So, I can handle the occasional idiot in my life. You deal with them. They breeze in, do something monumentally cock-handed, and you sigh, fix the problem, and get back to it.
Then you have wankers. They can be good fun, really. I mean, everybody knows complete wankers. Especially when you’re out on the town, you meet a lot of them. And sometimes a complete wanker can be very entertaining. He rides in on his wankery horse, spouting complete arse-shite and inventing new ways to embellish stories. And that’s fine. Everybody needs a wanker every now and again. Hell, most of us are wankers, when given the right prompting. (Usually a half-dozen shots of some kind of draino-like spirit)
Dickheads… well,they’re something much more common. I’m a dickhead most of the time. Bet you are too. Generally not to our partners, ’cause that’s not appropriate. But otherwise, ‘being a dickhead’ – or its lesser cousin, just being ‘a bit of a dick’.
Fuck-knuckles can be pretty frustrating. You can’t do much about them. You usually work with the fuck-knuckle in question. He or she might be that person who steals the last tim-tam out of the fridge, or maybe the guy who uses your coffee mug or uses the serving spoon meant for the sliced tomato to serve up tuna, getting the feral dessicated-corpse-matter all over the tomato in the fucking process. So, yeah, I don’t have much time for fuck-knuckles. Especially the tuna/tomato/coffee-mug kind.
Turd-burglers are also frustrating. You can’t avoid them, even if you try. So, the turd-burgler in question steps the fuck up to you and invites you really awkwardly to have coffee, and you don’t want to because you’re currently standing in fucking line or waiting for your fucking coffee to be made by that weird Christian/French dude who seems uncannily good at turning out a wicked espresso. So you don’t want to deal with a random meeting with a turd-burgler. But in he walks, and your mouth twitches. Best you can do is lie. You’re busy. You’re doing something like, say, shooting the second fucking series of your web-tv show thing, and you’re too fucking busy to catch up and hear his or her warbling arse-boogers singing the song of the turd-burgler. Of course, if you happen to ACTUALLY be busy shooting the second series of a web-tv show, then you’re in luck – no lying required.
But the absolute worst of all – the ones you can’t deal with, cope with, get over, or sometimes even survive? Well, they’re not idiots, wankers, dickheads, fuck-knuckles. Not even total fuckers. Nor tools or cock-breaths or fishy joes or bogans or pretentious gits or raptor-toothed monkeys or politicians or giant steaming piles of semi-congealed cheese that walk around and praise God. Hell for man-made fucking inventions because they’re incapable of realising that they’re inherently pattern-seeking creatures and so of course you’re going to fucking see patterns if you’re looking for them. Aint no such fucking thing, you monkeys, as fucking starsigns. You read whatever fucking ass-hattery you want into anything you see. Now get the fuck over it, tune out, tune in, or do whatever the fuck you do when you aren’t being a total fucking shit-beaker or douche-nozzle.
But I digress. They can be dealt with. The ones I really can’t handle? They’re not even bimbos, tramps, boof-heads or just plain-old, basic, industry-standard nostral-fuckers.
No. These are much, much worse. These are muppet-fuckers. I hate those guys.
And now, it’s time for my morning coffee.
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