I was on this bus the other night, right, going up the kingsland road, when some fucking cunt courier waltzes on, blabbing on his mobile and carrying - i kid you not - a fucking frame over his shoulder like he has to prove the fucking point that he's a courier to everyone on the bus, as if his shitting hat weren't already proof enough, and who the fuck cares anyway.
Anyway, this fucking bellend courier cunt, this prick, is talking to some shit-merchant paedophile drug dealer cock on his mobile about getting hold of some 'brown' like he's just heard about it from a furtive flick-through of a dog-eared copy of an irvine welsh novel whilst sitting in a clinic waiting to find out if he's got the fucking clap.
Then he turns to us, this twisted heap of courier shit, all be-hatted and be-framed, and ...
:)
**exegesis
**i simply have to tell someone about this; it would be too, too cruel to keep it to myself.
I was riding on the omnibus up the kingsland road last night, a little after the witching hour.
A gentleman alighted wearing the kind of titfer usually associated with delivery boys. He had also about him an bicycle frame of the sort employed by reg harris (perhaps this was merely a conversational drollery). The chap was talking rather loudly and in an exuberant manner in to his electronic ear trumpet. "do you perchance stock brown...yes, brown. You don't? Oh dear. You wouldn't happen to have any k would you?"
he then regailed my companions and i with really quite amusing stories about the aforementioned 'brown'. We deprecated rather. However the man then revealed that he had scored a not unimpressive 78 not out at the lords cricket ground having ingested a large slice of brown. We demurred with less conviction.
To top it all off this rather colourful gentleman of the night then let it be known that his hat was one of only four of its kind in the whole metropolis.
His name was lord paulo.
@Balki
:)
:D
olcc