On the drive into work this morning I was behind this plumbing truck.
I couldn’t resist sharing these brilliant slogans.
This morning on the tube I saw a man eating a McDonalds meal like a man possessed. Well, I say ‘eating’; it would be more accurate to say ‘pushing his whole face into the burger that was resting on his lap’.
After he’d stop burrowing into his meal like he was bobbing for apples he emerged for air and I couldn’t help but smile; he had a piece of burger stuck to his forehead, just above his right eyebrow.
But, after it had been sat there for a minute or so, I realised it wasn’t a piece of burger but a skin tag! This wasn’t your everyday skin tag the size of a rice krispie, no this one was almost an inch long; like a small penis!
I tried to avoid looking at it, but I just…couldn’t…stop.
Every fibre of my being was resisting the urge to do this:
This morning I saw a man on the London Underground accompanied by his wife who was dressed in a Burka.
Some people unfairly assume that, being a Muslim, he is probably up to no good like bombing the train or something equally insane.
This is, of course, ridiculous. It is an irrational fear created by the few extremists out there ruining it for the rest.
I have to say that I disagree with the oppressive nature of the burka, despite the excellent UV protection it provides. Having said that, I do have Muslim friends and my experience has taught me that their religion is no more or less peaceful than any other (except maybe Buddhism).
Also, this dude had his wife with him. There isn’t a man alive (or dead) who wants to be greeted by 72 virgins with his wife!
Unless that’s their thing.
Which I doubt.
So I wasn’t worried.
However, this guy was wearing a T-shirt that wasn’t doing him any favours whatsoever.
I must not think bad thoughts
I must not think bad thoughts
I must not think bad thoughts
There were some uncomfortably sweaty people on the train this morning.
In the past I used to believe that America was home to some of the dumbest people on the planet. After all, they have no clue about anything outside America and their grasp of sarcasm and humour (or ‘humor’) is as tight as a slut’s vagina.
But after meeting my wife, who is from Las Vegas, I’ve had a lot more exposure to them (Americans, not sluts’ vaginas) and I’ve come to realise that this belief isn’t true. I mean, it’s true of a lot of Americans, but it’s not fair to tar them all with the same brush.
Since my wife came to England I’ve started seeing the country through her eyes and cracks are beginning to form. I’m slowly noticing that we are a lot more flawed as a nation than I realised, or cared to admit. It’s like peeking behind the curtain at a magic show to see levers, pulleys and a white rabbit taking a colossal dump into a top hat.
England is also home to some of the dumbest people on the planet.
Case in point:
Last night, on the London Underground, my wife and I got off the train at Victoria station and shuffled with the masses towards the two upward escalators leading to the surface. There were two guys in front of us and as we approached the escalators, one of the guys took the left escalator and the other took the right.
Neither of us paid any attention until one of the guys started talking to the other. With a distance of around six feet between them and the combined noise of the escalator and the throng of chatting commuters, I should say one started shouting to the other.
Guy 1 – “So what happened next?”
Guy 2 – “What?”
Guy 1 – “I SAID, WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?”
Guy 2 – “Oh, right. Well she decided she was going to work Saturday instead”
Guy 1 – “She was going to what?”
Guy 2 – “PARDON?”
Guy 1 – “SHE WAS GOING TO WHAT?”
Guy 2 – “WORK SATURDAY INSTEAD!”
Guy 1 – “AH, I THOUGHT SHE MIGHT”
Guy 2 – “WHAT?”
I couldn’t believe it. These two guys were together! It wasn’t that busy in the station which meant they weren’t herded accidentally onto separate escalators; they’d CHOSEN to do that.
I looked back at my wife who was staring at them in disbelief. She looked back at me, rolled her eyes and mouthed the words “Why the fuck?”
As we reached the top of the escalator my wife shared her thoughts with me.
For fuck’s sake England!
When an American living here rants about the sheer stupidity of people around her, it’s time to sit up and pay attention.
Over the years I’ve noticed a few habits adopted by the idiots I’m forced to endure every day on the trains (or ‘commuters’ as they’re better known). A lot of these habits have become such commonplace that I usually can’t be bothered to blog about them, or I simply forget.
However, this morning there were three happening all at once and my Punch-O-Meter’s needle was twitching in the red zone.
So I’m taking time out to vent about these habits that leave me craving the sweet sound of knuckles on face.
1. The Multitasker
This is the person who, whilst having a conversation with someone else on the train, is also reading their phone or tablet. Even though they’re (thankfully) not talking to me, it’s still really rude and they don’t make any attempt to hide it.
It’s bad enough that they’re flapping their jaws while I’m trying to sleep or watch a movie, but to be doing it and not remaining committed to the conversation they’re having is like getting a drum kit for your birthday and then playing it out of rhythm, like Yugoslavian Jazz.
If you’re going to annoy me at least have the decency to do it properly.
2. Casual Viewers
I’m a bit of a viewing Nazi when it comes to TV and movies. If you’ve made a decision to sit down and watch something, then sit the fuck down and watch it. There are certain things you should never do, especially when I’m in the vicinity.
The woman sat next to me on the train this morning was watching some boring shit on her tablet, but was also moronically scrolling through her Facebook newsfeed on her phone. I use the word ‘watching’ loosely as she didn’t actually look up from her phone for almost the entire journey into London, which was an hour.
I thought about all the money spent hiring writers, producers, directors (first and second unit), actors, extras and production staff, plus all the time taken perfecting every line of every draft of the script to keep the plot engaging, every camera angle to capture the subtle nuances of the actors’ performances, the scouting for locations, the permissions needed to shoot in these locations, the time spent in principle photography, all the post production, the special effects, music, overdubs, Foley dubs, the editing process to keep the right pace, the test audiences to ensure it will satisfy the masses and bring in the bucks, the premieres, the red carpets, the press junkets; all of this wasted on some bint ‘liking’ a picture of a kitten.
It really grinds on me. Can you tell?
Then, when she’d stopped mindlessly scrolling through the pointless crap on her newsfeed and sucked in her drool, she then spent ages rewinding what she had been ‘watching’ in an attempt to find the part where she’d tuned out. To be honest, I don’t think this woman was ever fully tuned in.
3. The Aisle Sitter
This one has always confused me.
It’s the idiot who gets on the train, sits in an aisle seat and leaves the window seat vacant.
Inevitably someone else will get on and want to sit down, so rather than simply (and sensibly) moving over to the window, they make a big performance of stopping what they’re doing (sometimes tutting and sighing in the process) and awkwardly standing up in the aisle (stopping other people from getting past) to allow the new arrival access to the seat by the window.
This is time consuming and makes absolutely no sense. It’s a commuter train which means this happens EVERY day, and EVERY day they do the same thing. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Same dickheads, same thing; every day.
If they don’t want to be disturbed, then sit by the window, or find a seat next to someone who already has.
These are supposed to be intelligent people, right? I mean, they’re wearing suits and stuff.
I’m reminded of a quote from Tim Minchin:
“We’re just fucking monkeys in shoes”
There are four twats on the train sat at the table across the aisle from me.
All four are dressed like Carlton from ‘The Fresh Prince Of Bel End’ er, I mean ‘Bel Air’, but talk like the chavvy rudeboys they are failing to be.
There is a funny smell in the carriage and the conversation (ha ha, ‘conversation’) starts:
“What is dat smell innit?”
“No idea bruv, yeah?”
“Man, that smells is for real, I smelt it on the way up, innit?”
This really pisses me off. Do they realise “innit” is a slang version of “isn’t it”?
They have no idea how much I’d like to punch each of them in the face.