Sunday, 31 July 2011

Free Burgers On Death Row

Once again, our financial problems are giving Tony and me some real cause for concern. Not, you understand, because we can't pay any of our overdue bills, but because it seems like ages since we both ate a decent cheeseburger.
Tony reckons that our favourite fast-food restaurant is penalising people like us, because the cost of our favourite food is too high.
The boy reckons that being unemployed is worse than being branded a paedophile, and that if he was a weaker man, he would have collapsed before now, under the "mental stress" of being singled-out by society as being a fat, lazy bastard, who does nothing all day except drink and smoke.
Quite rightly, Tony gets hurt by such remarks, and says to me everyday that if he could find a job, then he would go to work straight away. Of course, the boy's weight and obscene language aren't really what potential employers are looking for, and the fact that he finds it hard to control his violent temper is another handicap. Then there's his criminal record, his poor time keeping and the fact that he cannot tolerate foreign people.
Fortunately, Tony still manages to see the funnier side of life, and says that prisoners on Death Row always get to choose their last meal, before going to meet their maker. He reckons that the fear of being executed wouldn't bother him, if he thought that his last meal was going to be a couple of sizzling cheeseburgers and large fries.
I told him that I can see his point, but as we're not on Death Row, and neither of us are working, we're still no nearer to solving our problem.

Monday, 25 July 2011

Feeding The Ducks

Tony's just come back from the park, where he spent the morning feeding ducks, and trying to get his head clear, after what he calls one of the worst weekends he can remember for a long time.
Of course, the reason behind his current bout of depression has nothing to do with the death of Amy Winehouse (we'll miss her, won't we?) or the slaying of almost a hundred innocent Norwegians, by a lone, crazed gunman (we'll miss them, won't we?), but more to do with the fact that the great charmer's attempts to get into another poor, unsuspecting girl's underwear, failed miserably.
Now, normally, Tony bounces (because he's fucking fat) back from such humiliation, but as the boy rightly said, it's a very sad day indeed when Tony Joy is put in his place by a member of the female race.
Well, what did he expect? I mean, there he was, in the pub Saturday morning, trying to break his own speed-drinking record, when his eye caught sight of a very pretty thing called Marjorie, who apparently came from Belgium.
Tony was quick to tell Marjorie that Belgium is just possibly his most favourite country on the planet, and wanted to know what such a lovely, young thing was doing all alone in a nasty, stinking city like London.
Marjorie replied straight away that she thought Tony was one of the ugliest men she had ever had the msifortune to meet, and the chances of him fucking her were absolutely zero, because of (a) he stank of stale lager and cigarettes, and (b) it turned out that she was a lesbian.
Well, I reckon the boy was right when he said that if a woman fails to be turned on by the odour of stale lager, and she also happens to be a lesbian, she's not the sort of woman that he wants to be wasting his time with. He then added that Belgium is a pointless pile of shit just north of France, and if it disappeared tomorrow under a tsunami, not many people would really give two fucks.
Marjorie got the point, and soon fucked off, leaving Tony to continue drinking heavily, whilst insulting total strangers in the pub, and passers-by in the street.
At least the ducks were happy with the bread he fed them, and as he says, animals always provide great comfort in such moments.

Friday, 22 July 2011

Must Get A Job

The boy Tony and me are worried, because we have no money in the bank, and there's a pile of bills that need paying.
Now, normally, we aren't bothered by such financial hardship, but as Tony said, if things carry on like this for much longer, we may have to consider getting a job.
Well, FUCK ME, this wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to hear in the middle of summer, and so after telling Tony that working for a living never solved any of life's great problems, I was relieved to hear that he agreed with me, and that he'll never talk about getting a job ever again.
I blame the heat for Tony's demented ramblings, and reckon that he needs a good few pints of strong lager inside of him to calm him down, and get him back in the real world.
Tony agrees with me, and although he says our financial problems are worse than they've ever been, he reckons that by adopting Churchill's never say die attitude, in a few days time, everything will be fine.
Thank god that the boy has seen the light, and to help celebrate the fact that we've decided to stay unemployed for the rest of our lives, we're off for a few cheeseburgers, and then some strong lager, with a few whiskies thrown in for good measure.

