Watch your money closely people...

~~~~~~~~ Repressed memory coming back…*shudder* ~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks ago I slept through attended a course on web security which culminated in the bulging climax of being told to ‘trust nothing, trust nobody, take nothing for granted’.

This point was hammered home by each of us being given what looked like a £20 note, but on closer inspection proved to be a rather obvious forgery (see what they did there?)

We were told we could keep the notes as a reminder to us all in these troubled times.

Deep joy. I felt safer already.

Anyhoo, fast forward a couple of nights later and (surprise surprise) I’m in the pub, sharing a dull-as-shit football match and a pint (or nine) with some chums…

At half time, all of my friends went out for a smoke, and although I don’t smoke, I didn’t want to look like a ‘Norman-no-mates’ so I went outside with them.

As we stood there, freezing our collective bollocks off as they tried their damndest to kill me through passive smoking, we whinged about this ‘Credit Crunch’ lark, and it’s effect on our ability to buy beer, cigarettes…pretty much fucking everything as it goes.

Mid-conversation, one of them spoke up: “This is all very well, but you’ll be alright, Pooflake…”

“What do you mean by that?” I enquired.

“Well, for a start you don’t smoke…and…you’ve managed to blag quite a good job, despite being as thick as an elephant sandwich…but most importantly, 'cutting back' won't matter to you because you’re already as tight as a pre-teen Nun’s flangeflaps that have been sealed with denture fixative…*comedy pause*…and staples!”

“Well I never!” I exclaimed, as everybody giggled at my expense and nodded in agreement.

(Now, it’s one thing to actually be a tightwad, even to know it yourself…but to be called one by your mates is slap-bang-out-of-order).

So…cleverly retorting in a way that would make Noel Coward glow with envy, I bellowed:

“You can all fuck right off!”

They then seemed to launch into individual virtuoso stand up comedy routines; with the subject in question being how I was as tight as ‘a duck’s arse’, ‘a gnat’s chuff’, and how ‘coal would turn into a diamond up my dirtbox’ etc.

...and the 'red mist' began to descend…

But instead of getting mad, I got into action and crafted a plan which was cunningly fiendish in its sublime brilliance.

I would do something. One.single.act…that would forever banish such slanderous comments from besmirching my good name once and for all.

I quietly asked one of my mates if I could borrow his lighter, and he duly handed it over. Then, in a well-timed moment of radically overblown amateur dramatics I announced to the chuckling throng:

“So…I’m a tight-arse am I?...Well…tell me then, you bunch of fucking twatcakes…would a tightarse do THIS?”

And with that, blinded by rage in the poorly-lit smoking area, I reached into my wallet, whipped out the ‘£20 Note’, and promptly set it on fire in front of them all, waving it about and cackling insanely before throwing it on the floor.

What followed was a perfect case of: ‘Set your faces…to stunned’.

Each one of them briefly stood completely still, mouth agape like a yawning dog turd in utter, total, incomprehensible disbelief at what was happening before them.

To my delight, one of them even dived on the burning note in an effort to stamp out the flames, but the damage was done. It was perfect.

In unison, they began to exclaim such comments as: “Fucking hell Poo, you chuffing mentalist bell-end!” and: “What the cock-potato do you think you’re doing?”

I milked the situation for all it was worth, trying to stifle the metaphorical ‘little wee’ as my wobbling frame began to buckle under the sheer prank-some joy at the way they had each fallen for my ruse.

Then, wiping tears of purest mirth from my eyes I chortled: “HAHAHAHAHAAAA! –– I had you going there didn’t I? You dopey fucking fuckers! It was a FAKE note! – but look at you, you sad bunch of insipid quimbeciles! Who’s the tightwad now eh?? MUUHAAHAAAHAAA!”

I then took immense satisfaction in pointing at their mong-ish morbid faces as they slowly tried to make sense of the situation.

Just as I was sure they were about to congratulate me on the jape-of-the-decade, my mate, who was inspecting the burnt cinders on the ground made the following observation:

“If this is a fake note, it’s a fucking good one”

…

“HA HA HAAAA……Wha..?” I said…and with that, I glanced down and watched as my mate picked up the charred remains of an incredibly-realistic looking £20 note…complete with metal stripe through the middle…and still-slightly-visible water mark.

Just then…alcohol-inhibited memories of just a few hours before suddenly began bollocking through my head…memories of going to the cashpoint…and drawing out £30…which consisted of a Pavarotti*, and…

A REAL FUCKING £20 NOTE THAT I HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT!

ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!there aren’t enough exclamation marks in the world!!!!!

My entire face suddenly lost all muscle control and drooped floorwards as, with a heart heavier than Lisa Riley’s left breasticle, I painfully peered into my wallet for the painful confirmation…

…and saw the badly-drawn queen's face of my crap, fake £20 note merrily staring out at me from its comfy home.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” I screamed, with my arms flailing about like an electrocuted banshee.

The horror seered itself across my face like it had been burned on with a branding iron…

Of course, my mates’ shock and disgust instantly turned to jubilant, ecstatic joy as they howled hysterically, watching me quietly sob into a little pile of ash, and mumbling incoherently about ‘not being able to get the round in’, and ”It’s not fucking funny”.


I decided there and then…that I was never going to try and ‘show off’ again.


* £10 (tenner / 'tenor' – geddit?)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 28 Jan 2009, 10:17, 5 replies)

...
I could see that one coming. Ouch.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 28 Jan 2009, 10:30, closed)

It's not the punchline...
...it's getting there that counts

"tight as a pre-teen Nun’s flangeflaps that have been sealed with denture fixative"

If Ronnie Corbett could mix metaphors like that during his black chair monologues, he'd have an even bigger cult following. You don't see Pooflake typing "and then the producer said...".

A exercise in class Mr Flake.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 28 Jan 2009, 10:56, closed)

Despite seeing it coming
That was fucking hilariously written up :)

Nice initial come back, too.

A+ Would read again
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Wed 28 Jan 2009, 11:27, closed)

About the only thing I've read this week
And the funniest.

*click*
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Wed 28 Jan 2009, 11:55, closed)

Bad luck fella
I'm sure you knew this, but I've started typing now soooo...

if you can still see the serial numbers, you can swap it for a shiny new one at the Bank of England next time you're in the smoke...
( chart cat has an itch, Wed 28 Jan 2009, 12:08, closed)