Mate, you got no idea, last week was absolute chockers. Bazza's been buggin me all week to give him a lift to the bottle-o coz there's 10% off VB, that's a bloody bargain. So course I have to take him and when we get there the bloody drongo at the counter asks for me' ID. Do I look 17 to you mate? So I asked him if he wants to go and he's like "Yeah nah", and I'm like, "That's what I thought mate".

Nek minet i'm driving home and Bazza's as pissed as a Blues supporter at state of origin when I realise that me' ID was in me' pocket the whole time. You shoulda seen Bazza's face! So I chuck a U-E so we can pick up our tinnies and by the time we get back there some tradie's walking out with the last case and a shit-eating grin. Worst day of me' life mate.

What was the question youse asked again?