The Stoke Inn pub in Plymouth has posted a list of "rules" for patrons to obey over the Christmas period (full list printed below).
Since posting the rules on the pub's Facebook page on December 11, the post has had almost 14,000 Likes and been shared over 10,000 times.
Landlord Steve Bowen told the Plymouth Herald: "There have been a couple of derogatory comments but I just did it as a festive joke. Most of the people that follow the page are already regulars, and therefore would appreciate the joke."
The rules, which Bowen credits to comedian Rob Halden, read:
Please, please do not read this if you are easily offended, but we have a few rules this Christmas:
Xmas at The Stoke Inn, Plymouth
It's that festive time of year when decent, honest boozers are plagued by non-drinkers. And not real non-drinkers, not people who don't ever drink, they're fine.
We're talking about people who don't go near a pub for 11 months out of the year, the kind of awful human beings who buy their beer from supermarkets with the weekly shop, people who consume such a laughable quantity of alcohol that they can only be designated as "non-drinkers".
Whether it's the Christmas work-do or a festive drink with friends, you are ruining pubs for the rest of us. Everyone hates you. Every actual drinker in the pub hates you and all the serving staff hate you. You're awful.
Here's a guide on how to not be quite so awful.
Do not approach the bar until you know what you want
The bar is an intricate machine full of separate-yet-interconnecting cogs. It is NOT the place to think or choose or decide.
The engine only works if everyone knows their place and performs their function. Do you hear that collective groan as you ask the bartender if they've got cranberry juice?
Or as you turn around to ask Barbara what she wants to drink?
That groan is you single-handedly sucking life away from your fellow drinkers. Make a decision first, then go to the bar and order what you've selected. Just like ANY OTHER FORM OF COMMERCE!
Don't start drinking at 4pm
You're NOT a drinker. We haven't seen you all year. You're an amateur, so don't start out with a marathon.
You can't just rock up to the Premier League one day, saying, "I'm Match Fit, lads!" This is why you're puking and crying before nine o'clock at night.
You are in a round
I don't care who you're with, how many of you there are or how well you know them. You are in a round with all the people you came in with. That's how it works.
You see those 25 loud, burly, drunken rugby players on the other side of the pub? They are a pleasure to serve compared to you. They order eight pints of lager, eight pints of Guinness, six pints of bitter and three Jack Daniels, then they pay the bill in one fell swoop.
Your group orders ten drinks one-at-a-time, and then pays for them all one-at-a-time as the rest of pub creeps closer to death's eternal grasp waiting for you to finish, despite the fact nine of you are drinking the same fucking drink and the last person, THE LAST PERSON, wants a Guinness putting on.
Every single person waiting to get served wants your group to die in a complicated house fire.
Know where you are
Look around you. What kind of drinking establishment are you in? Is it a pub or a bar? If there's 85 lads watching football on the telly, stop trying to be a drunk, flirty attention-whore because it won't work.
If the walls are cluttered with offers of "6 Shots Of Neon Sourz For A Fiver", don't try asking for that single malt whiskey you memorised from Mad Men.
Equally, if it's a pub adorned with wood furnishings and hand-pulls, stop trying to get the landlord to make that shitty cocktail you saw on Sex And The City.
Hot girls get served first.
Welcome to western civilisation.
Okay, the music isn't great. It's nothing to write home about. But it's been specifically selected to offend the least amount of people. It's background music. If you want anything else, then you want to be at a club or a gig.
If, however, you've decided to "do the pub a favour" by blaring out a playlist from your iPhone, then you are a twat. A prize, prize twat. Other expletives come to mind. Likewise don't get offended if the barman politely gives you a pound and rejects all six Abba songs you paid for.
Newsflash: You are NOT next. You might have been in the bar queue longer than anybody else, but that doesn't mean you're next. Do you know why? Because there are no "Official Rules Of Queueing At The Bar." The Bartender is 100% in charge of who is next. So do not piss them off.
Yes, they can see you. You do not need to bang your change on the top of the bar. You do not need to wave your money around in the air, as if you're the only person in the room with a tenner (unless it's a strip club).
You especially do not need to click your fingers like a Parisian cafe prick or whistle like a shepherd herding his flock. These tactics will only achieve one outcome: no matter how long you've been waiting up until this point, you've just moved yourself to the back of the queue.
If an old bloke sat at the bar gets served before you do, and the bartender knows him by name and even seems to know what he's drinking before he orders it, just shut the fuck up. That's Bob. Bob drinks here all the time. Bob drinks here five times a week, every week. Bob's custom pays the bills. Bob and the other regulars keep the pub open 11 months of the year, whilst you're having dinner parties and bulk-buying booze from the supermarket.
Yes, they get preferential treatment. Accept it and shut the fuck up.
Time is time (sometimes)
Pubs don't stop serving because they hate you (that's a lie, sometimes they do) or because it's funny or because they get bored of selling beer. It's a legal requirement for them to stop serving at a designated time.
Once Time is called, they are legally unable to sell anymore beer. You cannot cajole them into selling more, because it's a legal requirement.
You cannot bribe them into selling more, either with the promise of drinks or money, because it's a legal requirement.
You cannot reason or argue them into selling more, because it's a legal fucking requirement. "Who's gonna know? There's nobody around, I won't tell anyone." THAT'S HOW THE HOLOCAUST STARTED!
See you in twelve months, you fucking pricks.