LOUIS BURKE | Culture | CONTACT
An act of tremendous cowardice was committed in Betoota’s French Quarter this weekend as the self-elected host of kick-ons decided they were ready to go to bed.
During an uncanny valley COVID-era visit to a pub, local grog monster Henry Sheffield (29) enjoyed an evening on the piss with mates so much that he wasn’t ready to let it end inside the walls of a licensed venue.
Deciding to be his own publican, Sheffield invited a group of eight peers back to his place for kick-ons with the aim of keeping the good times going, possibly forever.
“Lex, text your mate and see if he’s on tonight,” commanded Sheffield, picturing the free lines of diluted Australian coke he would be enjoying as Lord of Kick Ons.
“Jules, set us a timer so we don’t forget about the six pack in the freezer.”
Initial accounts of Sheffield’s ill-fated kick ons report the night was lively and promising to be messier than what any human can decently do as a paying customer at a pub.
However, Sheffield must have been content to take a shit in his own linen closet as after only 280 minutes of kick ons the host started loudly yawning.
“Feeling pretty wrecked hey?”
Donning a dressing gown and novelty Scrooge style pointed bed cap, Sheffield asked his guests to leave before they even had a chance to dare each other to drink bong water.
According to eye witness and kick ons participator Jule O’Connell (32), cowards like Sheffield should not offer kick ons if they aren’t willing to be awake until 11am listening to guests talk about how they liked Juice Wrld before he died while ashing in pots of underwatered succulents.
“Just completely dudded us. Have fun discovering an exploded six pack in your freezer tomorrow you spineless liar.”
