one Christmas, it was a great holiday but
I was disturbed to hear Dido coming from the local ice cream van. The local jobsworth bouncer (who suffered from Pilonidal Sinuses) agreed with me that this was wrong and offered to help me sort out the ice cream man until he noticed I wasn't an officer of the law, and I was wearing trainers.

Fortunately my cunt of a boss, who is also my father, a compulsive liar who talks bollocks(he is old now) and had an office affair with me as a child even though I was ugly (this was how I lost my virginity), turned up and decided we should sort the local nutter out together. I suddenly had a near death premonition and was lost, and decided to go back in time with my time machine, but had an onosecond when I remembered I was too lazy to make it and would have to stay in the shoddy present. Yet more evidence that I'm getting old, although I once overheard that this could be booze related. Disaster. Shaking off these feelings I hailed a cab, which was being driven by Brian Blessed. It was the worst journey ever, he mumbled a lot and we could hardly understand what he was saying, so I told him that he would be terrible in interviews, unlike myself, an expert. He mumbled something about clients being stupid, before he sped off, blatantly breaking the law. His tires were smoking so much they soon made the ape who was wanking while watching us smash a brick into his penis. Boy, that was going to be an embarassing injury. I really wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Like really unsure. But I decided fuck it, I'll just call him Pikey, the local slang for a ned, and cry.

So Dad and I reached the ice cream man and sabotaged his tyres. His parents came out and I realised they had once been in the local paper, and now I met them I realised that this was my claim to fame, it was a beautiful moment. It really is a guilty pleasure, pretending to like people just to get famous. They took to me like a duck to water, claiming their own son was a black sheep with bad childhood taste, full of useless information and got turned on looking at scars with "history". I told them the world's sickest joke, but soon realised I was out of my depth. I didn't like them anyway, stupid Hamdy and Isobella CerfunosharapovadenisonmcGruers. They didn't even sing the right words to Eye of the Tiger, I just remembered that now, listening to my walkman.

I got my revenge by eating all the ice cream in the van with a fork, spoons I have an irrational fear of. I still have that fork.

I don't know why I bothered, last time I ate ice cream I thought it was the worst food in the world, and was the sickest I've been, sicker than that time I wanked over my mum. Yes, that was a bad date. Fortunately I had my eyes closed and was listening to ice cream van music through headphones. The biscuits and tea were nice though. I was soon dumped live on a show, dedicated to me, afterwards, but missed it as I was carpeting someone's chimney (and I'm talking sexual innuendo here).

And that ladies and gentlemen, is my shit story. Ohhhh, I just don't get it. I only wrote it as I was skiving off work, and I had to make myself feel better for being drunk and buying a Barbie doll with the proper genitalia on eBay.

I almost certainly do not remain,

yours,

Legless
(Lannes, Thu 23 Jun 2005, 15:21, Reply)