THE WOODEN TITS ON THE GODDESS WITH THE POLE OUT

Today several things happened which i found annoying. These things are:

1. 1. i didn't get 100% on my monitoring stats in work. I know, im a perfectionist, whatever. I will not settle for less than victory.
2. Upon leaving the office for lunch some CUNT had pressed all the buttons in the lift on the way down. Peasant.
3. Upon reaching greggs the vegetarian pasties would be a further 15 minutes before maximum cookedness. This will not do.
4. upon arriving at the lift on the way back up after this disappointing lunch, a gay man had broken wind, causing a greek chorus of young, orange girls in their early twenties to laugh uncontrollably and a colleague and i (sup colleague!) to take the stairs.
5. ZOMG DOLE HASSLE. i signed off ages ago! get over it. *snaps fingers like a gay*

As a result of this i spent the bus journey home playing a game, a game you can try yourself.

Single someone out on the bus home and make up a backstory for them. You 'eard! See that guy with the long, matted hair and the bald patch? The dirty jumper and one leg of his trackies in his socks? The Man at C&A jacket? The asda trainers!?!? Well in your minds eye picture his youth. His name is Bernard.

Bernard was a plucky sort. He joined the merchant navy in the late sixties. As the sounds of merseybeat wafted through the city centre, the girls' skirts getting shorter, young lads with a pound in their pocket and a song in their heart. Everybody would be somebody and the youth could change the world. Bernard loved this town, but he always thought it was too small for him. Day after day he would dream of seeing the world. Of those far off places he'd seen in the James Bond movies, He loved Bond. He thought of those white beaches and of Ursula Andress emerging from the cobalt ocean, glistening like some ancient goddess, walking toward him and mouthing "oh Bernard, make me feel like a woman". DIRTY BERNARD!
He arrived at the docks that morning with all his belongings in his duffle bag, his heart fluttering with the promise of adventure. His head giddy with those thoughts of white beaches and blue movies. He would return to this city a man of the world! He would be the talk of his friends with his adventures and his worldly wise demeanour. Yes, he thought. This is what will fulfill me.
Life on the Ship was tough for Bernard. But he coped, he mucked in and wasn't afraid to get the job done. He couldn't wait to dock, for the mythical shore leave. where would it be?!!? New york? France? Italy? Bernard had heard of those girls in amsterdam. You could spend a weeks pay in an hour proving that some things could make a sailor blush. OH FOR FUCKS SAKE ROADWORKS BY THE TUNNEL AGAIN? JESUS CHRIST WIRRAL COUNCIL ARE A BUNCH OF CHARLATANS!
One day Bernard was in the mess room after lunch. He was alone. Three sailors walked in. "alright son?" drawled the first. A thick, Texas sludge of words. Bernard was quite perturbed by this. A texan? On this ship? "what you doin here all alone, pilgrim?" drawled the second sailor, again, in the same drawn out, Texan monotone.
Bernard was afraid. The third sailor opened his mouth, but this time there was no voice. Just a gaping maw. Inside the vile mouth of this possibly Texan beast swam a thousand lost seamen. They called out- every one of them- to Bernard as he sat transfixed by- OH THANK FUCK FOR THAT. THE LIGHTS HAVE CHANGED. ABOUT TIME. FUCKING LIGHTS.- the wordless, silent horror contained within the jaws of this possible Texan.
Without warning Bernard was enveloped in darkness. he could hear only a low hum, a hum that swelled and grew. That twisted inside his gut and rattled his very bones. He felt himself being pulled apart. Every cell, every atom, being pulled apart and reassembled. As this happened in his minds eye he saw three skeletons. Skeletons without any flesh but moving of their own accord, dancing in this infernal blackness. The skeletons began to sing.
"what are youwaiting for, old chum?
A letter from your mom?
A hug from your pets?
The sexual tension of a midday beer garden?
We can help, we are the cure, we will be Texans evermore!
Join us, sailor, join us please, the pelasures we can give you will make you believe it's not butter.
Not butterrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
NOT BUTTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
(then there was a really sweet ass guitar solo, no really. it was very good)"

Bernard opened his eyes. He was standing at the docks again, duffle bag in hand. The captain beckoning him aboard. This had never happened. A few years later Bernard was still trying to make sense of what happened that fateful day, when in walked a man with a stetson. It was Willie Nelson. Willie turned to Bernard and said "i seen the skeletons too, boy. I heard their song. It was all that i could do to replicate that sweet ass guitar solo but i never could do it. say, do you know much about taxes?"
"TEXAS!?!!?!? TEXAS!?!?!?!?! AAWRSKLEGVUNLBLVBHLBIUHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAA!!!!!!" Screamed bernard, running from the bar, he arrived at the nearest off license and purchased a bottle of cheap vodka, because it was still the cold war and russia was like the opposite of texas so thats what he bought.

Oh look! it's my stop, and "Bernard" has pissed himself. Charming. oh well, now to go home and mess about on the internet.

Anwyay thats a game i play, you may want to try it yourself. Also i make up tv shows i'd like to see like Snog, Marry, Annihilate or fighting on ice. with chainsaws. I'll write about them tomorrow. Anyway i hope you're all enlightened now. BUH BUYE! NIGHT NIGHT! DON'T LET THE TEXANS BITE!!!!!!!!