When is a Twat Not a Twat 2
Lazy blog re-tread I know. Fuck off, I've been sleeping for a change.
Anyway.
You know who I mean. You're walking down the high street, no care in the world. Maybe you have a small person holding your hand. Maybe you have an even smaller person in a pushchair. God fucking forbid you may have both.
And you hear it. From about half a mile away. pumpumpumPUMPUMPUMPUMPUMPUMPUM
Dreadful, absolutely atrocious drum-and-bass, the sort that any drum-and-bass officiando would tell you is actually 'weak', played at Knebworth-volume by a skinny white man driving a super-charged, 'pimped-up' (I believe that is the term) exhaust muffler-removed previously very shit Vauxhall Nova or some such.
And you think You twat.
But if you're me (again, God forbid) you then think Well no. Hang on. Lets not be hasty.
The young man wants a car that looks good and makes a loud powerful-engine-type noise. He wants a spoiler on the back of it. To push the back wheels down when he's doing corners. Because you need that when you are driving a performance sports car. It isn't a performance sports car, it's a shit Nissan Micra, but that isn't the point.
The man obviously wants a very cool car. The man cannot afford a very cool car because he left school at sixteen and decided to spend the rest of his time working in Tesco and smoking really poor soapbar. (I imagine, although will accept that this is a generalisation.)
What does the man do?
Does he accept his lot? Does he say Yes world, you have spoken. I am pants and will never be ace. As a result I shall never have anything a bit cool. I accept this. It is all I deserve.
Does he FUCK. He goes out and gets the best (ie: to you and me actually quite shit) car he can afford, and removes the exhaust muffler. It then sounds like a FUCKING ASTON MARTIN.
He works at Tesco (or wherever, I'm not down on Tesco employees [I just said 'down'! I am so 'street'!]) for a while, and gets some cash together. Not enough to trade-in his Toyota what-the-fuck for a Ferrari, but enough.
Enough to get the windows tinted. To get a fucking big sound system. To put a neon-thing under the car that can only legally be turned-on when the car is static. To buy a full body-pack. To get the whole monstrocity resprayed.
A big, ugly, gleaming, purple (they're usually purple for some reason) FUCK YOU to the world of over-privileged cunts who get something for nothing. To all the people who told them they'd never amount to anything. To the parents who never said 'well done'. To the teachers who looked down at them. To that girl Donna who went off with their mate Darren.
FUCK THE LOT OF THEM says this car. Yes it's a shit car, but I am not shit. Look at the car. It's got FUCKING ALLOY WHEELS! Your car hasn't. I will not be beaten by life. If I cannot afford to buy a conventionally flash car, do you know what? I'm not going to cry like a girl and wish my life was better. Oh no. I'm going to FUCKING make a relatively SHIT car look FUCKING ASTOUNDING. Perhaps not in a good way. But so what. Through not much more than effort of will. Do you hear me world? I will not be beaten.
And if you're me, you see these people driving too-slow down the high street looking not-really-menacingly at the passers-by, and you inwardly applaud them.
Then you meet a couple of them in the pub and realise they are irretrievable twats and wish they were dead.
Anyway.
You know who I mean. You're walking down the high street, no care in the world. Maybe you have a small person holding your hand. Maybe you have an even smaller person in a pushchair. God fucking forbid you may have both.
And you hear it. From about half a mile away. pumpumpumPUMPUMPUMPUMPUMPUMPUM
Dreadful, absolutely atrocious drum-and-bass, the sort that any drum-and-bass officiando would tell you is actually 'weak', played at Knebworth-volume by a skinny white man driving a super-charged, 'pimped-up' (I believe that is the term) exhaust muffler-removed previously very shit Vauxhall Nova or some such.
And you think You twat.
But if you're me (again, God forbid) you then think Well no. Hang on. Lets not be hasty.
The young man wants a car that looks good and makes a loud powerful-engine-type noise. He wants a spoiler on the back of it. To push the back wheels down when he's doing corners. Because you need that when you are driving a performance sports car. It isn't a performance sports car, it's a shit Nissan Micra, but that isn't the point.
The man obviously wants a very cool car. The man cannot afford a very cool car because he left school at sixteen and decided to spend the rest of his time working in Tesco and smoking really poor soapbar. (I imagine, although will accept that this is a generalisation.)
What does the man do?
Does he accept his lot? Does he say Yes world, you have spoken. I am pants and will never be ace. As a result I shall never have anything a bit cool. I accept this. It is all I deserve.
Does he FUCK. He goes out and gets the best (ie: to you and me actually quite shit) car he can afford, and removes the exhaust muffler. It then sounds like a FUCKING ASTON MARTIN.
He works at Tesco (or wherever, I'm not down on Tesco employees [I just said 'down'! I am so 'street'!]) for a while, and gets some cash together. Not enough to trade-in his Toyota what-the-fuck for a Ferrari, but enough.
Enough to get the windows tinted. To get a fucking big sound system. To put a neon-thing under the car that can only legally be turned-on when the car is static. To buy a full body-pack. To get the whole monstrocity resprayed.
A big, ugly, gleaming, purple (they're usually purple for some reason) FUCK YOU to the world of over-privileged cunts who get something for nothing. To all the people who told them they'd never amount to anything. To the parents who never said 'well done'. To the teachers who looked down at them. To that girl Donna who went off with their mate Darren.
FUCK THE LOT OF THEM says this car. Yes it's a shit car, but I am not shit. Look at the car. It's got FUCKING ALLOY WHEELS! Your car hasn't. I will not be beaten by life. If I cannot afford to buy a conventionally flash car, do you know what? I'm not going to cry like a girl and wish my life was better. Oh no. I'm going to FUCKING make a relatively SHIT car look FUCKING ASTOUNDING. Perhaps not in a good way. But so what. Through not much more than effort of will. Do you hear me world? I will not be beaten.
And if you're me, you see these people driving too-slow down the high street looking not-really-menacingly at the passers-by, and you inwardly applaud them.
Then you meet a couple of them in the pub and realise they are irretrievable twats and wish they were dead.
posted by Tired Dad at
12:37 am
5 Comments:
I hate those twats too. When I hear them I turn up radio 4 really loud. It sounds shite and then I give them the finger.
Fucking cock smokers, the lot of them. And what is with those spinning hubcaps? You seen 'em? Cunts.
there cool those hubbies
RD: Radio 4 the station or Radio4 the band?
*: I've been trying to think the best of people of late. But you're right.
Puppyfella: Seriously. WHAT???
It's much more fun to think the worst, I believe.
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