
Booze. Yeah baby. All kinds of booze. Cold, flowing, crackly noise in the glass as it splashes over the ice booze.
Your computer would have an attachment on the side like those ice dispenser thingys you get on fridges that cost more money than I am willing to spend on a fridge (if willing and able are the same thing). Well, my computer's shit, so it would probably have one that looked like those plastic "push here" things you get in service stations; the ones that always give you either too much so it spills everywhere and everyone stares at you, or too little but you don't want to seem like a tightass by going and complaining that your soft drink is 2cm short of what was promised (but you do anyway because you're having a bad day so fuck it). Still, you get the idea.
Of course, the big drinks companies would get in on it straight away. There would be 5000 different sites where you could get happy hour prices and crazy Tuesdays that all looked exactly the same, but for some reason people would flock there in the masses. And you'd have to click on a bouncer who would grunt at you then make you get a Zwinky who was dressed properly (no trainers) before you could enter.
You could have rum. All kinds of rum. Beautiful rum in all its glorious forms. You could have ice cold Guinness that knew when to stop pouring and when to start again so you didn't have to threaten to rip the head off some arrogant bartender with a stupid haircut for handing you a glass of sludge.
Wine, port, Southern Comfort with proper lime, not just the cordial. Any booze you want.
And Smirnoff would have its own site.
And you could get your vodka served to you by this guy:

Rocket launcher in the ass for no good reason optional.
And you could have tequila.
Oh dear.
This is where the problems begin.
It's starts when I go to the tequila site, needing a hair of the dog. I enter, a little headachey, but happy enough. And a message box flashes before my eyes saying:
You've got some hard neck showing up here after last night. Kindly leave these premises and do not return.
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.
Before long, I have been barred from every site on the internet. Even Google won't have me. Hell, even myspace won't entertain my company.
My pop up messages go from:
Warning: you have performed an illegal operation!
To:
Fucking sort yourself out. I'm not going to tell you again.
I have to resort to Pirate Bay, but it all goes horribly wrong when I try to download Captain Jack Sparrow and Vanessa Paradis threatens me with legal action.
My computer won't work properly because of all the spillages and I become the first person in history who AOL actually lets out of their contract.
Still, the rest of you would love it. Especially once I've been barred for life from the web.


3 comments:
I want to be able to download love. Real, tangible love. Love so strong I'll never be sad or lonely again.
Or Dorito's. Whatever.
I'd be happy if just the liquor stores delivered.
I can never get enough of Vlad fishing. Woo-hoo! Do you think he'd serve me vodka on one of those pecs?
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