I Queue Test

This morning I woke up at 06:52am.  This is a problem when you need to be out of the house at 07:15am and I still needed to have a shower, shave, brush my teeth, style my hair, get dressed and make myself some lunch.  It’s also a little concerning as my alarm clocks (yes, clocks; plural) go off around 6am.  Oops.

If the house had been on fire and I was under attack from ninjas I still wouldn’t have moved as fast as I did when I realised the time.  I was quick.  Very quick.  At one point I passed a Coyote in a slingshot holding an anvil.

I made it out of the house at 07:18am.  Not bad.

Meep meep!

I then drove at breakneck speed to the station.  Well, it was at a speed that made me want to break the neck of the bell-end driving the car in front of me at 21 miles per hour.

I finally made it to the station with about 3 minutes to spare and I was faced with a decision; buy my weekly ticket now, or at London Victoria.  Hmm….

There was a dithering twat of a woman at the ticket office, laughing that she “simply can’t find my purse in here! Ha ha ha!”

Ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA!!!!  Hilarious.  No really, please continue.  Take your time.  I can’t get enough of your cripplingly funny shit. 

So I thought, fuck it; I’ll buy my ticket at Victoria. 

The train pulled in, I got on, sat down and revelled in watching the dithering twat almost miss the train.  She made it.  Shame.

The journey was the usual social scene; complete silence whilst staring at a small screens and desperately trying to ignore the annoying fucker talking on her phone.  In fact, it was this annoying fucker…..https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2013/05/28/blooble-fabwa-sibbladoo/

I really have to pick a different carriage….or just punch her in the face.

We finally pulled into London Victoria and I made my way to the ‘customers needing to pay additional fares’ desk.  It should be called ‘customers who tried to pull a fast one, realised there were automated gates and now have to reluctantly pay for a ticket which they will say was from the station just before Victoria’.

I shamefully joined the queue of people like we were waiting outside the headmaster’s office, feeling the judging eyes of all the other commuters as they passed by.  The people in front of me were taking forever to buy their tickets which I thought was odd.  It then dawned on me pretty fucking quickly that they weren’t simply buying excess fares.  No, they were haggling for the cheapest way of paying for the journey they’ve just done. 

No rush folks, I don’t have a job to get to.

The woman commuter at the desk had a ticket for off peak travel and hadn’t realised it wouldn’t let her through the barriers at 08:30am in the morning, in central London, on a Monday.  I could see her confusion.  This is the sort of woman who needs to ensure her Vagisil and Colgate are kept in separate rooms.

“I didn’t realise I couldn’t use this ticket”.  Yes you did, now fuck off.

She continued to argue this for a good two or three minutes, as if somehow it would change the circumstances.  At this rate we were going to hit off peak travel times.  This could’ve been incredibly frustrating if you were someone worried about being late for work.  Not me though, I had aaaaaaaaall the time in world.

The guy that followed her wasn’t any better.

“I’ve come from Gatwick, but I’m here to see my brother, so I need to get to Kensington, but my ticket from Gatwick was a staff ticket, so I need the cheapest ticket to see him and then I’ll be coming back, but that will be today, but tomorrow I’m with my brother at his flat, so do I need an oyster card?  I basically need to get back, but the ticket I’ve got isn’t valid on the times I need to be out of my brother’s place”.

I’m sorry, what?

The massive Nigerian train guard behind the glass looked right through this little man with a stare that sat somewhere between utter contempt and not giving a shit.  It was a beautifully crafted look and one I plan to master myself.  He clearly gets this kind of idiocy all the time.

Where’s that dithering twat from earlier?  I’m feeling a bit punchy.

People Waiting In Line

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Wax off

I was sat on the train for a mere 10 seconds when I heard a sound in front of me that caught my attention.

It was a fast paced squelchy noise that sounded like a furiously masturbating gibbon. Or at least how I imagined an intensely self indulging primate may sound,  IF that was something I’d try to imagine.

