I have the immeasurable joy of working in a call centre, and thus having to deal with the great unwashed in the form of the English public. The satisfaction I derive from my job can only be compared to committing suicide by gouging myself repeatedly with a rusty and blunt nail.
Or similarly throwing myself in front of a moving train and then failing to die (if its an NRZ train it will probably have run out of fuel before it arrives at my prostrate body, or is it coal they use nowadays).
So anyway, in one of my numerous dealings with the lower ranks of the multitude, this woman is in the process of telling me her registration phonetically: ‘P’ for papa, she says. ‘T’ for tango, she proceeds. ‘X’ for christmas, she declares. I’m like, sorry? ‘X’ for christmas she boldy repeats. MAAAAAAAN!! To compound this, a bloke after that tells me ‘X’ for exit? I ask you!!!
These are the same people responsible for choosing governments, which in turn run the world and shaft those of us in the third world over. Doesn’t that just give you a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. (like how it would feel if you went toe to toe with Ali in his heyday, with you standing at all of 110 pounds).
And speaking of idiots of a very different nature: a male friend of mine sent a relatively innocuous text message to a female colleague. Doesn’t the baba vemba come out breathing smoke and fire challenging him kuti who are you to her? Just when my faith in the male species was being restored! Not! What’s that about?
Why would you want to waste precious shagging time by hunting down any male that comes into contact with your mrs? He had the gall to say: X was too busy to get back to you, so she asked me to find out what it is you want. My friend was tempted to say, oh I just wanted to thank her for the BJ last week. Just to really stir it up.
So if anyone out there discovers an uninhabited planet that’s needing to be colonised, sign me up, coz I needs to be finding me some idiot-free space!?!