Game shame on a train

Today I downloaded a very nerdy documentary on the making of the videogame ‘Fallout 3’.

My wife is at the gym tonight and will be commuting home later so, being only 40 minutes in length, it was perfect as something to watch on my train journey home tonight.

As I settled in and began watching it a young cute girl sat next to me on the train.

Of course she did.

Nothing screams “39 year old virgin with no ability to get a woman sat right here!” more than this.

Nothing.

Even my tattoos and wedding ring won’t rescue me this time…

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I yam what I yam

Last night in the supermarket I was walking behind two of the most effeminate men I have seen in my life.

I’m not going to ‘come out’ and say they were gay but it was very clear they were either a couple or ‘very close’ friends as they both displayed pretty much every possible stereotype imaginable.

These included (but were not limited to): foundation on their faces, a mince in the way they walked, super skinny jeans with no socks and deck shoes, perfectly quaffed and coloured hair, limp wrists and arm motions made with the elbows fixed to the body.

Ok, they were gay.  Super gay. Very very very gay.

OK?

Oh, and they both had ‘the lisp’.

What is the deal with the lisp?

Now, I don’t want to appear as homophobic in any way, so I’m going to do ‘that thing’ where I point out the fact that I have gay friends.  I have gay friends everyone!  They’re gay, they’re proud and they most certainly have not suddenly adopted an inability to use their tongue properly.

Quite the opposite I’d imagine.

Anyway….

Where did this lisp come from?  Can someone please enlighten me?

I mean, I understand that some gay men take on feminine mannerisms like a softly spoken tone of voice and too much perfume (cough cough gasp wheeze!), but I know very few women who have this lisp.

In fact, I know none.

Yes, that’s right; I don’t know a single woman with a lisp.  Yet I have met a lot of gay men in my time (steady on…I work in travel before you ask) and a lot of them….cabin crew mostly….lisp.

Or ‘lithp’

(Isn’t it cruel that ‘lisp’ has an ‘s’ in it?)

Anyway, back to my story.

So these two were in front of me in the vegetable aisle when one of them stopped and pointed suggestively at the cucumbers.

They both exchanged looks and giggled a little before one of them saw something in the racks that had him reeling back in surprise and bemusement.

Serjio  – “Oh my God, what is that?!”

Ramone looked at the label for a second.

Ramone  – “It’s a yam”
Serjio  – “A what?”
Ramone  – “A yam”.
Serjio  – “A yam?”
Ramone  – “Yes”.
Serjio  – “What’s a yam?”
Ramone  – “What do you mean ‘What’s a yam?’, it’s a yam!”
Serjio  – “Yes, but what is it?”

Ramone paused for a moment.

Ramone  – “No idea”.

I laughed (and died) a little inside as they minced away to the fruit section looking for fruit; bananas probably.

And as I walked around the rest of the supermarket I couldn’t help but wonder how these guys didn’t know what a yam was.

I mean, have you seen one?

yam cock

 

I fancy a bite…how about Italian?

Last night the Uruguayan player Luis Suarez decided to bite one of the Italian players, Giorgio Chiellini, on the shoulder during a fully televised world cup game in a sold out 45,000 seat capacity stadium.

Like a Big Brother contestant having a crafty wank alone in his room, no-one saw it.

caught wanking

A game with big shiny helmets

Despite the world cup going on at the moment, I’m really finding a new love for American Football.

I’ve never been a fan of regular football (or ‘soccer’ as the Americans call it, but let’s be honest, its played with the feet; it’s football), but I really am loving the overly padded brutality of American football (or ‘football’ as the Americans call it, obviously because it’s played with their hands).

That said, I still can’t stop sniggering (or ‘snickering’ if you’re an American, or a lover of chocolate bars) at some of the things the commentators say.

Sure, there are plenty of chuckles to be had at “Nice solid tackle” and “Reached up and grabbed the ball” etc, but I was NOT expecting this…

“They had a tight end split wide”

Brilliant.

Just brilliant.

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No feign, no gain….apparently.

Watching the world cup games, I’ve noticed something…

Whenever a football player goes down, they’re always clutching their face.

Hurt leg? Clutch face.
Pushed over? Clutch face.
Pulled shirt? Clutch face.

I’ll give you a reason to clutch your face, you overpaid prancing pricks.

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Foul play

OK…I’m not a football type of bloke (except for the world cup which is currently taking over my precious TV time), so I want to ask the following question…

Has a referee ever changed his mind and ‘taken back’ a yellow (or red) card?

If not, then why the fuck do these primadonnas ALWAYS argue and plead with the ref at his decision?

Are they expecting the ref to say…”Do you know what? You’re right.

I AM the blind son of a fecal eating shit donkey. I DO have my head firmly wedged up my arse as that was clearly NOT a foul and I’m sorry for acting so rashly. I take back my decision and you may play on”

…?

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This Conversation Literally Moved Me

This morning my wife and I attempted to sleep off a weekend hangover on the train.

We’d just managed to start snoozing when a loud mature American couple boarded at Gatwick Airport.  Not only were they talking loudly to each other, it seems they’d also struck up a loud conversation with a loud Canadian student who had boarded with them and they had all taken a seat (loudly) on our quiet carriage.

This will go down well.

Not only was their conversation loud, it was boring…..its way into my skull.  They were talking about how old the student looked compared to her actual age.

“Oh my Gaad, you do NOT look 31 years old does she Bob!?”

“No Fran, she does not!”, turns to student, “You do NOT look 31 years old!”

They asked her what she was studying (Accountancy), where she was from (Calgary) and even drew comparisons between her and their children.  If I’m honest, comparing this 31 year old Asian girl from Canada to Bob and Fran’s 25 year old Caucasian daughter felt a little shoehorned into the conversation because, god forbid, Americans don’t talk about themselves.

In fact, an American’s favourite word is ‘I’…..oh, and “fries”.

It was at this moment my American wife became a full bonefide Brit.

She turned to me, rolled her eyes and said “let’s move carriages; I can’t deal with this shit, especially first thing on a Monday morning”.

It worked for me….just like the ‘fanny packs’ and socks/sandals combo didn’t.

USA tourist