I take drunk people who ride precariously pillion on my motorcycle back to their respective homes/barns/huts/allocated places in the fucking ditch, and it's turning into a most profitable venture indeed.
One trip invariably lines my gullet with a bottle of ale, a snifter of my favourite aperitif and on special occasions, a robust genitalia tampering, en route to their abodes, courtesy of the wandering hands of the sexually magnificent female farming contingent - although the sassy harlot who was last known to engage my bollocks in an impromptu act of vandalism is now firmly rooted to her husband's side who, in turn, offers me shy but horrendously contemptuous stares every time our paths unfortunately intertwine. The Siamese grapevine operates with alarming efficiency, and this fucker is more than aware that his better half has attempted, on several occasions, to rid Slap of his bollock juice.
But being the cool motherfucking customer I am, I have reduced social interaction, and am now the sole transporter of massively fucking drunken people to their places of residence, and am so far some 2 boxes of Australian Award Winners to the better.
Slap: Entrepreneur extraordinaire...