Nick: The Luckiest Prick Alive - Brought to you by Gazz Wood -

He argues against this fact, as plain to everyone else as an off-white 747, but I think in his heart of hearts he must realise. How can he not? Nick is a man for which everything works out. From birth he was one of life’s winners, considering he had a 1 in 3 chance of being born Hinge instead of Nick. Having side-stepped that land-mine, the fortune continued when, through no real action on his part, he got off with a succession of fitos at school and after. For a skinny, pale, and occasionally bearded movie nerd he was punching so far above his weight it’s sickening.

He routinely falls ass backwards into high paying and piss easy jobs. Back in Nottingham his job was to man the phones of a road sign repair centre during the ‘peak’ period of 10pm till 7am. If one of those LED signs (You know the ones, telling motorists to get some sleep later, and advising on tailbacks) were to fail then there’s a number on it that eagle-eyed and conscientious motorists (A thing that isn’t real) can call to report the fault. You think Nick takes that call don’t you? He doesn’t. That call is dealt with by a team in the call centre, who would usually deal with it themselves. So what does Nick do? Why is he there? On the off chance the call centre can’t resolve the problem, they call Nick, whose sole purpose is to then raise the engineer for that area and send him to fix the sign. A five minute call, maybe once every few weeks. Because of the late hours, he was paid up the balls to just sit about watching movies on his laptop! His current job is just as easy.

Then one day he decided he wanted a part time job. Just for a bit of extra cash. In the evenings after work, maybe a pub. So he Googlemapped all the pubs closest to his flat (Oh, N.B. his day job is a half hour walk from home, so he doesn’t even have to deal with the tube, ever), and called a few up looking for some hours. One place offered him a trial shift, so he goes. It was the closest pub to his flat out of the lot (Fucking obviously!!), and upon arrival he noticed something different about The Queen Anne. For a start its exterior is painted bright orange, but the internal contents are what’s most interesting. For you see our man Nick O’Mahoney had, entirely by accident, secured himself a one shift trial at a strip club.

I mean COME ON!!!

Even if he doesn’t get the job (He bloody does get the job you know!) He’s still got a full evening of free tits and a funny story to tell. For any regular man this would be enough, but not for Nick ‘Pot O’Gold’ O’Mahoney! Lord no! Because you see, next he figures it might be funny and mint to date a stripper. He’s right, it is. I’ve done it and if nothing else it makes outsiders think you’re cool, and that’s all any human wants when you think about it properly. Some months before, young Nick had boldly declared that he was done with English girls, and that next he felt Latina would be the way to go. A sexist, and possibly racist claim, yet ambassadorial in its own way, we thought nothing of it until he mentions one evening the new Peruvian girl at the bar. You know exactly where this is headed. You know, by now, that he gets The Exotic Latina Erotic Dancina. You know he does, because you understand the one fact that he himself refuses to brook. Whether it’s the thousands of pounds he’s made over the years, having one day thought it might be good to do wedding videos. The massive tax rebate he found he was entitled to after perhaps minutes of research, or something more low key, like all of us suddenly being upgraded to priority queuing the first time he actually joined a line at Alton Towers.

Nicholas Paul O’Mahoney is now, and will probably always be, the luckiest cunt alive.