Back in the eighties I lodged in a house in Tooting, Sarf Landan.
One morning I decided to fry up some bacon for breakfast.
Down came the resident Mohammedan, rushing to open the windows and let in some fresh air.
He was like a maniac.
Apparently he knew what the smell of bacon was.
So that made him a sinner, right?
Because he 'knew' bacon already.
I had a marvellous wee breakfast.
Then the resident scotsman came down and attempted to sing an abusive song he made up on the spot, called 'Sad Old Red'.
Apparently it was about my red jacket.
What wonderful, friendly people one meets in London.
In case they are reading now,
1)Go and get back in your room, you sad bastard, and stop buggering about while I'm preparing my food. ENGLISH breakfast includes BACON, you fucking wanker.
2)Fuck off back to Glasgow, if they'll have you, you useless waste of flesh, and stop trying to bother people who couldn't give half a shit about your miserable personality, you cunt.
Yes.
I'm normal, and THEY offended ME.
So BAN them!
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1 comment:
Well said Victor.
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