A queer insult.

Sometimes the difference in culture between the UK and the USA rears its ugly, and usually amusing, head. Today was one of those times.

At work we have some internal instant messaging software which is great for employees to communicate when they:

A) Can’t call.

B) Won’t call.

C) Have the social skills of a gibbon with its scrotum in a jar of fire ants.

As my department is like a central hub for any questions or issues from our call centre, we get a lot of instant messages to help out with all kinds of weird and wonderful situations.

Here is a conversation I literally just had:

Fran: Hi, I need some help

Me: Hey Fran, it’s Daniel, your favorite Brit ūüėČ

Fran: Hey Daniel! How’s it going?

Me: Pretty good. Busy! So what’s up?

(For security reasons, this part of the conversation is omitted as it’s work related.¬† Needless to say, I fixed the problem like a boss!)

Me: Done!

Fran: Great! Thanks.

Me: No problem ūüėČ

Fran: Have a great day!

Me: You have a great day too ūüôā

Fran: Poof

Now, she meant to imply that she magically and dramatically vanished from the conversation in a puff of smoke, like a genie….or Batman.

To me she ended that conversation with ‘Faggot‘.

I laughed like a drain for at least a minute, solidly.

It was one of the funniest insults I’ve received since living in America, particularly because it was unintentional and from a person who wouldn’t even say boo to a goose (with or without their nuts in a jar of fire ants).

poof

This is also the word we use for an ‘Ottoman’. England is a weird place.

 

The day I tongue-tied a lesbian.

The girl who sits behind me at work is gay.¬† Is that a relevant or appropriate start to this post?¬† You betcha.¬† Let’s call her Cholula.

So, a few of us were talking about pets, particularly dogs and cats, and Cholula said she wanted a dog.¬† However, she didn’t want anything too vicious as she has a cat.

At this moment her phone rang. As she went to pick up the phone she said, “I don’t want anything eating my cat”.

I quickly replied with, “That’s not what she used to say in her single days.”

She laughed, gagged, fucked up her phone greeting and had to apologise to the caller.

Twink-le Twink-le little Star (bucks)

The effeminate young guy behind the till* in Starbucks this morning was more camp than a row of tents as he took our orders and passed them to the young, sour faced girl lurking behind the machinery.

While we were all stood there waiting for the miserable barista to emerge from behind the steam with our coffees, a middle aged, slightly overweight, greasy haired man came in wearing a trench coat and a creepy smile.

He ordered a coffee and started really flirting with the young guy behind the counter. It soon became evident they knew each other.¬† There was some giggling, some pouting and the young guy’s eyelids were being batted more than cricket ball.+

It was becoming uncomfortable to watch so I started looking around the café at anything to distract me.  My eyes eventually rested on the supermarket plastic bag that the greasy man was holding.  There was something written on it.

“Enjoy Every Mouthful”

Of course.

man eating sausage

* Cash register (for our American friends)
+ Baseball (for our American friends)

Drop it like it’s hot

Whilst sat having lunch with my wife, we were overpowered by the loud plum voiced conversation being had at the next table.

It quickly became clear this ‘man’ (I use that term loosely) and woman worked in the film industry due to the number of names being dropped¬†per second.

Seriously, there were more drops than a Dubstep album.  They were almost trying to outdo each other over who has sucked more celebrity cock.

Then, during the mindless drivel and¬†overenthusiastic nodding,¬†the ‘man’ said something about his child.

I’m sorry, his what?

How did that happen?

Anyway, this prompted my favourite part of the conversation and the reason for today’s post.

“I’ve got a photo of him here”,¬†he said pulling out a pink sequined purse* and producing a crumpled up photograph, “He’s 17 months, but he looks 22”

Wow.

Just wow.

next table

*not strictly true. It was lilac**

**also not true

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

 

Hypocritical?

Well done Dan, you successfully chose the only seat on this empty train opposite the only penis who has now decided to talk at length on his phone.

I was going to blog about him but decided against it. I didn’t want to point out that he looks like Harley from Rizzle Kicks but with geeky glasses (which I assume are intentional), cute little pink sparkly cross earrings and a high top fade in his head like Kid missing Play.

I’m also not going to ridicule the fact he’s wearing a colourful plaid shirt with the top button done up and his beanpole arms sticking out from¬†rolled up sleeves.

And I am certainly not going to comment that he has the campest, most feminine voice I’ve ever heard and is talking to his ‘mummy’ about not returning to college or university (or some establishment of learning) because of the drama and stress.

No, I’m not going to do any of that.

And do you know why?

Because I realised, as I pulled my headphones out of my bag to drown him out, that my headphones are bright pink.

image