I was havin’ a natter with me pal Alex the other night, and he comes out with, “OI, YOU BLOODY LEDGE, stick another sausage on the grill, will ya? Roasting out ‘ere, hotter than a curry house on a Friday night!” Honest to God, I nearly ended up scrappin’ with some berk outside the petrol station ‘cause the prat tried makin’ off with me Cornish pasty. Had to sink a lukewarm Carling to calm down before jumpin’ in me old banger, cranked The Clash up full blast, and almost flattened a flock o’ pigeons cuttin’ across the estate. Tell ya, mate, if the mozzies don’t bleed ya dry, the foxes’ll have ya trousers off. What a palaver!
Then I get back home, yeah, and I’m sittin’ there thinkin’, “Far too knackered to deal with the missus, but I’ve still got enough in me for a solo drum solo, eh?” Next thing I know, I’m goin’ at it faster than a punter leggin’ it out the bookies, sweat drippin’ off me like I’ve been locked in a sauna at the gym. The whole flat’s shakin’ like a dodgy washing machine, and I’m just hopin’ the neighbours ain’t hearin’ me bellowin’ “BLEEDIN’ ‘ELL!” right at the grand finale. Proper tragic, mate.
rambo — Wpis 1 z 8
“The important thing is to not stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” (Albert Einstein)