Monday, 18 July 2011

Thank God For The Pub

So, there we were, watching another shit film on the television, when Tony announced that he was bored, and that he wanted to go the pub, get very drunk, and "flush the anger out of his system."
For once, I agreed with the boy when he said that television is slowly killing the art of having a good time, and not wasting any more time, we both headed off for the pub, in search of some decent conversation, strong lager and some good entertainment.
The pub was packed, but as usual, we found a place at the bar, even though we had to force our way through a crowd of spotty twenty year olds, who were talking shit, and sending text messages to one another, in between drinking their pints of beer.
Tony laughed when he saw what he called "the kids from hell," because, he said, when he was young, he was nothing like what the kids of today are like.
I reckon that he's right, but as Tony said, times have changed, and so we must tolerate the younger generation of today.
Of course, after five pints, Tony soon changed his point of view, and after being accidentally nudged by one of the spotty fuckers, Tony grabbed him by the throat, and threatened to rip his head off his shoulders.
Sid, the landlord, chuckled, and said although he admired Tony's attempt to be tolerant, he knew full well that after a few pints of strong lager, and a couple of whiskies, Tony is not the sort of man to take being nudged lightly.
The "kids" soon left the pub, calling Tony a fat bastard as they ran up the street.
Tony laughed, and although he would have liked to run after the little bastards, he knew full well that his obesity prevented him from doing so.
Still, as he said, he's a very happy person, even if he is fucking fat!

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

New Neighbours, Same Problems

The family upstairs were evicted yesterday, and although Tony and me don't like to see a single mother and her seven children homeless, we reckon that she had it coming.
I mean, I can't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep, because of her upstairs, and her habit of fucking all hours, without giving a fuck for the people living beneath her. And then there were the kids - all seven of them - who seemed to enjoy nothing more than running up and down the stairs, shouting and screaming, and hurling abuse at decent, honest people like Tony and me.
So, we were well and truly relieved when the police arrived yesterday to remove her from her flat.
Sadly, our happiness was short lived, when a family of six arrived this morning, to take possession of the flat.
Tony says that the new neighbours look even worse than the last ones, and what's more, if the noise is anything to go by, it seems that the woman also enjoys to spend much of her time in bed, testing the resistance of her mattress.
Tony reckons that having bad neighbours is enough to drive a man to drink, and so, as I write, the boy is just putting on his shoes, because he says he's off to the pub, to get a bit of peace and quiet.
Now, for once, the boy has had a great idea, and although I lack the energy to follow him to the pub, I think I'll go anyway, because I need a drink more than ever.

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

A Crazy Afternoon

We've just come back from the pub, where we've had one hell of a time with our friend, Glen.
Glen paid for all of our drinks, because he won some money on the lottery at the weekend, and knowing that Tony and me are currently financially stretched, he didn't hesitate in making sure that we got completely hammered, at his expense.
Tony reckons that Glen is the nearest anybody could be to being a living saint, and that when Glen dies, he thinks that it's only right that the nation goes into official mourning for at least a week.
Well, whilst I think Glen showed that human kindness hasn't completely become a thing of the past, comparing him to a saint is just a little too much.
I mean, how many saints do you know are heavily tattooed, have a criminal record as long as your arm, and carry around at all times an iron bar, so that they can protect themselves if the need ever arises? Well - NONE!
Still, at times, Tony can get a little bit carried away, but after twelve pints of cold lager, six whiskies and god only knows how many cigarettes, it can only be expected.
Glen will be joining us later, back at pub, to continue sharing his good fortune with us, but only after he's completed a bit of business that he needs to attend to, on the other side of London.
Tony can hardly wait for the second part of this fantastic day to get underway, and whilst I'm probably the least religious person in London, I reckon that Glen's fortune is a real gift from the gods.
And as Tony says, he'll drink to that!