Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Monday, 3 July 2017

Every. Damn. Time. I Feel Your Pain Kid.


It never fails. I will be at the dinner table and I'll conjure up a big cabbage fart to put the fear a God into cretins like Pete or Quartermain - and the pretty young waitress will show up to see if anyone wants to order a drink.

Once when I was a kid I bailed out of the office and went back into the warehouse to chit my pants - a heroic action that should have saved the lives of at least a half dozen women and children. But no - I had just cut the cheese when the prettiest girl in the office tracked me down to get me to sign off on something or other. Her hair went flat, her socks rolled down and she gawped and gagged as she inhaled the rot of one thousand dead animals.

And yannow it NEVER goes the other way, does it? If she drops a bomb YOU look like the kid in the pic as you try to hold your breath for 7 minutes to avoid inhaling it! And don't even THINK of retching or gagging, oh no! Gotta be chivalrous dontchyaknow...!!!!

There is no justice, men.

What a morose state of affairs - so in order to lighten things up, maybe we should conclude this rant with a happy ending.

1 comment: