Phil & the Spanish Commercial Incident
A mate of mine, Phil, is about as bright as your average root vegetable. He’s also been desperate to get on TV since he was an embryo and contines to try his hardest to earn his fifteen minutes of fame on the idiot box. Not sure why – he’s completely talentless and ugly as sin. If he ever visited a burns ward for people with serious facial injuries caused by car crashes or malfunctioning power tools, the nurses would make a bed up for him and shoot him full of drugs until the terrible swelling round his eyes went down. But it won’t go down. He’s just a swollen-eyed, ugly twat.

A while back Phil was on holiday in Spain with his missus. He’s walking through a shopping precinct, bored, when he spots a TV crew and probably goes a little bit hard at the prospect of flapping his arms about on screen for the benefit and pleasure of the viewing millions. Phil races over. He speaks enough Spanish to order a beer or a blowjob, so he struggles a bit. But Phil finds the director who speaks a little English and he figures out the crew are looking for people to give a testimonial on a super-dupa product they’re advertising. Its a Spanish commercial, no fucker’s gonna see it, but Phil doesn’t care.

“I’ve been using your fine product for years,” he says to the director.

“No. You haven’t,” she says back.

“Oh yes I have!” He replies.

“This is a Spanish language commercial,” says the director.

“I speak Spanish!” Says Phil (probably hoping the commercial was for Tenerifes finest provider of beer and/or blowjob services).

And the exchange continued. For about five minutes. Phil wasn’t going anywhere. Phil is now the centre of attention. A small crowd has gathered round. Phil’s missus is looking just a little mortified. Evenutally the director caves in and agrees to do a peice to camera with my mate Phil. Just to get rid of the annoying cunt, I’m sure. They go over to a little stage area decorated with flowers. Phil sits in the nice comfy chair they have there. The crowd grows larger. Some people are taking Phil’s photo or doing a little video on their camera phone. Phil is feeling like the King of Fucking England and Billy Big Balls rolled into one.

The director sits in a chair out of shot. The camera man positions himself behind the camera and starts shooting. Phil is asked a question in high speed Spanish and a microphone is thrust under his nose.

“Si,” says Phil and nods a shitload. There’s a flurry of laughter from the ever-growing audience. The director asks Phil another question in rapid-fire forrin. Phil responds with another: “Si.”

Now he’s starting to feel a little uncomfortable. The lights, the attention, the heat, the crowd... He leans forward and whispers to the director: “Whassthis for???”

And she reaches down and brings up a small, very light weight pink box and hands it over. Phil stares at the box for a while, he still doesn’t have a fucking clue. The the director leans into him and whispers back conspirationally: “They’re towels... For when you’re heavy... For your...” the director thought about the correct word for a while. “... for when you’re having your period.”

Phil placed the box gently down on the floor by the chair, wished the director a good day, and fucked off into the crowd. People wanted to have their photo taken with him as he went.

(He’s still desperate to get on TV, though, the useless puffy-eyed retard).
( SpankyHanky, Tue 16 Jun 2009, 10:50, Reply)