Weight train

Breathe in…
“Hwrrrr!”
Breathe in…
-groan-
Breathe in…
“Mmm…”
Breathe in…
“Prprprprrrr”
Breathe in…
“Ooh, parrr….”
Breathe in…
“Psshheeeww”
Breathe in…
“Shhhhhhh”
Breathe in…
-massive vocal yawn
Breathe in…
-pig snort noises
Breathe in…
-blows raspberries
Breathe in… !! Cough !!   “Hwaraaaagh!!!!”  

Pause…  

Breathe in… “MmmmMMMmmm”  

And repeat…  

These are the noises coming out of the mouth of the bouncy castle sized man sat across the aisle from me on the train.  

I could be wrong; it could be his blowhole.

image

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Near Miss

This morning, whilst walking to the office, my wife and I saw a man cross the road in front of a cyclist.

To be honest, he had plenty of time to cross the road before she reached him, but I think he knew she was coming and had decided to walk so painfully slow that the cyclist had to swerve, barely missing him.

Although it could never be proved, we all knew he was trying to demonstrate it was his right of way (which it wasn’t); forcing her to slow down (which she didn’t).

As she whizzed by he looked up and shouted “Fuck off!”

Without hesitation she replied “Charming!”

London…the friendliest city in the world.

Bike Near Miss

Pretty vacant

Today my wife and I visited a home furnishings store in central London during our lunch break. It was one of those pretentious places where the mass-produced merchandise is carefully designed to look hand-made.

It seems to me that these places hire staff based on their looks because it appears their collective IQ doesn’t even come close to the price of one of their crappy little ‘hand painted’ ceramic egg cups (£4).

But at least they’re, like, so pretty.

Anyway, my wife and I were looking for matching towel and toilet roll holders for a bathroom we are currently redecorating. We were wandering around the store looking for the bathroom stuff, lost among the rugs and curtains in various shades of coffee, vanilla, caramel, mocha, cinnamon and cappuccino.

Suddenly I really fancied a Starbucks.

Our aimless wandering hadn’t gone unnoticed because a sales ‘assistant’ approached us with a massive, vacant smile.

“Can I help you with anything?”, she asked like she’d been practicing it from a prompt card.

(Yes I’ll have a large cinnamon cappuccino please).

“Yes please”, I replied, “I’m looking for your bathroom accessories”

She stood there for a moment; still smiling vacantly. It was clear she had either not heard or not understood me and, from her broken English, I was going with the latter.

“The what?” she said; her smile staying perfectly locked in place.

“Your bathroom accessories”, I replied, again.

There was another noticeable pause before her eyes lit up like she’d just seen a preview of a new season of The Kardashians.

“Ah, yes! Follow me”, she said and started to walk across the showroom.

Cool.

We walked past bedroom stuff, lounge stuff, kitchen stuff, dining stuff (all of which had me craving a double mocha latte) until we reached the corner of the showroom where she pointed down a corridor.

“Just down there sir” she said, still smiling.

“Thank you”, I said as she left.

My wife and I looked at each other and sniggered.

The stupid twat had taken us to the toilets.

vacant toilet

Don’t send a man to do a man’s job

This morning in the break room at work I saw one of the girls struggling to open a pack of muffins.

I laughed.

It wasn’t a malicious laugh to say ‘ha ha, you’re pathetic!’, but more of a little chuckle to say ‘aaw, can’t you open da wittle packety wackety?’

Nothing patronising, you understand.

“Struggling by any chance?” I said, smiling ear to ear as I made coffee.

She let out a sigh of frustration and, with bottom lip fully extended and puppy dog eyes set to maximum, thrust the packet at me (the man) to open it.

I put down my coffee spoon.

“Give it here”, I said in my most manly way and gripped the packaging with both hands, preparing to pull it open as effortlessly as a bag of crisps.

Smiling smugly, I pulled.

But wait. Oh no! It wasn’t opening!

I pulled harder. Nothing.

Oh shit.

I looked up and saw a grin forming at the corners of her mouth.

I pulled with all my strength, but the muffins still remained locked away inside their impenetrable fortress of transparency and deceit.

“OK, this isn’t good!” I said; half playful, half fearful for my masculinity.

No matter how hard I gripped the packaging and pulled at it, this thin plastic treachery to my manhood wasn’t going to open. I thought about tearing a small nick with my teeth to help rip it apart, but it wasn’t my packet of muffins and she may not have appreciated my slobber all over her breakfast.

It was unavoidable, this bastard was going to need scissors.

Admitting defeat, I shamefully handed the packet back to my chuckling colleague and went back to making coffee.

As I left the room I gingerly picked my penis and balls up off the floor and put them in my pocket to be reattached later.

Open the bag