Thursday, 26 May 2011

A Fucking Salesman From Hell

So there we were tonight, enjoying a few glasses of whisky, a packet of cigarettes between us and a couple of cheeseburgers each, when the telephone rang.
It was some smooth talking salesman asking if we had ever thought about buying a holiday home on the south coast of Spain, where, as he explained, it never rains, and the temperature is always a lot hotter than back home in England.
Well, Tony was most upset that our evening in front of the television was ruined, especially as we were enjoying one of our favourite war films, where loads of germans get killed, but as hard as he tried to get rid of the salesman, the guy at the other end of the line was having none of it.
In the end, Tony told the caller that Spain does as much for him as a dose of venereal disease, and since global warming has well and truly fucked up the climate, he was fairly certain that it was hotter in London than in downtown Madrid. There was a slight pause, before the salesman realised that he was on a hopeless mission, and wished Tony a pleasant evening.
Still, it's not the first time that our evening's entertainment has been ruined, as only lasy week, whilst we were watching a documentary about the sex lives of badgers, some bastard called to see if we were interested in buying a very sharp set of kitchen knives. Well, to Tony, it was an opportunity not to be missed, and since he's taken delivery of the said set of knives, I can confirm that I sleep a lot safer at night, knowing that Tony is in the room next door, armed to the teeth, and ready to stab the first fucking intruder who even thinks about breaking into our shitty fucking flat.

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