I had a meeting yesterday afternoon for a potential contract on a new magazine. I arranged to meet the chap under the clock at Waterloo at 3pm. He was to be seen with a copy of the magazine so I could identify him, I’d already advised him I’d be wearing black so I’m not entirely sure why when I approached him he looked at me as if I was going to stab him in the winkle and fuck his eyes in. It’s this haircut I’m sure…. Having said that the meeting went really well and I got the contract. YES etc.,
I took the train back to work in the afternoon and arrived more or less in time to leave for the day, perfect. I met my mate from up the road early evening and we enthusiastically chewed the fat. It’s a recommended way of starting the week we’ve discovered, gives one something to focus on in the midst of the horror of a Monday morning. After I’d returned, showered (couldn’t be arsed to bath) I ate well and settled down for the evening. It was mid way through Traffic Cops when I heard a noise from downstairs, a cough, Cunt’s cough. My heart sank, he was back.
Through the course of the evening his presence whilst apparent wasn’t overbearing, I lolled softly in my fug of smoke and Shiraz, TV on, book open as usual…then at around 10pm there was a sharp knock on the door of my flat. Fuck. It could only be Cunt! I will have to communicate with him in some way without the conversation deteriorating into me leaping up and down on his fucking head, laughing. I swung opened the door. The cunt had posed himself a la James Dean on his doorframe, he looked up as if I was holding a camera, really, he loves himself. He asked me if I had a light, the bloated words oozed out of his gob, apologising for disturbing me with mock insincerity then feeling the need to make conversation with me when it was clear that I’d not accepted his faux fucking insincere spite cunt fuckhatedeath…
Sorry. Anyway, here’s the story. This is the measure of Cunt. You have to understand that I had to translate the following from a creature that really would find communication easier by blinking once for yes and twice for no, I did this for you, so listen up.
Early last year Cunts g/f was over, she lives oversees. He got her pregnant on account of a basic lack of understanding of anything. Stunning isn’t it. She went back to her country and had the child. Apparently Cunt was there at the birth, hung about for a few days and came back. Now, I don’t know about you but already struggling with this. Anyway, 6 months pass and we’re in the present. It turns out that she’s over with the child (they shall be spared from my vitriol) but because of the building work in the flat, they’re staying at the parents of Cunt. I asked him what he was doing here, shouldn’t he be with them? No, apparently, the baby’s crying was keeping him awake…
Deep breathes everyone. Lets all relax and just accept that these things happen : )
Oh, the g/f has anorexia so Cunt’s going to ‘feed her up,’ I suggested that anorexia wasn’t about ‘feeding someone up…’
“Oh no,” countered the Cunt one “she’ll take food of me as she wants to please me.” (that’s verbatim kids)
Right, I’m nipping off now to place my testicles onto the coffee hot plate and beat them flat with a tape dispenser. Yes, I’ll do that.
