Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Can't Get Our Message Across

Have just come back from the cafe at the end of the road, and both of us are wondering what the world is coming to.
The problem is that they've got a new Polish waitress there, and apart from being hideously ugly, her knowledge of English is very limited.
I thought that Tony was going to explode with anger when he had to explain to her six times what a full English breakfast is. Of course, I told him that people like her are only used to eating bread and beetroot for breakfast, and that sausages, bacon and beans are things that they've never heard of.
Tony just shrugged his shoulders and said that it's a pretty poor do if a man cant't even order breakfast in his own country, without employing the services of an interpretor.
It was the same the other day at the fast food restaurant, when I had to explain ten times to the spotty foreign geek behind the counter what a double cheeseburger is.
Fortunately, the pub is staffed by only one hundred percent English employees, because as Sid the landlord says, he can't stand foreigners, and although he's a fair man, who would give anybody a chance, anything foreign on either side of the bar is a definite no-no with him.
Now, we'll drink to that!

Sunday, 28 November 2010

A Cold Snap Won't Keep Him In

It's going to take more than a cold snap to keep the boy Tony indoors. He's well pleased with his beloved Arsenal, and as I write, he is looking forward to ending another week of glorious idleness, by walking to the pub, where he plans to enjoy a couple of pints, and no doubt give his opinion on any subject which takes his fancy. Of course, I couldn't possibly let him venture out alone, so I will be joining him at the pub.
Tony reckons that the British have become a nation of weak and feable pansies, who at the first sign of a dip in temperature, prefer to stay in and sit by a well-heated radiator, instead of going to the pub and indulge in a few pints of ice-cold lager.
I think he's right, and it makes me shudder with shame when I think that we're losing our aggressive edge.
Tony says that this winter will sort the boys out from the men, and if people think that it's cold now, they should spend a few nights at the North Pole, and then they'll see what being cold is really like.

Friday, 26 November 2010

Born To Win!

Last night Tony and me took part in a pub quiz. We're no strangers to this sort of thing, and even though by the end of the quiz Tony was drunk and slurring his words, and making a nuisance of himself, our team managed to win, and in turn, pocket fifty pounds prize money. There were five of us on the team, but although Tony and me ended up with a tenner each, both of us agreed that it had been a good opportunity to put our brains into action, and impress the world with just how much we really know. Sid the landlord thought that we were the most intelligent people in the pub, and reckons that we could do wonders in the national pub quiz competition. Alas, we've already been down that road once before, and although we had a great time visiting various pubs, and getting hopelessly drunk, we only only ended up completely broke, and on the losing team!
Sid understood our reluctance, and said that it's probably best not to relive previous experiences.
Tony agreed with him, although he couldn't stay around until closing time to discuss the matter further, as he ended up collapsing in a heap on the floor, due to an excessive intake of alcohol. He made quite a spectacle of himself, but after managing to get to his feet, and bidding the other customers goodnight, he regained his dignity and decided to head off home.

Thursday, 25 November 2010

Life Is A Lottery

Tony reckons that the lottery has done nothing to help people like us. He's right, and I'd love to know when the government is going to see us as a "good cause", and start throwing a bit of cash our way, instead of building centres for homeless drug addicts and down and out alcoholics.
It seems to us that if unemployed people like us were given a bit of beer money every now and then, whether it be in the form of hard cash or beer vouchers, it might just encourage us to start looking for a job, instead of sitting around on our fat arses moaning all the time.
Tony says that drug addicts should be rounded up and shipped off to some far flung island, instead of being homed by lottery handouts.
Once again, the boy is right, and I've often asked myself why he never took up a career in politics, because with his brain, which is literally bulging with good ideas, he could have made a very good prime minister.
Of course, it's too late now, so we must get used to the fact, and think about what might have been...

Wednesday, 24 November 2010

Horses In London?

It was a great night in the pub last night, only dampened somewhat by the Arsenal result. Glen said that he had a great evening, but he couldn't stay until closing time, because he had some business to attend to on the other side of the river. However, the three of us had a f*cking great time, and we all chuckled when Glen got out his iron bar, and started to threaten a german family, who were enjoying a quiet drink in the corner of the bar. Sid the landlord turned a blind eye, and said that Glen obviously has a lot of hatred inside of him, and that it seemed only right that he vented his anger on the family.
Some woman approached me halfway through the evening, and said that she was collecting money for Injured Horses Infirmary in central London. Well, I've never heard so much f*cking shit in my entire life, and I told her so. I mean - horses in London? Sid chuckled, and said that she had been collecting money in the pub last week for the Disabled Badgers Society. Tony said that it's a f*cking disgrace that people are using animals to con decent non-working people like us out of our unemployment benefit.
I agree with him, and have made it clear that this year the Abandoned Kittens Home can go and f*ck themselves if they think that they're going to get any of my cash!

