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A fun pub, complete with arbitrary and ill-considered theme (finches of the world, Milton Obote, angst), with all fixtures and fittings made from highly compressed starch powder, decorated appropriately.
As liquid spillage is an inevitable part of the confluence of fun and pub, the starchy fun pub
will doubtless quickly decay, leaving behind toppled and melted furniture, a ghostly ruin of smashed finches etc. to welcome tomorrow's unwary drinker.
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This must be baked, Shirley? I can think of at least 2 pubs that are decayed as you describe... |
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This gives me the gremlins, super fun. I'll have a bucket of Bishops Tipple.+ |
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can you re-sculpt this funny starchy stuff? |
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To what purpose, I wonder? To remind habitual drinkers that all is ultimately dust, and that excessive comsumption will return them whence they came sooner rather than later? Or a post-post-modern comment on the transitory nature of modern culture through the medium of art installation-cum-watering hole? |
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Damp bar-stools (a result of natural humidity and spillage) would result in people getting stiff knickers. |
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After the starchy fun pub has decayed, what would it become? The Morose Gloop Museum perhaps. |
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I daren't read this at work any longer... |
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Post decay, high pressure hoses are used to sweep the wrack of fixtures and fittings into the street, where they will dissolve harmlessly in the rain. Once the empty bar space has dried, the licensee can fill it with replacement pre-moulded starch bar equipment, in whatever theme is in vogue this week (Hokusai, Argentine Debt Restructuring, Kerry Katona). Thus the premises can be reinvented, perhaps even weekly, in a continual line of startlingly new shades of Fun (glues of the world, misandry, cake). |
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Stiff knickers are an issue. Hmm. Perhaps a complementary bum rinse on exit? A curved-shouldered cretin with yellow fingernails and a 1930s bellboy uniform, lurking half obscured behind a starch curtain at the door, with a hose, squirting your backside as you depart, letting out a phlegmy chuckle at your surprised shrieks. |
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I wonder whether areas of the floor where lots of people have spilt their drinks would turn to a sort of quicksand-like goo, trapping and swallowing unwary drinkers and eventually regurgitating their stiff, rotting corpses? |
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