A rant…

Posted: April 1, 2012 in Publishing

There are few things that really boil my piss. Well actually that isn’t true, the older I get, the less my tolerance is to all things shit. Recently having to travel up to London, because I blow pretty much all my cash rescuing animals, I have to ride the coach. Enduring worse conditions than any black market animal transport. In fact, the 6 hour trip, by the time I get to my destination I am ready to die. It would be better than the return trip. I am 6’4” and 250 lbs – I’m a big dude. The only place I actually fit is next to the toilet. In case you don’t know, the toilet is like a stainless steel dog bowl, with a magic base that flaps open… when you are done. Not during or before. So that when you piss in it, it splashes all over your knees. You try sleeping on a coach when every five minutes you hear someone piss, followed by “Whoooaaaa FUCK, Nooooooo.” They slam the door when they leave all angry. There is piss every where. So you can imagine how desperate you have to be to take a shit in there. A woman was. I was sat, listening to the groans of a very ill woman to the sound what I imagine a duck being raped would sound like. And shit that smelt so bad it actually set off the smoke alarm. I would have signed anything when I got to my meeting. I might have signed over the film rights to my book for free for all I know. If you want to know what coach travel is like. Put a chair in your wardrobe, and sit on it. Then make fists with your hands and press them into your temples as hard as you can, for 6 hours.

I have a new hatred. Car jet washes. Not the car wash that you drive through, that costs £5.50 and a queue of cars. When you park at the empty ‘jetwash’ you look at them and think ‘Ha – lazy fucks.’ But they have a smug, knowing grin and you can’t work out why. There is always a hung over student behind the counter, who fucking hates me because I am 40 and he sees me as the problem. So you get your token for £3, saving yourself £2.50. You place the token in, and instantly it starts beeping. This you find out, isn’t an error beep, as anyone would expect, it’s to tell you it’s started! You discover this when the foam covers your feet. A long brush thing and the long barrelled gun thing are placed on the floor, not back on the rack. You assume, wrongly, that it is the brush you are supposed to use, and start to mop your car. The brush, having been left on the floor, and so is dirtier than your car, has picked up gravel, making it the perfect scratching device. So then you pick up the gun thing, and that is fucking brilliant. It looks like a gun, has a kick in it when you pull the trigger, even the noise ‘BRRRRRRRRRRRRRR’ is fucking cool. There is no man alive that doesn’t imagine he is slaying an enemy with a laser cannon thing. So there you are, jetting your car like a hero, shouting “Arrrrrgghhhh” as you imagine you are slaying monsters –
‘BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT, BRRRRRRRRRRRRRT BRRRfffttt… It just fucking stops.
You pull the trigger, then look at the dick-neck student through the window and do the ‘What the fuck – it’s just stopped?’ mime.
If you want half a clean car, jetwashes are fucking fantastic! You have to go in and get another token. So now it costs more than the drive through. This time though it lasts forever, you’ve cleaned the car, then twice more. Jetwashed plants, a pigeon. But this is why I hate them. There is a dial, I fucking know it. Behind the counter, old fucko the cunting student has a timer dial that he can turn up or down. I’ve worked out what these motherfuckers do, on the second wash they turn it up from ‘seconds’ to ‘days’. Next time you go there, The fucker is watching you through the window, if  you are trying to clean the car as fast as you can, looking like a diseased John Cleese as you try to beat the clock, the little prick can tell you have been there before. The fucker laughs at you, and then turns it down even more. I’ve pissed longer. Worse still – I can see the cunt laughing at me through the window. I’m shouting shouting “I’m not the problem… I’m not the problem.” So next time you use the drive through. You’ve conformed. Well not me. I’m gonna prove that fuck has a timer dial. I’m going to turn up at 3am, car covered in red paint, smashed in windscreen, and myself covered in red splashes and all tweaked out. “Hey can I have a token to your jet wash and would most of a small child fit in your bin?” I bet that fucking jetwash would last long enough for the police to arrive.

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Comments
  1. James says:

    Whatever bro. It takes more than a jetwash to ‘properly’ clean a crime scene. Only car wash we have here in nz are roosters at traffic lights with gamey soapy brushes stolen from servos.

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