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Glen And His Iron Bar

I reckon Tony is going to burst with joy this morning.
He had a great result at the Unemployment Benefit Office yesterday, where his "personal advisor" told him that he's got another six months to find a job, otherwise he'll be forced to join the next Job Seekers Workshop. He thinks that it's a f*cking great result, and says that he can now go through winter and next spring knowing that he's got the green light to sit on his fat arse and do nothing.
True to his word, he paid for the cheeseburgers and lager last night, and boy, it all went down like a treat. As Tony says, apart from a decent steak, cheeseburgers are the best thing since sliced bread, and he admits to being slightly jealous of our American cousins, and all of their fast food restaurants.
Tonight we're off to the pub, because we want to celebrate the fact that it's almost the weekend, and also because our mate Glen is coming to visit us.
Glen is heavily tattooed, and like Tony, is a keen Arsenal fan. He also carries on him at all times a blunt iron bar, which he says is for his own protection. Tony says the neighbours in the downstairs flat are beginning to annoy him, so he might ask Glen to act as a mediator, and lash out at one of them with his weapon. I don't think Glen will object to the idea, because the neighbours should have been deported years ago, and as Glen rightly says, if illegal immigrants want to live in our country, they need to understand that it's us English who set the ground rules, and if people like Tony and me don't want to be kept up all night by their loud music, they better start by respecting our wishes.

Sunday, 21 November 2010

It's Going To Be A Bad Week

Tony looks a worried man. He's got an appointment with the woman from the Unemployment Benefit Office this morning, and he's not looking forward to it.
Last time he had his "one to one" with his "personal advisor" she suggested that he joined a Work Seekers Workshop. Tony's been out of work for three years, and he told the woman that although three years is a long time, rushing headlong into things wasn't going to make things any better. He added that nerves of steel are required in moments of despair, and that he was certain that the right job for him is just around the corner. He therefore refused to join the Work Seekers Workshop, on the grounds that experienced people like him don't benefit from wasting their time with such ridiculous schemes, and that anyway, somewhere out there a head-hunter is going to offer him the job of a lifetime.
That was six months ago, and very little has changed.
I reckon this time he'll be forced to join the Workshop, or he'll have his benefits cut off. He shudders at the thought of losing his only source of cash, and reckons that the government has got it in for him.
I can see his point, and told him that for a man that's permanently being persecuted, I admire the way he keeps his spirits up, and doesn't let life get him down.
He's promised that tonight he'll buy us double cheeseburgers and lager if all goes well, and added that people like Tony Joy don't panic in the face of adversity.
I wish him well, and am already dribbling with excitement over the thought of tonight's meal.

He Feels That His Life Is Over

Fatty Tony is very depressed this morning. He has reason to be.
His beloved Arsenal went down at home yesterday to the hated enemy. There's no money in the bank. Our unemployment benefit doesn't arrive for another week. The heating in the flat is beginning to show signs of packing up. Christmas is coming.
We don't like Christmas. As Tony says: It's just another opportunity for retailers to take the last penny from our pockets.
He's got his eyes on a new Arsenal outfit this season, but the price is just too much to swallow. Not to worry, Tony says that a spell of pre-Christmas shoplifting will solve all of his problems, and he has already started to prepare a list of items that he intends to steal within the next few weeks.
As he has no conscience, he sees shoplifting as an acceptable part of everyday life, just like going to the toilet, and can't really see what all the fuss is about.
Also, as he rightly says, tourists come over here every year and take pleasure in stealing from our High Street retailers, so if they can do it, so can we!
Money's tight, so lunch will be a few pints of lager and a bit of bread that's been hanging around in the cupboard since Friday.

Saturday, 20 November 2010

No Place For Lost Tourists

Oh Dear. Tony's mood has plunged to new depths. Two nil up at half time, and he was mentally preparing himself for cheeseburgers and red wine. Then came three goals from Spurs, and now Tony wants to do violent things to anybody who he thinks deserves a good beating.
The pub is fucking packed, and he's been drinking like a man possessed.
I've come back to the flat to have a crap and grab a packet of cigarettes.
I reckon I deserve a pat on the back, as on the way out of the pub, I bumped into a group of German tourists, who thought it would be fun to pop inside, and sample a little slice of life in one of London's backstreet pubs. If I was a sadist (which I occasionally am), I would have ushered the bastards in through the doors, and sat back whilst Tony and his cronies set about giving them a good beating. But this time, I did my good deed for the day, and told them that German tourists like them are better off sticking to the popular tourist pubs.
The bastards thanked me and disappeared in search of a safer place.

