn't like to beaten.
"Hahahaha", scoffed Ladleface.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, but you can't do this", said Jericho picking up his pint glass. He took a big glug of whiskey, half-swallowed it and then held his nose. At first he looked like he was suffering from constipation, his face all scrunched up, but all of a sudden a jet of booze flew out of the corner of his eye and hit Ladleface right in the nose.
"Fucking hell", I said. "When did you learn how to do that?"
"I was just bored at home one day and practised for a couple of hours. I think my brain sucks it into my tear ducts or something. I can shoot it about 10 feet if I really try."
"Nice one", said Billy Creel.
Meanwhile Ladleface was unhappy, his thunder having been well and truly stolen. "I can too do that", he said, picking up his own pint glass and doing exactly what Jericho did. But no alcohol ejaculated from the corner of his eyes. He held his nose, he scrunched his whole face, he scrunched with all his might but nothing happened. Again and again he tried but it was no use.
Exhausted he stopped and knew he was beaten. He turned around to concede and when he did Jericho let out a shriek.
"Arrrrggh!"
And it was the weirdest thing. Ladleface's left eye was completely red, the whole thing. Then, as we were looking at him, his right eye started to go red, like somebody was filling it up with blood right in front of us.
"What's wrong?", he asked, panicked at the looks in our eyes.
"Oh my", said Mr. Burke.
Ladleface turned to Jericho who gasped then said "Hahaha, your eyes have burst", which was probably the last thing the poor bastard heard before he slumped to the floor.
I gave him a few kicks but he didn't move.
"Looks like he's dead", I said.
"Fuck's sake", said Moriarty, "not another one. Right, bring him down to the basement."
"Actually I think I can see him breathing", said Jericho.
"I said bring him down to the basement".
And we did. It's amazing how often you can convince people that the sweet, sickly smell is coming from the radioactive water under the atom bomb. Jericho continued his GOAT and by the time I was leaving three hours later he'd filled in another three answers.