White Lion (Apsley)

Frank the Dog (Men in Black)

Allow me to introdooce myself, my name is Frank,..Frank the dog, Frank the Pug,..Frank the Remoolian to be precise. You may recognise me from my work as part of the Men in Black team. Although if you do? Then allow me to take a moment, to get my memory erasing kit and we can sort that situation out right now!

Look into the light, look into the light and in a couple of seconds you won’t remember me at all,……………. *flash*

There you go,..there you go. Hello, my name is Frank, and yeah, about this outfit! Well don’t f*cking ask! Content yourself with the fact that I’m an amusingly dressed, ugly-ass dog, who can talk, who wants to get laid, and who lives in Apsley. Once you have your head around those facts, than yeah, we can move on. Oh yeah! I also have Tourettes Syndrome,..

I ain’t from rouns these parts, as you can probably detect; having been brought up just outside of the Bronx. And before you ask. That’s Bronx NYC, not Bronks, Brussels, Belgium, you putz!

You’d think that dog that could speak (especially with a New York drawl) would have no trouble earning a crust in the UK wouldn’t you? And to a certain extent you’d be right, at least until recently.

For years I had kudos, was never out of the tabloids, had the world at my feet and bitches everywhere. But like everything in this fickle world of yours. My attaction soon waned and my novelty wore off. An ugly dog that can speak is a pull for a while, but is of no interest at all, when subsequently put up against a cute little pig who can ALSO vocalise, …and vocalise, with what people tell me, is something called ‘The Queens English! Now,.. I know some cats from Queens, and believe me, they don’t speak like that little swine,…. that Babe has pulled a right little scam!

Bottom line though for me now is…. that, once my novelty wore off - my cash ran out, and so did my friends. Leaving me, a ‘lonesome dog in a Hertfordshire town’.

Still,…f*ck those assholes. I don’t need them, and I sure don’t miss them. But I tell you what I do miss though, and that's THE BITCHES.

*What I wouldn’t do to have a cute little Shitzu in tow now!! Oh well,……….*
My decent into drugs, beer and sh*tholes, has been well documented. At least it has, by me in my diary. The White Lion pub in Hemel Hempstead, is where i spend most of my time thesedays. With the rest of lifes losers and has-beens.

I’ve been here in Apsley, oh, a year or so now. And I like it. It’s a long way from the Bronx, and that’s for sure. But that’s not a bad thing in itself….See they told me that this pub was full of rough old bitches,….rough and ready tramps, they said. So I moved down from Berkhamstead immediately,..

It’s not, (full of bitches) of course. You can’t believe anything that people say thesedays, can you?! But it’s certainly more ‘real’ here in Apsley (than Berko), and that’s why I’ve stayed. Ah,…I remember now my first day in ‘The Lion’,…:

,……… it was an Autumnal day, the sun was out and I had just taken a nice long p*ss up against the takeaway in the High Road; just to let the neighbourhood know that ‘I was in town’. I was desperate for some alcohol, and some of the 'b*tch action' that I’d heard of.

I entered The White Lion as bold as brass, and full of Cock-Surety. I was a semi-famous talking dog, and I was to be drinking in a pub in f*cking Hemel Hempstead,... they should have rolled out the red carpet! But they didn’t.

Instead,..I was met with a silence, with a “who the f*ck (are you)” type of attitude! The balls, on these f*cks, I thought, and had the urge to carry on walking on through and out the side exit. But my balls felt big that day,..i could smell the scent of bitches,… and I couldn’t give a f*ck about these tramps giving me the eye. If anyone had the eyes it was me – and big f*cking bulbous ones too!

“Pint of f*cking beer”, I said (from the floor).

And, I have to say, the broad behind the bar took it well.

“Bowl or a pint glass sweatheart?” She said.

“A f*cking bowl you thick slag”, I replied, “I’m a f*cking tourette suffering dog, bitch!”

A bowl of Fullers ESB was immediately forthcoming, and I downed it in a few licks.

“Another” I said,…and then “Another,….Another,….”

And so it went on,…I polished off 4 pints in less than a f*cking hour. The natives were getting restless, they weren’t used to a dog with such big balls drinking in their pub – F*ck em, I remember thinking!

My bladder was about to explode at this point as I recall. Time to make your mark Frank, I thought. Leave em a calling card, to let em know that this was my turf now.

So I p*ssed and I p*ssed and I p*ssed all over the f*cking 70’s Axminster! Some local came over and tried to chuck me out. So I told him where the f*ck to go, and tore a chunk out of his leg, I was left in peace,..as the final few trickles spurted out.

Another 4 pints of ESB, and I remember that I started getting quite horny. More locals came in, one of them with a gorgeous looking Golden Labrador – and a right f*cking goer, I remember inferring! Time to bide your time Frank I thought. Nice and cool, nice and cool,..

So I waited, slowed the drinking down and kept my eye on the prize….

And sure enough, pretty soon, her owner went for a crap – now was my opportunity, I thought.

“Hey B*tch, do you know who I am?” I drawled.

She growled back at me, though barely disguised teeth.

Unexpected, but no deterrent of course,…not to Me. I followed up with my killer line:

“My names Frank and I will be jumping your bones tonight!”

And before I could even tell that b*tch ‘to chill!’ She was frothing at the mouth and barking the house down!! And not due to sexual exitement, I could tell.

The owner, came bolting from the toilets to investigate the commotion and I could tell that it was maybe a time for me to take a discreet ‘Cigarette Break.” So I nipped outside to let the situation subside, and to check for any talent “Street-side.”

As I exited the door, I took a moment to turn and to flash the whole boozer with the memory zapper thing. They would be none the wiser when I came back in, and then I’d have another crack at the Labrador; this time, with some more ‘to the point’ lines,….

Whilst waiting outside, I took a moment to curl out a sh*t,..it was the size of a New York Weiner, and my secret hope was that the Labrador’s owner would come out (tanked-up) later and step right into the festering mound.

My wait for talent was mercifully short. A young mongrel walked past after 5 minutes or so. She had obviously been around the block a few times, and was certainly nothing to write back to J at MIB headquarters about, but I did her anyway,..and she was grateful! They always are….

The White Lion in Apsley. Not a bad pub if you’re a local,..and certainly the best of a bad bunch in this area (there’s The Oddfellows Arms over the road of course - I may be an odd f*cking fellow, but I do have SOME f*cking standards!).

Frank’s rating for The White Lion – 8 / 10

El Diablo

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• Natural Selection,..

  “,….. Why didn’t they live to be 100?Huh? Well, they woz running round all day, hunting mammoths, eating berries,..rumping their little hearts out. No boozing or smoking. They must have been fit as fiddles. Yer Neanderthalls……….I’ll tell you why, it’s … Continue reading →