Little Arsene Wenger

Tony is bursting with Joy. Today his beloved Arsenal are playing Spurs. The old rivals always produce a good match, and Tony reckons that this time things will probably explode on the pitch.
That's Tony for you - always over the top when talking about his favourite team.
He's been moaning again about the cold weather playing havoc with his lager consumption. He says that he just can't work up a thirst. I've told him to eat three packets of salted peanuts before we go to the pub to watch the match. He didn't dismiss the idea as being completely ridiculous, and as I write, he is busily chomping away like a man possessed.
If Arsenal wins, he says it will be cheeseburgers and red wine to celebrate.
Boy.......he certainly knows how to live!

Thursday, 18 November 2010

Violence Is The Only Answer

Tony and I watched the match last night, and afterwards, to help us get over watching our national team lose to the French - or the f**king French as Tony repeatedly called them as he screamed at the television in the pub - we chased after a couple of French students, who had been at the game, and who had the audacity to come into the pub and ask for a couple of beers.
Sid the landlord ignored them, and said that he didn't want people like them lowering the tone of the pub, but when they refused to move, Tony took matters into his own hands.
We can't run very fast, and the two froggies soon lost us, but we tried our hardest, and I reckon the Queen would have been proud of us, if she had been there.
Tony reckons that people like us are in short supply, and unless a few more people start making a stand against the continual wave of foreigners who are pouring into our country, we might as well shut up shop, and call it a day.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

We're Getting Behind The Boys

We're off to the pub tonight to watch the England - France match. It's been described as a "friendly", but as Tony rightly says, the English hate the French, and he hopes that the hatred spills over onto the football pitch. He told me that he's going to wear his replica Arsenal strip, and is looking forward to getting completely hammered, whilst watching the froggies get a good thrashing.
I saw a couple of French supporters in the street earlier, talking loudly and waving their arms around. Tony says that the French can't converse like normal people, and says that arm waving and talking loudly are things that the British have managed to avoid.
At the time of writing, "Fatty" Joy is having a shower, and singing God Save The Queen very poorly. I reckon if we lose tonight he'll want to give the first French person he sees a good beating.
I can't say I blame him, and am looking forward to what could be a memorable evening.

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

A Wonderful Evening Was Had By All

Tony's "Welcome Home" pub celebration went like a dream. By eight o'clock, we were both hopelessly pissed, and making obscene comments about immigrants and gay people.
Even though the tourist season has come to an end, we were lucky enough to stumble upon a german family, who were enjoying a quiet drink in the pub. Three weeks in prison had left Tony with a lot of pent up hatred, and so it was no surprise that the germans were on the receiving end of one of Tony's foul-mouthed attacks. The father asked Sid the landlord if Tony could be ejected from the premises, but Sid just laughed, and told the german fucker that it was the English who won the war, and if he wasn't happy, he could fuck off. Message received! The wife looked terribly upset, but as Tony said, we don't need people like them in the pub.
We managed to stagger back to our flat just after midnight, and heated up a couple of old cheeseburgers in the microwave. They actually tasted a lot better than when we first bought them, and Tony said that God should always bless America, because cheeseburgers and Budweiser beer are two of the finest things ever to come out of that country.
The neighbour upstairs complained that the music we played was too loud. She's spanish, and very hairy. Tony just laughed and said that she should have been deported years ago.

Monday, 8 November 2010

A Bad Few Weeks

It's been a bad few weeks for Tony and me. He's just been released from prison after serving a three week sentence for breaking somebody's ribs in a provoked attack. And I can honestly say, it wasn't his fault. About a month ago we were both in the pub minding our own business, and talking about how we would solve the immigration crisis ("shoot the fuckers" was the best thing we could come up with), when Tony received a mouthful of abuse from an Albanian immigrant. Tony, who had downed one too many whiskies, decided to give the immigrant a well-aimed smack in the chest. Unfortunately, there were witnesses to the attack, and the police arrived just a few minutes later, to take away my only friend. The judge at the trial was less than sympathetic, and took sides with the immigrant, saying that people should be protected from the likes of Tony, because he is clearly a mindless thug, intolerant of anybody who doesn't have British nationality. Tony punched the air and smiled at the judge, before he was taken away for his three week stint behind bars.
Today, he's back in the flat, and has spent the morning telling me about some of the people he met in prison. He has nothing but admiration for the scum he was banged up with, and reckons that he learnt a thing or two during his time inside.
Tonight, we're off to the pub to celebrate his freedom, and Tony says that he just wants to have a decent drink, and be left alone. Of course, I told him that shit sticks, and that now he's been inside, his reputation will precede him. He just laughed, and said that Tony Joy is a man who knows no fear, and that it's better to be a somebody, with a nasty reputation, than a nobody, whose too afraid to even fart in public.
Yes! The boy is back, and tonight, it's going to be one hell of an evening.