It was a sick night, don’t get me wrong. We’d had a pretty good one, me and the boys, going spare on the jukebox in Gulliver’s. But I peaked too early and by about 2.00am I made my excuses and left. A few minutes later I emerged in Casablanca down Great Ancoats Street. To say it was my usual would be putting it delicately. I wasn’t so much a customer as their fifth Beatle. A safe pair of hands. More loyal than a dog. Even if I brought people who hadn’t been in before and had little to no kebab…


Ben had always been a proud member of the 2.2 billion that used Facebook. Unlike his friends, who had grown more absent with each revamp, and defected to the likes of Twitter and Instagram, he enjoyed the community aspect of the Zuck’s masterpiece. And how it seemed to escape all the moralising pretension of other social media platforms. He got it back in 2007 — an era not too far away from the rate-this-student, Harvard days — and fell head over heels. “Delete Bebo,” he’d say to friends. “Fuck MySpace. This is the future.” And he was right. Months later…


The trouble started at Christmas. Santa had gotten my mum one of them Amazon Echo speakers. You know, the ones that can play you songs or tell you what time it is in Melbourne? She was ecstatic. We all were.

The last time I’d come across one of them was at a friend’s flat a few months back. He was already at work and I was on the late shift so I had carte blanche to play whatever I wished, at whatever volume. There were even a few cans in his fridge that we had leftover from the night before…


I’m looking at all the boys’ Instagram stories. There’s not a chance you skip a chance to gloat about getting fucked in Dublin. Even the quieter lads, who only really use Facebook, were putting themselves out there dead slaggy.

There’s one Ryan took of his pint of Guinness, which he fucking hates. He asked me at the time, cause he was looking for a song to put over it, he said, “Mate what are some famous Irish songs?” And I told him to just put any Pogues song on it and he chose Fairytale of fucking New York. …


Ciarán always scheduled ahead in the mornings. This way he could devote at least 30 minutes to ruining Billy’s life before lunch. Ciarán liked to take it alone and with a taste of victory in his mouth. He would obsess over the prank and, in turn, think up others for the future. This was a daily thing. An all-encompassing activity that went far beyond what society defined as a hobby.

“Gonna stick this video in main chat in a minute,” Ciarán sent to a Billy-free Slack chat. “Can everyone pretend to watch it and go ‘Hahaha that’s so funny’ etc…


I’d never needed a piss so bad. It was only about half an hour into the day but it felt like I hadn’t had a slash in decades. Like I’d broken the leash.

I jogged down the two floors into the basement area to a toilet that wasn’t frequented by people in the office. We weren’t exactly allowed to be there yet my colleague Nick was holding court by one of the three urinals.

I chose the furthest one from him and let loose, pissing a proper dangerous amount. For a few moments I considered holding it in for fear…

Josh Teal

short stories tbf

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