December 18th, 2006
The CousCous Killer
Fuck the world in the ear! Jesus christ just hand the reins over to the Polish as soon as possible, I’m sick of Irish people who are bad at their job. Last week I had to go down to The Square to buy provisions, Hayley was returning to get some stuff and intimated that she didn’t want me to be there while she visited so I decided instead of walking in the rain for an hour listening to The Smiths I’d get the shopping in.
35 minute wait at the terminus for a bus that’s meant to leave every 15 minutes. Getting soaked and brooding over my crummy life. Huge big queue at the ATM’s operated by fucking idiot women who treat each step of the transaction like Who Wants To Be A Millionare. You put the card in and take money out you corny old dopes, it’s a simple as that. These people should need a permit to leave the house.
Got the money and entered pulling off my hat. Noticed that the hat smelled really bad. Soaked in pissy rain, sweat and hate juice. I realised that my matted head must now smell too. Blaring UK Subs so I didn’t have to hear piped cover versions of Slade over the intercom thing I marched like I was holding in a liquid poo and got some stuff in Easons and went to Dunnes because I know Tesco’s don’t sell couscous. Oh they sell it in shitty little packs of individual servings alright but I want the good stuff, the uncut grain. Walked around filling the basket, cans and maltana bread but I couldn’t find the couscous.
No joy. Nowhere to be seen. I see couscous as energon cubes, something perfectly bland but open to wild variety. Bang a load of it into some soup and it turns into the gick that Robocop eats. Ready in minutes, cheap and modest, it has sustained me when times were bad and now that I’m unemployed it has become a near daily meal. It’s food’s best kept secret and I began to suspect that the purchasing managers in Dunnes decided to stop selling it because it took up too much space and the margins were bad compared to the other over priced pasta stuff.
Asked a young lad if they had it and I got the universal indifferent “mwha?”. I have no beef with the shelf stackers, they don’t give a fuck and get paid accordingly. I asked if there was a manager around. This faggy dude around the same age as me appears, wearinf a shirt and tie like he matters and he’s gunning for that promotion and I ask him where’s the couscous and that’s when things go wrong.
I can’t remember what he said or how he looked at me but I just got that red flash when you want to immeadiately kill somebody.
In the fraction of a second I got it, loads of stuff ran through my mind. Me kneeling on his chest smashing his smug face in with the heel of my fist and trying to remember to remember the actual colour of fresh blood so I could use it in a comic , me up in court acting as my own council ” Your Honour, I was just dumped by the woman I love a few weeks before Xmas, I’ve been made jobless and I’m homeless and tightly wound, this cunt was not only mocking me but the working classes, to deprive the people of affordable food, this Esperanto of grain, is a disgrace rivalling having to pay your doctor 50 snots to get a perscription renewed. And he had a ‘faux-hawk’”, me in prison appeasing the would-be bum burgulars with countless drawings of Bob Marley and cannabis leafs.
I just wanted to kill him and I was staring into space with the Saving Private Ryan tinnitus in my ear when I realised he was walking off. I paid for what I had and walked home thinking about it. Well I showed him!! Yeah, by writing about it on a blog that nobody reads. Yeah I’m stressed, things are shit and I’m trying to make sense of what has been the worst month in Bobdom since the Care Bears comic merged with The Getalong Gang back in 1986. I know strangling some idiot won’t change anything. But I’m sure it will help a little.
Death metal, violent porn and Bavaria are the only things that can get me through this. I KNOW I’ll be better in a few months, when I’ve moved out, banged a new girl and the timed explosives in the hall go off but untill then it’s Venice 1926.
December 18th, 2006 at 10:34 pm
GO BACK AND KILL THAT FOOL!!!!!!!!!
It will solve all your problems!
1. Homeless? - Live in prison.
2. Jobless? - Do those rehabilitation art courses that they have in prison.
3. SURE FIRE SUCCESS!!! - Living in prison you will be forced to do nothing but those adorable little comics you do. Art courses with cold turkey junkies? A fountain of material!
December 18th, 2006 at 10:43 pm
You know what Jimmy? I’ve thought about it. I know a lad who has lived his life robbing and assaulting all the way and when he’s sent to prison he’s out waaay before he should be. And here I am breaking my bollicks trying to keep it legit and paying PAYE. A single cell, a few reams of paper, 3 hots and and a cot.
December 18th, 2006 at 11:21 pm
Thas what im talkin bout bob! Melancholic Hate filled wranglings!!!
