Thursday, 3 May 2012

GBH - Grievous Blobfish Head


I was orf out later on, but I popped to Aldi first, where I was confronted with the most saggy-faced, testicle of tedium that I've ever had the misfortune of setting my eyes upon.


I don't expect people who work shitty jobs to have happy, smiley faces, because they're working shitty, rubbish jobs, and it's unrealistic to expect people to look like they're buzzing over a set of menial tasks which would more than likely have me pulling my puss. 

Click pictures to enlarge

One of my ex lady friends told me that to 'pull your puss' was to pull a frowny face. I looked that up on google just now to make sure, and this was the first result. I don't know why I expected anything different...

HOWEVER!

There's a massive difference between not-looking like an ecstasy abusing Akabusi, and actually looking like a blobfish that's dragged itself onto the land and evolved gills that feed on happiness by sucking it out of the air, like an unholy cross between a vampire, a vacuum cleaner, and medical waste-filled chicken kiev.


That, my friends, is zie blobfish. And I swear to Zombie-Cyborg Charles Darwin that it's a properly real animal! Just look!


Yeah, so the guy just looked aggressively morose, as if he'd been stabbed in the happy memories, and was bleeding out, despite the tourniquet of despair that had been tied above the wound. 

But anyway!

The plan I had for the evening was to go to The Whalley pub and watch the Manchester United football club go head to face with the Manchester Cities.

I'd been led to believe that this was the last game of the season, and that whoever won would be crowned the ultimate duke of the Premiership. I expected:

  • triple digit goals,
  • a shoal of streakers,
  • the return of the pitch invading cat,
  • every player being sent off, followed by a referee assassination, followed by every player returning to the pitch,
  • Alex Ferguson subbing Rooney for himself, scoring a bicycle kick goal, and then exploding, opening up a portal to hell

According to most good idiots, the answer to Lucifer's quandry is 'female linesmen.'


Turns out it wasn't the last game...


And it was boring....




...boring...




...BORING!


In the first half, absolutely no one looked in danger of scoring, other than the guy who did actually score. There were points when players looked in danger of looking in danger of scoring, but that was it. 

Finding the match tedious, I looked around, and noticed that one young gentleman had:

GBH
1

written on the back of his footy shirt, in lieu of a players name.

Now, I'm not entirely sure, but I think that 'GBH' in this context stands for:

ARSEHOLE

Unless the guy is actually reading this of course, in which case I'm sure that it's an initialisation of:

"Great back, hmmm?"



The second half was a bit better, but not by loads really.

The highlight wasn't even sport, it was when Sir. Alex Ferguson, a fairly old man, and Roberto Mancini, a fairly weedy man, made some aggressive 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit' gestures at one another.

Watch the first few seconds of this to see the gestures I'm talking about.


So I was bored, and boredom makes me crave cigarettes, especially now that I realise that quitting was a bad idea, because:

  1. My friends still smoke. They stink now.
  2. I kissed a girl. She smoked. Her mouth tasted like an ashytray, making me miss cigarettes. Even though it stank.
  3. I live in the city. "Did somebody fucking die!?" I ask. Possibly. But it would stink anyway. Because it stinks.
  4. I've had one coffee. My mouth now tastes rancid. It stinks too.
  5. A vehement anti-smoker talks to me as if we're the same. What's this new stink that I smell? It's his soul. It stinks.
  6. My friends go out into the cold to smoke. It smells fine in here, but I worry that I'm missing out on something. Friends come back inside, laughing about a poodle they just saw taking a shit. Apparently it stinks.

I should probably point out that my friends don't stink. 



Just their cigarettes. 



Their lovely, flavoursome fags...




Bastards.


Anyway, unlike the new iPad, this post lacks resolution, so just get out of here before I set my blobfish on you.



4 comments:

  1. Hahaha I loved this... new reader fo sho! I am mostly impressed that you kept me reading after you mentioned football and Man U... strong work friend! I like your blog. and not your snot blob fish! Love Elle xo

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  2. Ha, so weird, I'd literally just posted a comment on your blog when my browser flashed up saying you'd put a comment on mine! Cheers, anyway, I really like your blog which I am now following :-)

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  3. Oh, although I got an error message when I commented on your blog, so possibly the message isn't showing up?

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  4. Oh bless you. Yeah someone else said they had a problem commenting. Damn blogger. But it is there now... I shall reply in a tic

    Love Elle xo

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