It's bad for you.
To get to my first ever office job I used to catch a train.
On the whole I didn't mind this. The services were frequent and mostly punctual, and it gave me an hour or so a day to sit quietly and read. Unfortunately though, my peace of mind was punctured daily by the presence of other commuters. Like me, they were quiet and slightly rushed people, probably on their way to work. I never spoke a word to any of them. Never knew their names or what they did. Their only crime was to be seen by me every day.

Each morning, filled with renewed loathing for my fellow passengers, I'd scowl at their faces over the top of my book, inventing ludicrous back stories and tortured futures for these hapless bastards. There was Larry Big Arse, whose hyper-extended buttocks in their overly tight black slacks always made me think of a homosexual Matt Damon. "Get a fucking stairmaster, Larry, go jogging for FUCKS sake" I'd silently growl as he waddled along the carriage, past Sally Erection with her ubiquitous umbrella and perfect tits. "It's not raining, you handsome fuck," I'd sob to myself between gritted teeth. "Why, just once, can't you leave the fucking thing at home? Just once?" I had visions of confronting her. "It's JULY you dross bint! It hasn't rained in weeks! FUCK OFF!"

Then there was my arch nemesis, Corned Beef Graham. Earphones and a ginger goatee hanging from his stupid long fucking face. I don't know what music he listened to, but I'll bet I fucking hated it. His posture seemed designed purely to enrage me, a perfectly straight back with his oblong head flopping forward to absorb whatever wankish magazine was sat on his fucking lap. "I bet he goes home every night and eats corned beef fucking sandwiches," I fumed. "Fucking corned beef, corned beef, corned beef in fucking everything. Daft fucking corned beef eating cunt."
I would have paid handsomely to see Corned Beef Graham fall over in public, just so I could ignore his pathetic requests for assistance. He didn't know how intently I watched him, just waiting for him to fuck up.

Then I'd get to work – a tedious chore in a huge open plan anonymous office at the heart of a big city. Hundreds of co-workers, none of whom I knew. But the hateful shits all got names too. Shitpants, the One with the Face, Mo the Cunt …

I got a car eventually, and a better job. Funnily enough, people stopped being so hateful after that.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 16:01, 10 replies)

Haven't logged on for years,
but had to for this outstanding rant.
(gileyboy, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 16:31, closed)

This is absolute class
I used to do this on the bus home with my mates from school. But we only got as far as giving them names.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 16:42, closed)

I'm relieved that I'm not the only one who has done this.

( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 16:53, closed)

Login click for this...
...especially for "Daft fucking corned beef eating cunt"
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Tue 5 Apr 2011, 18:03, closed)

Lovely stuff
And rather accurate.
(KeenBean objects to this comma, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 18:05, closed)

Cheers
I was vaguely worried I'd get called a psycho for posting this.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 18:14, closed)

Reminds me of a Charlie Higson* novel.
I think it is called "Happy Now".
I have to admit that one reason I liked the book was due to the fact I do this myself.

*AKA Charlie Higson of The Fast Show
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 18:19, closed)

brilliant
Imagine if other people were doing it to you - the silent wars that go on between passengers. I must admit I do this while waiting in some queues.

"'Look at this cunt - baggy trousered, shit in your hammock twat - do you really need to buy those Tangfastics - move and let me try my luck with getting through this checkout without wanting to vomit on the angry baboon who is operating the till today'"
(Clit Ninja is having a white space party!, Wed 6 Apr 2011, 10:53, closed)

"baggy trousered, shit in your hammock twat"
*makes note*
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Wed 6 Apr 2011, 11:05, closed)

For me it's usually a game of "If this was a disaster movie, who would be..."

- the one who cracks under pressure
- the one who seems meek but turns out to be the hero
- the one who dies, messily, right at the start to show how bad things are
- the couple who find love
- the nun with the guitar
- the one with the dangerous secret

and so on

EXCEPT

There is one guy who I have an irrational hatred of. I'm convinced his name should be Colin Hunt -- he just looks like a Colin Hunt -- but there's no sane way to find out. Grrr!
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 7 Apr 2011, 10:31, closed)