In my computer/printer selling days
I had to meet someone on the fucking car park at Bingley Golf Club to give them a printer. It was a Saturday, I had a pair of jeans, a football shirt and trainers on. The guy I met on the fucking car park phoned me on the following Monday to tell me how much the whinging, moaning, up-their-own-fucking-arse stuck up cunts had complained about me turning up on their fucking car park dressed like I was. It wasn't even a proper car park...
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Fri 28 May 2010, 23:49, Reply)