Which I wouldn’t.

Because that would be weird.

So I looked around to see what was causing it, hoping not to see an ape having a tug, furious or otherwise.

There, sat two seats in front of me, was a large man who resembled a massive shaved orangutan (Ooh, I nearly called it with gibbon!). He had his little finger in his ear and was doing that fast paced jiggling action that could be either an attempt to scratch an itch that’s further down the canal than he could reach,  or an earful of water.

The sound of monkey wank suggested the latter. I HOPED It was the latter, otherwise what was causing all that squelch?

So I watched him as he was really going for it and his size suggested it was the most exercise he’d had in, well, ever.

After a vigorous and very audible squelching he pulled out his little finger and looked at it.

What is he…?

Oh no.

No.

Don’t do it.

Please don’t do it!

– sniff –

He did it.

Yuck.

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An acquired taste

This morning, as I do every morning, I prepared my lunch for the day.

And whilst making my relatively ordinary sandwich I discovered I was almost out of mustard.

Right,  onto the shopping list it goes.

I then discovered my brother had edited the last entry.

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Brilliant.

Take a seat

There’s a worldwide unwritten rule that men don’t sit down to pee. 

Ever. 

I can’t actually remember at what age I stopped sitting, but the act of standing up and draining the lizard rates up there as one of the defining moments of becoming a man; alongside losing my virginity and being in charge of my first barbeque.

Over the years I’ve discovered there are three occasions that I feel allow us to be exempt from this unwritten rule without fear of ridicule, mocking and generally being called a girl.

Here are my three exceptions to the rule:

When you’re drunk

It’s a well known fact that being drunk renders most of us virtually incapable of performing more than one task at a time.  Usually the primary focus is the simple act of standing up, and yet we can still fuck that up; often spectacularly.  So, standing AND aiming is a logistical impossibility and something us men simply daren’t attempt.  It’s easy in the street because a wall (or car, or bus shelter, or police officer) isn’t a particularly small target, whereas a toilet can be.  And if you’re 6ft tall like me, it’s like trying to hit a thimble…from space.  The only real risk with sitting down and peeing whilst drunk is comfort.  It’s likely you’ll simply pass out and wake up on the floor with your trousers around your ankles and your integrity in the bin.

When it’s dark

This one screams of common sense.  I remember years ago sharing a hotel room with a friend (twin beds I hasten to add) and in the middle of the night he got up, went to the toilet, switched on the light (waking me up), said “fuck!” when his retinas burned out of his skull, pissed on the floor anyway because he couldn’t see, then stumbled back to his bed and promptly missed.  I used to do the same to be honest.  I used to attempt to combat this by doing the ‘one eye open and one eye closed’ approach.  This was cunning as I’d switch the light on and I could see where I was aiming with one eye, and then when I switched the light off to go back to bed I would transfer to the other eye that still had night vision.  Genius.  Opening both eyes at this point is weird though.  Try it.  Then one night common sense came for what the Americans call ‘a sleepover’ and I had the ultimate epiphany; just sit down.  No harsh light, no losing valuable night vision, no blue/green blob in your line of sight that looks like an alien attacking the Enterprise when you stumble back to bed….and no having to aim.  Again, the only real risk here is the same comfort as when drunk.  Try not to fall back to sleep.

When you’re horny

The best way to describe trying to pee whilst in this state is a lot like trying to hold down loose tarpaulin in a hurricane.  Just when you think you’ve got it, you haven’t.  It’s messy, difficult, and often uncomfortable and we end up standing like a duck with our arse sticking out trying to get ‘the right angle’.  Just sit down.  SO much easier.  For those of you who haven’t considered this before; beware.  It’s likely you’ll still douse the bathroom floor through the gap between the toilet and the lid. 

Classic rookie error. 

Soon you’ll discover the ‘sit and hook’ method.  You’ll end up sitting a bit forward on the toilet, but chances are you’re on your phone anyway leaning on your knees (possibly reading this right now) so what does it matter?  I was overjoyed when Justin Timberlake’s character in ‘Friends With Benefits’ did the sit and hook.  Good man JT.

