Friday, 6 September 2013

I HATE DRIVING


Look, I know I’ve probably mentioned it before - once or twice at the absolute most  - but here’s the thing guys:

DRIVING. SUCKS. ASS. TO. THE. MAX 

Driving sucks ass so badly that I’d rather be doing any or all of the following, all of which also suck ass:

1) Housework – Doing housework is like being trapped in an eternity of hellish unending frustrations of the kind meted out to that bastard Sisyphus in the Underworld.  And yet, compared with driving, housework is Pure Unadulterated Joy. For example, if someone came up to me and said, “Would you mind awfully scooping out the gungy hairballs from the shower plugholes with your bare tongue whilst I nip to the shops in the car?” I so would. Like, totally. Moreover, I would be so stupidly grateful not to be driving to the shops in a farkin death trap of a vehicle that I would also lick out the sludge from their flange, and eat the bits caught in their trap, all of which are parts of a domestic bathroom or kitchen sink. That's how bad driving is. 

2) Reading The Sun – everybody who reads the Sun is a fucking imbecile and everybody who thinks it’s okay to stare at some Page 3 topless beauty's whamdanglers in public is not only an imbecile, but a boorish twat who deserves to have their bugfucker of a penis whipped out in public and ridiculed. Right? Having said that, if you’re willing to give me a lift to Swansea so that I don’t have to use the M4, or worse still, merge with the M4 via The Slip Road (or as I prefer to call it, The Riverbank of Hell), I’ll happily pop out at the services to get you your copy of The Sun, and we can drool over some fun bags together. That’s how bad driving is. 

Singing God Save the Queen – to be fair, we don’t do a lot of singing God Save the Queen over by 'ere in Wales, but whenever it threatens to happen, something happens to me that I can only describe as a psychotic episode. At first, I hear voices. The voices tell me that the royals are a bunch of freeloading horsefaced inbreds who also happen to be the UK’s most brazen benefit cheats. Then I get delusions of grandeur in which I imagine I'm a citizen, not a subject!! Wow. That's some crazy shit right there, yeah! By the time the song starts, I have such a hate hard-on that I just can't sing it, and I will never ever sing it, unless of course, you agree that we can take a taxi home from the concert and leave my car on the roadside and forget to come back to get it. Forever. Then I'll be so happy I won't be able to help myself. That's how motherfucking bad driving is. 

Bon voyage!


In case you hadn't noticed, and why would you cos I haven't used it as a title, this is kind of part of a blog meme called Room 101, in which bloggers list the things they would consign to Hell. Nobody tagged me to write for it. But in what is probably a terrible and unforgivable breach of blogging etiquette, I've written a version of it anyway, and I'm also gonna tag a trio of funnee bloggy folks to do the same: