What made Brian angry today.

Yes…. I am sure. apoplectic

I made the mistake of visiting Tescos today whilst shopping in Ealingtown. Well, you might say two mistakes, firstly entered the vile place, secondly I selected some non-alcoholic booze from the shelf, but I have a good reason for the second error… honest…

Anyhoo, I take said bottles to the till section and join the shortest queue, I wait until it’s my turn to pay whilst idly gazing about at other shoppers items, wondering what they might be creating with their soon to be purchased treats.

Nice looking till girl: Hello.
Happy shopper: Hi.
*beep*, *beep*, *tap tap tap*
Nice looking till girl: That will be £2.38 please.
Confused shopper: Err, no it won’t, that will be £1.90, they are 95p each.
Slightly brusque till girl: No, they are £1.19.
Quite annoyed shopper: Well it says 95p on the shelf.
Accusatorial till girl: No it doesn’t.
Astounded shopper: Umm, yes it does.
Flat out rude till girl: Are you lying?
Speechless shopper: …
Deathwish till girl: I’ll have to check, DAVE, man says these are 95p, can you check.

And let me know that he’s a thieving liar, she might as well have added. Some what flabbergasted I stood there waiting for Dave to do his thing, slightly annoyed at holding up the poor people behind but I did not have the loose change to pay the shocking new price and did not want to use a card for such a paltry sum of money. Even if I did, I hate to be ripped off by lying price stickers. Dave wanders back and, shock flaming horror, confirmed that I was indeed not a filthy lying thieving swine but indeed telling the truth. Who would have thought it.

Totally unapologetic till girl: Oh, how do I change it then.
Dave: *tap tap tap* right, rescan…
*beep*, *beep*
Soon to be killed till girl: That’s £1.90 then.
Apoplectic shopper: I told you they were 95p… might be nice if you apologised for calling me a liar… No, fine, here have your money you vile faced hag,

Now I realise that they are not just going to take my word for it that there are different prices on the shelves than the computer claims, but to ask if I’m lying… really… no… Even if I was lying what kind of imbecile criminal would I be if I just caved at the point of being asked “are you lying?”, “oh yes shucks you got me, I was trying to pull the wool over your eyes to save myself a massive 48p, I’ll take myself down the cop shop, no need to get up”.

To not even apologise at being so rude when it turns out your computer is not right, shocking, this is why I should stick to Waitrose, even when you clearly in the wrong and have misread the offer they profusely grovel to you for your own stupidity. Easily worth the extra 80% you pay…

Police marksmen wanted. apoplectic

Dogs are universally recognised by all right thinking people as being terrible animals. That’s a given, but like all things, within each group there are still levels of disdain with which things should be treated, some should be shot on sight, others maybe poisoned slowly over some months resulting in a more painless death.

Whilst wandering about past the lawn outside work I spied one such creature off his leash squatting in the corner. Imagine my surprise when he deposited a massive turd on the grass, stood up and trotted his stupid stumpy body over to his twuntish owner, who rather than doing the decent thing and removing the filth his filthy creature had so disgustingly left, he wandered off down the road strutting like his vile stumpy canine companion.

Clearly in this situation there should be police marksmen on every roof top who should immediately kill the dog, to reduce the numbers of these despotic beasts roaming the streets of course, and shoot the owner in the leg to remind him in future should he get another dog to look after it properly.

The fact that is was the kind of dog you only own because it looks like it could, and would, maul a child to death for a laugh, so therefore you look ‘ard too like, made it an even more infuriating episode. The only people who should be able to own such creatures (if they must exist) are small frail female O.A.P’s who look a lot like Joan Hickson. Any posing Yute who wants a dog should only be allowed a Chihuahua or a King Charles Spaniel, with a preeminently attached diamante studded leatherette leash (preferably spelling out the word ‘wanker’ in faux sparkle).

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right. apoplectic

There are several things you don’t want to experience whilst staggering about Ealingtown catastrophically hung over from the previous night’s Gin bender. One of those is being asked to spare 5 minutes for charity, luckily this was not a problem today. Another thing you don’t want it a flaming racket being blared into both ears, especially when each ear is recieveing it’s own different din.

To the left we have bloody Hare Krishnas playing some god awful drum thing, tapping finger cymbals and wailing as they traipse though town, for what purpose I don’t know. They are quite annoying but you can imagine that if they ever got out of hand and induced an incandescent rage they could easily be dealt with by just beating them to death with the banner they like to carry about. Alone this would not have been too much of a rage issue.

Alas in addition to this, the right ear was being assaulted by another audio atrocity, Socialist Worker Man! As a rule he’s an annoying breed at the best of time, yelling on and on about stuff you just can’t quite care about whilst you throw you life away buying crap you probably don’t really need, but today things were far, far, worse. On and on he droned about some theft or other, rich stealing from the poor, banks crushing your soul and so on, all loudly. Very loudly, as it seems he’d saved up and bought himself a bloody electronic speaking-trumpet, where he got the money from I’m not sure, a) money is theft and b) the rich man has stolen it all, apparently.

My head throbs further.

Alright, probably, he’s got a point to some degree, The Man is a bit of a fucker at times, but the problem is how he went about letting everyone know. His actions were so enraging that they actively encouraged me, as i meandered towards the station, to dream of a police state being set up, where this sort of protest would result in an immediate arrest and a swift trip down a flight of metal stairs at the local nick. In this dream state there would be no more headache exacerbating rackets on Saturday mornings, just the happy sound of baton on protester, muffled behind a station wall to a pleasant manageable volume level, joy.

Crocs and socks yeah. apoplectic

One, youth, learn to damn well speak or at least if you must talk before gaining the basic skills in communication at least don’t speak loudly on buses into your stupid mobile phones about absolute crap. Also punctuation does not need to be spoken aloud and “yeah” is not a bloody punctuation mark even if, whilst I slept in today, the rules of spoken punctuation have suddenly changed. Also sitting on a bus talking about the best way to “do” a girl is somewhat less than ideal.

“So yeah, if you want to get at a girl yeah best to go for the face yeah makes them remember yeah forever yeah like these girls yeah had shanks yeah like long ones yeah they cut her up yeah like they were norf London yeah…” blah blah blah. DEAR GOD GIRL SHUT THE HELL UP or at least learn to bloody well articulate a little bit.

Two, Croc shoes on grown adults are clearly wrong, that’s plain for all right thinking folk to see. Crocs with socks, no no and triple no. Stop it, it’s fashion trends gone crazy I tells you. Infuriating!

apoplectic