The Hot Bag II
As a sort-of-prequel to this story of woe, it's time I owned up to another Tale of The Hot Bag.

The scene: Wembley Stadium's Hallowed Turf

The occasion: Genesis Live in Concert, some time in the late 1980s

The company: 80,000 people, equally divided between braying yuppies having the time of their lives at Phil Collins' oh-so-witty banter and pissed-off former Genesis fans who expected some music at some stage

I was in the latter camp, and enormously hacked off at being poisoned by a killer hotdog sold to me by a CMOT Dibbler lookalike on a street approaching The Venue of Legends.

Caught short in the middle of the Wembley turf, far too far from the toilets and the famous Wembley River of Piss, I did what any sensible festival goer would do: I shat in a carrier bag. An explosion of half-digested fecal matter containing meat from at least one named animal.

I admit I did something evil after this. There was a dreadful pink-Pringle-jumper-clad yuppie couple who had brought their own picnic, and judging by the pile of bags at their feet, had bought the entire official merchandise store.

They'd made everybody else's lives hell by elbowing in front of us, and then committing the Cardinal Sin of Stadium Gig of blocking everybody's view by hoiking his bird up onto his rugger-bugger shoulders.

So, as Collins prattled on with his mindless nonsense, I added my own Hot Bag to their possessions, and retired to a safe distance.

I can - as must you - only imagine the scene as they returned to their East London warehouse flat later that evening for a nice Chianti and a bout of joyless love-making.

I am not sorry in the slightest.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 12:44, 1 reply)

<3
Oh Scary, this is why I love you. Yuppies, Phil Collins, shit and Cut Me Own Throat Dibbler, all in the same story, plus revengeness. What genius.

Sigh
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 8:56, closed)