A short falsehood
I was driving home the other day, late, it was dark and I was drowsy. Worse, I'd left my stash of methamphetamine in the glovebox of my OTHER Bugatti Veyron, so I had nothing to wake me up. Before I know it, I've dinged the back of the car in front, braking too slowly in the approach to a roundabout.

Bugger. Luckily it's a little Metro and my car should have survived without any damage. I get out to swap insurance details with the other guy, trying not to look knackered/shifty/smug that my motor is so vastly superior to his. And then I have to try not to look surprised or amused, cos the gentleman is, shall we say, vertically challenged. Hang on, this is B3ta; he's a dumpy twat. A shortarse. A dwarf.

He looks at me, reads my expression, gets angry. Strides purposefully over to me (takes a while), puffs his chest out and declares "I'm not happy."

To which I could really only say one thing.

"Well which one are you, then?"
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 28 Apr 2010, 15:33, 3 replies)

that made me giggle

( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Wed 28 Apr 2010, 15:41, closed)

Good work, well played.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 28 Apr 2010, 15:42, closed)

Badum Tish.

(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 28 Apr 2010, 18:20, closed)