The ***ts

I set off along the Embankment at dusk. The gaslight in the Temple and the white snow on the black railings made the world seem a poetic place.

“Hmm” I thought, “there’s a blog to be written here” and drifted into gentle contemplation, one gloved hand gently stroking my chin, the other held aloft as tribute to the Muse – acting as an inspiration receiver.

THUD. A ball of ice lightly dusted in snow hit the ground in front of me. It was a drive-by near miss. A particular sub-culture of lairy students and former school bullies doing shit-stacking jobs for minimum wage (I think they are known, formally, as Generation Y but I prefer to think of them as “the ***nts”) have recently taken to wringing a thrill from the grey by driving past people and throwing things at them.

They spot a likely candidate, pick up a little speed, dare each other like 5 year olds and then throw something at their victim’s beany-hatted head before, convulsed with laughter, the driver loses control and powers their crappy hatchback into the back of a petrol tanker. There is just a chance to see them flail their broken arms at the door latches before they erupt in an explosion that shatters windows as far south as Dover.

You see the problem. A minor infringement of my dignity and instead of thinking “Oo those scamps” my mind is foaming with extravagant and fantastical revenges that leave eyeballs and viscera scattered around like a toddler’s toys. I become, in an instant, a Hollywood serial killer.

“I’ll show them” I think. There are a number of problems with this. First, I have no idea who they are. Secondly, my chances of out-running their vehicle are slim. Thirdly, if I did catch them what exactly is it my sub-conscious is proposing that I should show them? I certainly wouldn’t have anything to hand likely to induce terror or respect if waved at them.

It amazes me that however much I bathe my soul in a balm of Chopin, Mommy-blogs and Woody Allen movies, those little ***ts can turn me into a caveman in an instant. Albeit a podgy caveman with glasses and a dodgy knee.

[ | | | - best price, fast delivery | ]

20 thoughts on “The ***ts”

  3. I am about to get the site re-done by a really talented designer and will be rolling out the new blogroll. You will have pride of place.

  5. Things I have had thrown at me from passing cars: brussell sprouts and a slice of pizza. The pizza was humiliating and messy but the sprouts (uncooked) hurt. I was on my bike and cycled madly after them but fortunately couldn’t catch them (I know, what do you think you’re going to do?)

    I echo Claudia’s comment re blogroll – it’s humiliating to have to beg … but but but – I was on it and you took mine off and I still came to your party…

  7. I’ve never been drive-by iceballed, but once in a suburb of Liverpool I narrowly dodged a hot stream of urine from behind a high retaining wall.

    n.b. perhaps you’re on the wrong tack with the Chopin, Mommy-blogs and Woody Allen, which in my case, rather than civilising and soothing, provoke an autoimmune response and compel me to eat raw meat and curse.

  10. Yarb might well have found the real problem. Anything that Woody Allen has made since 1992 causes involuntary windmilling and swearing.

  14. i think all the more of you now after this admission. rage is rage – no sense trying to contain it. the next novel is about revenge – in which i’m a strong believer. never mind all this soppy stuff about the best revenge is to live well. nah – the best revenge is to grind your enemy’s face slowly and thoroughly into the dirt!

  15. Pingback: Post of the Week » Blog Archive » Shortlist Week Ending Friday 6th February

  17. moobs,
    you’re back! all is appropriately off in the world.. all is restored to its ironic funny grace.

    lairy — looking that up’

    rachael

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.