Betcha the cunt knew where the hairgels were. Make him eat that hat next time. Or do what i do. Stew.
December 18th, 2006 at 11:34 pm
Ahh, jeez man my heart goes out to ya,
my top 5 poor man’s ‘meals’ are
1. Bacon and Bean flavour Postman Pat crisp Sandwich.
2. Pasta and Tinned Chicken Soup.
3. Baked beans sprinkled with chili power
4. Pasta and spuds
5. Ross’s 99p Pizzas (three bits of pepperoni guaranteed)
see ya soon
over the last few years I’ve found that all my lowest ebbs have been very funny (for other people!) and became some of my best posts, think towards ‘Clamnuts Rants: The Book’! it’ll be a bestseller,
December 19th, 2006 at 2:12 am
Best post yet - actually brilliant.
December 19th, 2006 at 10:12 am
Nice one geezers. Wahey! Mr C is back lurking aroud here.
Dudes I could write a zillion pages about how fucked up I feel right now but I dont EVERYONE reading it, y’kniz?
Lorcy I’d go for number 2 hands down. Ever eat a tin of chicken soup raw out of the tin? Concentrated goodness.
Venice 1926 is a completely made up date you clowns
December 19th, 2006 at 10:20 am
why dont you just go around to natures way near virgin? Their cous cous is cheaper and they sell different types.
I mainly have to goto dunnes because tescos wont except a fucking passport for buying booze. Ah yeh , nice one! I can get a bank loan , a video card and entry to Iraq with the fuckin thing but i can buy a 6 clam flagan of devils bit with it, cunts!
-p
December 19th, 2006 at 10:23 am
Jestem z wami tam Bob. Był przy checkout w Dunnes Stores,
I Irlandzka dziewczyna podejmował “avacado” I zapytał mnie
“Co jest ten, “lime”?”
Lime?!?………..Kurwa Mac!
Co najmniej polerują ludowa próba uczyć się języka!!!!
December 19th, 2006 at 12:36 pm
You still getting asked for id P? You’re taller than me! Must be the Hello Kitty t-shirts and eye glitter
Brian loves the Polish better than Mr Sheen. Flying around his house in a little Bi-plane (bi-curious plane?) dropping spunk nuggets out his fuselage on the Polski Herald. Now THAT’s comedy. See what I did there with the polish pun? Ah forget it
December 19th, 2006 at 12:50 pm
Znakomity Bob.
You got my Xmas wish list right ?!?
http://www.polishwashington.com/store/apparel/I-Love-Polish-Girls-White.jpg
http://www.ams.ubc.ca/clubs/polish/New%20Year’s/DSC00084.JPG
December 19th, 2006 at 1:18 pm
Why am I staring to picture you with combat jacket, shades, and a mohawk?
December 19th, 2006 at 2:16 pm
yep, 24 and still asked for id 90 percent of the time. its gay. probably cause i still dress like a 16 year that hangs around central bank giving out about “mommy n dawdy”
was stumbling back through town on the morning after halloween still wearing a face full of clown makeup/ clown costume.Had to pick up smokes for fin so i called into centra. The scrud was adamant on me showing id even tho the picture could have been anyone!
unless he was expecting the passport pic to be clownised aswell.
-p
December 19th, 2006 at 4:55 pm
Nah Robbie my vigilante motif will be Space Ghost or Joe Duffy. Or Space Duffy.
Poncho you are a clown
December 19th, 2006 at 5:08 pm
your mas a clown!
December 19th, 2006 at 5:59 pm
Yo Bob, sorry to hear things are shit for you at the mo. Glad to see you’re opting for the safe(r) outlet of raging blog/comic updates rather than, y’know, mutilating wankers with crap hair. (Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see some of the bastids 6 feet under but not if it entails a decent bloke getting forcible bumlove in prison along the way).
Mind you, if you ever find a decent bloke who wants prison bumlove and happens to have homicidal urges, you could always point him in the direction of a few choice targets…(you could always distract yourself by going on the hunt for such a person over the next couple of months and making fiendishly clever arrangements, you know)
December 20th, 2006 at 1:13 pm
Nice one Kyle.
Always with the bumlove with you isn’t it?
December 20th, 2006 at 3:24 pm
Well, you know….I always figured “find something you’re good at and stick with it”, and bumlove seems to be my area of expertise.
December 20th, 2006 at 3:42 pm
I’ve also noticed that I need to stop using the word “always”…time to buy a thesaurus, I reckon….