Here we go
People buying tickets at railway stations

I understand that its very hard for you, you are obviously the sort of person who wakes up in the morning and in a fit of indecisiveness is incapable of deciding which pair of identical grey socks to wear.

What I don’t understand is why you have to bring this level of cosmic ineptitude regarding interpersonal and personal relations to the fucking train station, at peak travelling time, when I’m trying to get a ticket home.

As far as I understand this is your thought process whilst you are interacting with the slack jawed drone behind the counter who appears to have never heard of a train:

“Oh it’s a lovely day, birds singing, look at the sky its wonderful! Oh yes, sorry I drifted off for a moment, yes yes, I want a ticket. For the train. OH! Where to? To London. I think. I’m not sure where. Possibly east London?? Hm. That’s quite expensive. Well if I get the combined-mega-super-saver deal and go via Port Said, Mombassa, and the Maldives can I get a better deal? Hmm. That’s still quite expensive. Hold on just a second, I have to turn around now and explain at great length what has been happening to my elderly great Aunt who has been stood here not listening at all… [Five minute pause in thought]… Right we’ve decided… can we get the Saver Plus via Darlington, Nuuk, and Helsinki. How much??? Hmm… well OK that’s no problem I suppose. Oh no its not for today. Its for the thirtheenth Whit Sunday falling after the 8th solar eclipse after the resurrection of Christ….. [and so on and so forth].”

In the meantime my train has come (after being delayed), stopped, and gone. Could I used the automatic machines? No. Because they were all ‘down’.

People on trains

It may be hard for you to realise, but as a topic of conversation (at loud volume and in a quiet train carriage) a forthright discussion of what inanimate (and presumably now sticky) objects you inserted into each other’s orifices during your mammoth “fuck session” last night is not quite the best. I appreciate that you have a had a nice holiday on the south coast and are now returning to Manchester, and that to celebrate that you had both decided to experiment with various vaguely disturbing items, but I’m trying to read my book and its hard to concentrate when a guy who sounds like he’s trying to act like the Gallaghers incestuous love child is complaining that his arse still hurts because his hatchet faced Manc-wench didn’t properly lube up the Becks bottle before sliding it into the torpedo tube.

Oh and on another note, to the people sat in front of me, yes I can see your laptop screen, and yes, I can see the dodgy Japanese porn you’re watching. And yes, I have my suspicions when one of you goes to the toilet after 10 minutes of watching it.

My housemate

Hard as it is to believe but other people have a legitimate right to live and work. Not everything is a conspiracy by Government, business, academia, or the Immigration service to fuck you over. Its not that they are being inefficient, its just that they appear to have some acquaintance with your personality and are recoiling with as much disgust and dislike as I now am. Thank you though, for disconnecting the doorbell. Its so inconsiderate of people to call around and ring the bell. I know it interferes with your rigorous go to sleep at 8pm, wake up at 8am schedule, but some of us believe that a little social interaction is good from time to time.

On another note, if you are going to buy a large jar of pickled intestines, and then sit in your pants watching TV and eating said intestines, try not to spill the intestine juice all over the sofa. It stinks. And you might also want to try doing your washing up – that may help with the smell. Also, when you are having phone sex with your girlfriend wear a pair of headphones – having her moaning on your speakers means that its audible all over the house.

My Ex-Girlfriend

The reason that I no longer want to talk to you is not because you have a new boyfriend. It’s because you are a manipulative, spoilt, self centred, inconsiderate bitch who believes that the entire world revolves around you and that whatever poor sod is currently dating you is there entirely for your convenience.

Oompah-Lumpars

Why, when I was trying to work yesterday, did I have the Oompah-Lumpar song going round in my head? Its horribly distracting.

Gym Bunnies and their steroid fuelled male counterparts

I’m not in the best of shape. I drink too much and my exercise regimen has been more directed towards laziness than anything over the last few years. I have, however, recently started going to the gym.

Gym Bunnies. Yes, you’re cute. I can see that in your lycra clothes. I’m not sweating because I’m a pervert, I’m sweating because I’m a fat bastard, so there’s no need to look at me with quite that measure of disgust.

Men in the gym – amazing… you can move a lump of metal several inches? Obviously now the world must bow down to its new Lord and Master. I am clearly inferior, because, as yet, the lump of metal I can move is only half as big as yours.

Pub Drunks

Here I am, on a date with a girl who vaguely bores me, but with whom I have already had some measure of success [slaps hands in a Boratish manner]. Thank you pub drunk for coming over and asking that if I’m not going to shag her in the toilets, can you? The fact that you are a semi-toothed 50 year old wearing a mac and smelling like a distillery meant you had no chance. The fact that you pissed her off to the extent she went home meant that I also had no chance. So go fuck yourself.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 12:18, Reply)