I looked to this bloke for something, an apology, a nod of the head, just a simple sign to acknowledge that he had been a complete cunt, all I got was a “fuck you” I had my walkman* on, so I shouted at him, “You fucking cunt” – He turned around, and I got a few tuts from other commuters, he said “what”, then saw the madness in my eyes, “You fucking cunt” I replied, a little bit louder. He thought about it for a while, and turned and walked. I had won the most pathetic battle of two minor rutless stags in the field of life. Our tiny antlers almost locking, I watched him walk off and saw a major patch of male pattern baldness, and it crossed my mind to bring this to his attention loudly, and then add that I expected he wanked off over borderline child porn. I could have just walked away, but instead, a little bit louder, just shouted “YOU FUCKING CUNT” – a few more tuts, I never looked back, I wouldn’t have been able to handle the embarrassment had he come back.
I don’t know what would have happened if me and this other prick had come to blows, I’ve never had a proper fight as a fully grown adult, I’ve had a few drunken wrestles and I grew up taking punches on the face and eyes from my Lennox Lewis sized brother. The thing that troubled me about this was the reaction of my adrenaline gland. It goes two ways, turns you into a village pillaging rock of pure meat, or a trembling hand-tard, a fighting sponge. I think this is your body preparing for a beating instead of being the beater.
A lot of my rage, as I say, comes from travelling with Southern Trains. I wouldn’t do this but for the inhumanity of travelling on the Northern Line. I’ve blogged before about tube travel, so search for that, I won’t go into it again. Southern though, are a bumbling shambling stuttering teetering demented excuse of a company. How they got a rail franchise is beyond me, they are the Lenny Henry of rail travel, they are the Audley Harrison of commuting.
Anyway, the only saving grace is that there is a level of dignity on the train I catch, mostly because no cunt who gives a rats arse about their job would trust it on this fucking Sunday steam hobbyist farce, which leaves it sometimes blissfully empty, albeit pathetically late each day for a string of pathetic reasons, leaves, wind, drizzle, a rare fox near the line, etc.
On these protracted rage inducing train journeys I always encounter some of the things that fuck me off, firstly snifflers, people with a drip of snot perilously between a sneeze and sucking it back up, it just hangs there in nasal purgatory, with regular pathetic snuffs and sniffs, the snuffer/sniffer oblivious to the small pockets of rage building around them.
Then, and possibly worse are people who turn the pages of their newspaper really hard on the train, they know they are doing it because they look around every time when they do it, then they lick their finger in an exaggerated manner before doing it again, ahhhrghh, they should, once a month, sound a klaxon on the train and the invincible super Mario music plays and I can run around the carriage with a HUGE plumbers mallet, smacking the fuck out of everyone who has even remotely annoyed me, 45 seconds later, the music stops, the mallet disappears and I look open jawed at the twitching and shattered bodies, disjointed skulls with bits of brain coming out the available holes, and then, I regret my rage and flick into first aid mode, hoping to unfuck some of my murderous rampage, just as I do, the cunt with the sniffle tries to sniffle his fucking brain back in, and it begins again. Dud dud daa, dud dud, da la la laa… etc…[I might need help].
Another thing that annoys me, but is not restricted to my daily train hell, are thick people, thickos, dumb dumbs, skulltards, divs. They are everywhere, and don’t get me wrong, they are important, man wouldn’t have discovered most of the poisons on the planet if it wasn’t for the thick skulled knowledge numbed fucks.
They also serve a purpose as mates, checking if the ice is thick enough to walk over on the pond etc.
In certain situations, thick people can be infuriating, and example of this was when I was watching the cube the weekend just gone, a quiz show that basically takes the fundaments of basic cranial development and gives the person the chance to win money for completing tasks such as counting to five, or walking 10 metres with no eyes. This woman was on, she had scarlet red hair and huge eyes, save the hair, she was actually quite cute, but I watched her, open jawed, as she repeatedly failed to be able to count to 5, finally getting it right with one life left, and then going through to the next round to try and walk across a beam, falling off after the challenge of putting one foot in front of the other proved to be too hard.
Shocking, it made me wonder if big eyes were actually a sign of dumbness, a chance for the thickos brain to interpret things in more detail giving them the best chance of survival and another day to hopefully be impregnated, or indeed impregnate someone of a far higher intellect. [A car, a car is coming, it’s a car, it’s definitely a car, you should do something, do something, it’s a car] The drooling wally getting a valuable heads up to finally work out that the car will not pass through their body like a gas. Bless this girl’s heart though; she was probably just put on the show for a giggle. She is probably outside her house right now staring at a handful of keys, and then the door, then the keys, then the door, slowly getting hypothermia.
To add a nice topping to my rage cake, I almost lost my job last week, and still might, It was shocking and humiliating being lined up against the wall and made to wait 24 hours to find out if I still had a job, I have, but I’m not sure if I want it now, I’m a very principled person with a strong sense of loyalty, if that’s tested then that’s usually it. Anyway, what’s the point? Well, I’m looking for another job now, and my computer at work is being a fucking cunt. I was looking at a job online at and half way between doing something to apply and my boss walked in, I went to shut it down, I tried clicking like I was playing track and field and the fucking thing asked me if I was sure I wanted to do that? Like fucking Hal from 2010. Of course I’m fucking sure, my boss has just walked in?
Another time this stuttering inhumanity of computers nearly cost me dearly was several years ago, I was bored, but busy, and my mate had sent me a PowerPoint slide-show, I couldn’t tell what it was, normally the office spam wankers are kind enough to give you a hint in the text, nothing, I usually just delete these, but given my heightened state of boredom I clicked it open and begun the slide show. It wasn’t porn, as a very small part of me had hoped, but was in fact a collection of genital mutations, cock and fanny Frankenstein’s, I slowly clicked through, disgusted, but intrigued. Suddenly, my old boss, who just happened to hate every cell in my body, stormed in the office and towards my desk, I had about 3 seconds to act, I just pressed my hands down on the keyboard, nothing, I tried to decide if it would be a good idea to just turn the monitor off completely, sadly 3 seconds is not long (as my ex will confirm) and my boss closed in on me, the screen was frozen on an Ethiopian looking man with elephantiasis of the ball sack.
The only decision I had to make now, was to explain to my boss why the space hopper balled man was on my screen, I ran through the options in my head including just dropping the sender in it (not my style) or a virus (I don’t know enough about computers to explain how it happened, erm, I was looking at porn and this balls man happened). Instead, on seeing her open jawed bulldog chewing a wasp face starting at my screen, I simply blurted out, like fucking Del Boy, “that’s awful that innit”. She walked back out of the room and I awaited my fate. If computers were more humanised they would shut down when every key is hit, the only reason this ever happens is through sheer panic or the user dying and smashing down on the keyboard, either way, shut down, if it is a cadaver, the last thing you want to do is saddle the surviving family with a big electricity bill.
Are you reading Microsoft? I’m a computer, I am windows 7.
* Any device that is portable and plays music directly into my mind is a walkman, ok?
No comments:
Post a Comment