The Ultimate Checklist

17 Oct


Lets run through my checklist to make sure he really is a fuckwit; on a bike? Check. Wearing normal clothing on that bike? Check. No lights? Check. On the pavement while riding along? Check. Helmet attached to his rucksack keeping that safe as opposed to the empty she’ll atop his shoulders? Check. The usual “I can’t possibly be in the wrong and you can’t possibly have a problem with me” response to being told in a sarcastic way that you are a fuckwit? Check. So we have a full house – I can confirm that this motherfucker with a silver spoon in his gob and shoved up his ass is a fully qualified, bona fide fuckwit of the very highest order. I was way behind him when I first spotted him and I passed him after a few minutes as he was going so slowly. We can actually add going at a snail’s pace to the list above and holding up a queue of people who don’t open their gobs. It is people like this who end up hurting themselves and other people and where their family and friends are shocked and surprised, it’s surely fucking obvious that they are a fuckwit. I have had a busy day to finish this painfully busy week at work. I am finally on my way home – via Abbey Wood as I’m getting chips and I just don’t care – and this is my last commute for a whole week and I should be dancing up and down the aisle on this 18.30 train that left on time. Just collected the fuckwitted livestock from London Bridge and we are hardly a third full – Friday is the best evening to travel. Lovely, what an end to this journey and the fuckwit next to me is now penning me in with his knees shoved up against the back of the seat in front and he is no doubt fucking off her poor hardworking bloke sitting in front who now keeps fidgeting. I’m going to leave you with that thought and I will be posting. Enjoy your week away from me, dear Obborati.


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