What’s 9442 miles between friends?

This evening I went to Target which, to my English brethren across the pond, is like Woolworths used to be…but on steroids.

I found what I was looking for and made my way to the till (checkout). 

The guy at the till (checkout), upon hearing me speak, joined the slew of uncultured twats I’ve encountered since moving to America by asking, “So what part of Australia are you from?”

Here we go again.

He could’ve simply asked where I was from, but no; he thought he’d be clever and join the ranks of twattery by asking the question I’ve heard about a million times since I emigrated.

Even if I was from down under, would he have known the area? I doubt it. This guy probably couldn’t find his own arse with both hands. [¹]

It didn’t stop there. He went on to embarrass himself and his country further.

Here is an almost literal account of the entire conversation.

Him – “So what part of Australia are you from?”

Me – “Guess again”

There was a unnecessarily long pause.

Him – “New Zealand?”

Me – “Nope. Where else do they speak ENGLISH a lot?”

He paused again and really thought about it this time.

Him – “Scotland?”

I couldn’t believe it.

Me – “No. Think about it. Where is the most ENGLAND place you can think of that speaks ENGLISH?”

Him – “Well, there’s England but….”

I had to interrupt him. I didn’t want to know what level of ignorance was churning that sentence out of his mouth.

Me – “That’s right, England. I’m English”

He looked at me skeptically and turned to scan my goods though his till (checkout).

Him – “Huh, well you don’t sound English. You sound Australian”.

No I don’t; I sound English.
Do you know how I know I sound English? Because I’m English! That’s where I came from! The Australian accent is completely different.

I was warned that a majority of Yanks thinks we’re either Ozzies or Kiwis, when in fact we’re just Poms.

It amazes me how they can’t tell the difference and then, when corrected, proceed to ask me if I’m sure or – in the case of Captain Cretin tonight – dispute it.

Then, on cue, he decided to tell me about people he knows or is related to that once lived in England or he knew someone in England, or read about England in some book.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a fucking atlas.

image

[¹] Also down under

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Getting your fear on track

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.

It read:

I must not think bad thoughts

I must not think bad thoughts

I must not think bad thoughts

 

Hilarious.

There were some uncomfortably sweaty people on the train this morning.

train-scream

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