No Brain?

15 Sep


The little gem is currently scrawled into the back of the seat in front of me and I took a picture because it puzzles me. Do people with no legs also have no brain which means they can’t work? What sort of moron makes a sweeping statement like that and scratches it into a train seat? Seriously? People with disabilities aren’t stupid and aren’t unable to work. Some like to play the victim and blame everything on their disability but from where I have been over the last two days, I know this statement is bullshit. Two days spent watching injured and sick service men and women doing more than I am able to manage on a good day at the Invictus Games and making me once again wonder at their ability when they aren’t as able bodied as I am. How dare this scrawler bundle all people with no legs together and write them off. It is offensive. People with no legs wouldn’t rather be sitting in this tiny, cramped window seat next to a silly whore, whose perfume makes me smell like she has been in bed for about a week and who is on her hands free having a very breathy and what she thinks us a subtle conversation. I don’t think even a deaf person would want to swap with me. Christ her perfume is making me feel sick, it is disgusting. Sickly sweet and overpowering. One of these complete fucknuts who hold the microphone of her hands free right up to her gob because she doesn’t think she can be heard otherwise. I am very close to asking her to move and sit elsewhere because I don’t want to hear it. Fucking takes the piss – why is it always foreign people who are ready to have a long conversation at this time of the fucking morning? Oh hooray – she’s getting off at Westcombe Park and they are more than welcome to her. Gobby slag. At least I don’t also have that fucking school kid as well to annoy the fuck out of me as well today. Tubby Grubby is on board and had got the bus two stops again when I had walked to the station in that time. No Posh Pikey which is nice, and no ball airer. The gobby woman has been replaced by a whippersnapper who has his head against the seat in front and is doing something on his phone that at first glance I thought was a calculator but it turns out to be some sort of game with numbers. Perhaps he is Carol Vorderman’s son – perhaps. I’m going to post now and wish Captain Harry Wales a very happy 30th birthday today – saw him on Saturday and Sunday and ensured he had much BdJ love.


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