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Caribbean party in the Ruhrpott
I had this stupid accident the other day when I was doing my weekly shopping. Now, before you start yelling in shock: I had already bought butter and salami, everything good. No, my lovely wife wanted to bring home the holiday feeling despite Corona. Instead of beach, palm trees and sea, it was party cellar with dim lighting, Dortmund Union beer and homemade Raffaello schnapps from the bathtub. From my friend, Jürgen.
Sounds good, right? Well, anyway, my wife sent me out again to shop, buy coconuts and Caribbean stuff. No problem, I'm a pro at that! I have several Caribbean resort stays to show for it. I quickly put on my Halston Z-14. After I googled it, I bought rum. The one from the middle shelf. Not too cheap but not an expensive drop, the good one doesn't taste good anyway. While I was there, I got myself a couple of packs of fags and a vanilla liqueur. Jürgen swears by it.
Then the mishap started when I left the store. The stone slabs outside were too slippery for my Adiletten (I was already wearing my holiday outfit as a precaution), I spun, balanced my shopping but it was of no use. I fell crashing and everything poured on me. First the coconuts ran out together with the rum. I suddenly smelled like Klaus Störtebeker, but I tell you that! Anyway, the rum was quite intense and very alcoholic, phew! Only now I noticed that a bit of tobacco and vanilla liqueur fell into the poured coconut rum. Well, it didn't matter much. The rum tasted very sweet already because of the coconut. As pleasant as the smell was at the beginning for a bad boy like me, now it bothered me a bit. Quickly I picked up the opened pack of cigarettes and went to the car. Too bad that my mossy neck tone didn't come through anymore and also too bad that I partly fell into the cedar plantation. Like Andy Brehme said: hurry up shit on your foot, hurry up shit on your foot.
I drove home and smelled like a whole Caribbean bar, where people drink rum from a coconut shell. I suppose you think that's nonsense. Oh, no! I did it once before in Duisburg! And that was really Caribbean, the owner told me. And what Peter says is true. He used to be married to one from there. 20 years ago. I was glad that all the other junk didn't play into the smell. The alcoholic became weaker with the time, it became more and more sweet, but now the fags stank too!
I parked my car and of course I met my neighbour, that doggone Schofel! "Are you all right, Captain Morgan?" he smiled at me. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind but he was home pumping iron. So I smiled at him and pretended to be clumsy by dropping the keys to the front door several times. The idiot!
Anyway, I arrived at home and told my wife about the accident, she was already wearing the bast skirt and the wreath in her hair. She did not manage to swing her hips very well. She thought the whole thing was not bad and so everything was ok. First I had a Union beer to calm myself down. She said to me, I am not Jack Sparrow but I am her pirate. I replied, she is not the woman from the Bacardi commercial but for me she is the drunk alternative. Wasn't well received. Maybe I had inhaled too much of the rum smell.
That was my story! Good night off the couch, guys!