Now, these three exceptions to the rule of peeing like a man have been with me for years.  Nothing else made it onto the list; it was Drunk, Dark or Horny, no exceptions.  You could have all sorts of shit on your hands or have a broken leg and it will still be considered a bit girly if you sit.

That is, until now. 

Now there is a fourth rule.

Rule Four

You are excused from touching your penis if your hands have come in contact with chillies.

(I’ll let you take a moment for that to sink in….I fucking did!)

In my case I’d finely chopped three bags of bird eye chillies.  What followed was a sensation not unlike getting a blowjob from the Balrog, and luckily* doesn’t go away anytime soon.  Even if I’d taken my blog’s name literally I still don’t think it wouldn’t have been as bad.  Sitting down was an adventure and I’d even contemplated dipping myself into a glass of milk.

So, exception number four is chillies.  And probably Deep Heat.

 chillipenis

*sarcasm, in case you hadn’t noticed

Cigawretch

This evening I saw a man pick up half a cigarette off the floor and go one step further than https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2013/03/25/10-second-rule/

This man that wasn’t a tramp or a homeless person begging for change, but a regular well dressed man with a plastic bag full of fresh shopping.

He walked about 10 feet, put the shoe flattened cigarette in his mouth and I promptly threw up.

Ok, that’s not entirely true… but yuck nonetheless.

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Catch me if you can

I saw something this evening that was both amusing and adorable.

Let me start with a question…

If you saw an article of clothing fall out of a stranger’s rucksack as they walked by and they hadn’t noticed,  would you pick it up and run after them?

I think most people would.

I would.

Well that’s exactly what I saw happen this evening as I was walking to the tube station. Only, on this occasion the stranger was a London jogger.

For the uninitiated, a London jogger tends to be quicker than a regular jogger. This evolution of speed has adapted itself over the years so the LJ can nimbly negotiate the cruel and unrelenting London traffic (and the types of dawdling twats you only get on the pavements of this fine city) like Lycra clad urban ninjas.

So anyway,  this jogger ran by and something fell out of her rucksack onto the floor.  The LJ hadn’t noticed and continued running.

A woman bent down, picked up the scarf type item and called out to the LJ,  but she couldn’t hear through the music she was listening to on her headphones.

“This will be interesting”, I thought.

I slowed down, naturally.

The woman then decided to run after the LJ waving this article of clothing as if somehow the flapping of material would create enough breeze to alert the runner.

It didn’t.

I looked away briefly to cross the road as I didn’t want to get hit by a car (I’m no urban ninja) and when I looked back she was still running after the LJ, a further 50 metres up the street!  You’ve got to respect her resilience!

She finally caught up with the runner,  handed her the scarf (or whatever it was) and then proceeded to bend over and pant like a knackered dog.  The LJ was rubbing her back and saying what looked like “are you ok?”

It’s moments like these that lift my spirits; not only because it’s funny,  but because it renews my faith in people.

That is until I encounter the inevitable pricks on the tube.

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Epic rail fail

I’ve just seen a guy miss his train.

Was he running late, or dashing like a madman? No, he was actually early.

He was stood on the platform, headphones in his ears and reading the morning paper; positioned right at the very end of the platform, presumably to get on at the front of the train.

The train pulled in, everyone got on and the train pulled out. The thing is, the train had pulled in about 20 feet short of where he was standing, so he hadn’t seen or heard it.

He was about to.

As the train started to leave it trundled slowly past him. It was at this point he put the newspaper under his arm and prepared himself to board. It had then dawned on him this train wasn’t slowing down, it was speeding up.

He looked around, checking the boards, glaring at his watch and strutting around frantically as if it was somehow someone else’s fault.

No mate,  you really did just stand there like a twat and watch it leave all by yourself.

I think I may have seen one of the passengers waving at him.