When I first conceived the idea of a weekly bumming stick, I swore to myself that I would never use the stick to further my own petty desires, I vowed that I would only ever use it in the name of justice and honour, well that’s flown right out of the cunting window.
Stood at the front of the queue for the train ticket machine man, you know who you are.
You’ve got a briefcase in one hand, your I-phone in the other, you’re bleating away to some cunt about how you’ve never used one of these machines before and how you don’t know what to do. You look like an intelligent man, you’ve got a briefcase for starters, your suit is a classy looking number and you clearly speak English, so just read the fucking screen you mind bogglingly annoying briefcase wanker!
Some folk are desperately pleading to a higher being to strike you the fuck down with a bolt of lightning so we can catch the fucking train, but no wait!
I’d much rather smash your fucking head into that screen, before kicking your legs out from underneath you. Whilst on the floor I will grab your silken Armani enwrapped bollocks and squeeze until you squeal. With a practiced flourish I will de-keg you and force you to use those metrosexually manicured fingers to hold open your arsehole. Then I will bum you. With a stick. Bum you with a MASSIVE STICK.