Stripe The Alcoholic

It seems like you guys know me all too well enough to start this story. You may know me as Uncle Stripe, the loving yet wild uncle of Bluey and father to Muffin. I wasn’t always this way, you know…

Back in Cunningham College, I was aged 21, and I was an annoying puppydog who always got on the nerves of my fellow roommate, Bandit, who would often see my behaviour as ‘raucous’ and ‘rude’. On one such day, I was in my dorm while Bandit was playing his video game, drinking an endless bottle of scotch. Endless you say? Nah mate, more like 17 ounces of scotch.

When Bandit noticed my drinking habits, he said: “Are you sure you want to drink all that scotch?” I replied; “Yeah, why not? Who cares if it’s not good for your health? Tastes of butter.” “Butter you say? More like an elephant who has peed in the butter.”

Then, I felt it. My fingers twitched, I felt my eyelid twitching, and then, I whooped and yelled out, “WHO CARES, YOU MORON!” Drinking the scotch wildly, I cried out, “WAHEY! Nobody ever drinks like I do! Woohoo! Yeah!”

It was at that moment that the telephone rang. Bandit went to answer it whilst I did a crazy little jig near my bed. He was talking to our mum about how college life was going, Charlene’s new trapper keeper and Pat’s reluctant urge to join the pizza and drinks club every evening.

Then, he smelt it. He turned around and saw what he could not believe. I had peed all over the floor! “Oh, man,” said Bandit, “This place stinks now! Out I say!” “But what about…” I whimpered, but I said “GO! Geez, this is going to take me ages to clean the place up. Sorry, mum, you were saying?”

Outside my dorm I stumbled across the hallway, my eyes now blurry and my vision just simple shapes with little bubbles popping all around it. In a daze, I smashed my scotch bottle against the wall, and stabbed my hand through one of the shards, causing it to bleed. “AAAAAAAAAAARGH!” I cried, and I hung onto the billboard for safe keeping. Unaware that there was an Alcoholics Anonymous poster on the board, I hung onto it for dear life, only for it to rip to shreds and for me to fall down.

For the rest of the night, I just lay there. Booze and glass shards were everywhere.

And now, sir, you see my bandaged hand? I got it from when I was taken to hospital. It was a painful operation, but the doctors convinced me not to drink anymore. Concerned?

“Mmmm, interesting story.” (That’s the voice of the newsagent seller)

Thus, I have learned to drink other things apart from booze and scotch from now on. Anyway, I’d like a carton of orange juice and a packet of ready salted crisps, please.

“Here you go, sir, that’ll be £9.”

I have just the money for it.

“Thank you.”

Hoo roo!

“And you tell Trixie I said hello!”

It’s g’day!