A Hard Life

Ey up lad. You look a bit glum?

The Bear-Man looked at me inquisitively as if I had little nubby horns sticking out of my head.

Who me? Nah, I'm fucking magic.

I lied with debonair abandon.

I was not fucking magic. I was fucking rough. I had been to the pub for a leaving do for one of my colleagues last night and it had all gotten a bit out of hand.

As such, I was literally like one of the living dead today.

I was amazed I had even managed to find the beer shop.

You don't look fuckin magic. You look like a badger's arse.

Said the Bear-Man with a frown.

I opened my mouth so as not to impede the witty retort that was no doubt about to leap out but nothing came, leaving me gaping like a fish that had gotten jammed up a mermaid's arse.

Look at that face...

The Bear-Man chortled, rubbing his belly as if I were a hot curry just served up to him.

I know what you need, oh yes I do.

I swayed slightly. I think at this point I normally fretted that the Bear-Man would start clubbing me with his pork truncheon. Oh well, I didn't have the strength to fight him off. I closed my eyes and hoped it would be quick.

Erectile Dysfunction! That's what you need!

The Bear-Man crowed excitedly.

I opened my eyes and gazed at him as if he had truly and utterly gone bonkers mental.

I beg your pardon?

I said stiffly.

Erectile Dysfunction, I'm telling you. That would sort you right out.

I shook my head. How the fuck would being cursed with a limp penis help me out? I couldn't think of anything that would help me less.

I don't think it's something that you can pass on.

I said primly, mentally gathering up my skirts and preparing to flounce out of the shop.

Ah beg to differ.

The Bear-Man grinned and rubbed his hands together as if rolling out clay into a soft penis shape.

What the fuck was going on. Was he going to curse me? Maybe I had been watching to much Witcher. Maybe I was still drunk from the night before?

I glanced nervously at the door. It wasn't so far. Maybe I should make a run for it before I was cursed with flaccid penisery?

Shit, the Good Lady would go nuts if I came into the bedroom swinging my lad about like an old wet skipping rope.

I tensed my legs, ready to run.

And ere you have it! Reptile Dysfunction. It's got chillies in it. I told you, it would sort you right out.

The Bear-Man passed over a gaudily painted can of beer.

I turned it over in my hands. Reptile Dysfunction. Ha, tres amusing. I felt vaguely relieved that I wouldn't have to return home with a beanbag for a penis as it was actually a beer not a curse that was being thrown my way.

Aye go on. I'll take it.