There's Nothing Quite Like a Walshyyy Party

 

There's Nothing Quite Like a Walshyyy Party — Chapter 1: "The Arrival"

It was a Saturday evening — the kind that hums with electricity and whispers, “tonight’s gonna get weird.” People weren’t just excited. They were primed. Because when Walshyys throws a party… you don’t RSVP, you prepare your soul.

Sgt. Salty arrived first, stepping out of a questionable taxi holding a paper bag filled with snacks and sunglasses he absolutely didn’t need after sundown. WhizzAir Winky, buzzing with chaotic energy as always, zoomed in beside him on an overclocked e-scooter he’d stolen from his nephew.

Then came Ye Olde Large Lad, majestic and slow like a bear who’d just discovered lager. He had three crates of cider under each arm and the expression of a man who planned to remember nothing.

The air around the house was already pulsing with baselines and the scent of grilled meats. Inside, it was chaos… beautiful chaos. The Govna, shirt open to the navel, was hosting a game of “Shots & Ladders.” Baz was behind a makeshift cocktail bar that looked like it had survived a hurricane and possibly started one.

Then the ladies arrived.

Sarah, in her curve-hugging sparkly dress, turned heads and dropped jaws, carrying a tray of chocolate eclairs and cheeky smirks. Susan followed, armed with party poppers, an inflatable flamingo, and a twerk that could end wars. Ashfling glided in last, glittering in a metallic jumpsuit, a martini in one hand and a mystery in the other.

“Where’s Purrty?” asked Salty, scanning the crowd.

“She’s on the patio explaining quantum dating theory to two very drunk lads,” replied Walshyys, who had just emerged from the garden wrapped in a velvet robe and sipping rum from a jam jar.

The snack table had already lost the battle — crisps, dips, cocktail sausages, and something suspiciously jelly-like were strewn everywhere. A Bluetooth speaker began pumping out ‘90s dance hits as someone lit a candle with a blowtorch.

“I’ve got a feeling,” said Salty, raising his beer and eyebrow, “this is going to escalate.”

And he was right.

To be continued…

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