Friday, 30 December 2011

How To Survive Mental Torture

Today I had a meeting with an adviser at the Job Centre, who wanted to know what progress I've made in getting a job.
Well, I could tell from her tone that she wasn't going to take any shit from me, and that unlike the other adviser I saw six months ago, this time I was in for a rough ride.
Of course, I've made no attempt to find work for what now seems like years and years, and admitted to the adviser that sometimes I can't sleep at night, when I think about how much I've cost the state over the last few years, in unemployment and invalidity benefit. (I always lie when my back's to the wall).
The woman gave me a "you're just another fucking parasite" kind of look, before telling me that in two months time, if I'm still unemployed, I'll be forced to take the first job I'm offered, or otherwise my benefits will be stopped.
Naturally, that sort of news left me feeling like I'd been stabbed in the guts, and when I got back to the flat, I told Tony that it seems that the good old days could be coming to an end.
Thankfully, Tony sat me down and gave me a can of lager, before telling me that he saw the same woman over a year ago, and that she gave him the same harsh treatment. He then pointed out, that as we all well know, he's still unemployed, and that the beast from the Job Centre hasn't followed up her vile threats.
We both agree that whilst mental torture is a great way to humiliate and break prisoners of war, it shouldn't be used to scare the shit out of idle bastards like him and me.
It's taken an afternoon's heavy drinking, and a walk around the block, to help get my head straight, and only now, after a few hours of suffering mental anguish, like I've never suffered before, I'm glad to say that this morning's meeting has been forgotten, and I'm looking forward to 2012, which I hope will be another year of glorious idleness, heavy drinking, and porn movies!

Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Brazillian Beauties In South-East London

Needless to say, our livers have been taking a constant pounding during the Christmas holidays, as Tony and me have spent most of the time in our favourite pub, just at the end of our road, here, in south-east London.
But who can blame us?
After all, the television is just plain shit, it's too cold to go pickpocketing, and because our families hate us, we don't have any relatives to visit.
But on a positive note, the year looks like it's going to end on a high, after the boy and me got to know a couple of Brazillian stunners, who just happened to be in the pub yesterday, asking the way to Oxford Street.
Of course, we were immediately attracted to the girls by their tight curves, unblemished skin and figure-hugging clothes, and were delighted to see that their grasp of the English language meant that they could freely communicate with us, without the need to hire an interpreter.
The girls seemed more than impressed by Tony and me, which I reckon is because of the natural charm we both ooze, combined with the friendliness that we always reserve for such occasions. Then there's the fact that we were both playing with our Apple i-pads when the two damsons in distress seemed to be guided towards us, like two ships searching for a safe haven, in the wild storm that London sometimes seems to be.
Tony says that our i-pads are the key to converting possible sexual encounters into definite sexual encounters, because having such a device shows people that we've got money to spend on the latest technological hardware. (This may be the case for most people, but not for us, because our i-pads are of the unpaid variety, if you understand...)
Anyway, we're meeting the girls tonight, and will be taking them for a couple of cheeseburgers, and then to the cinema, before enticing them back to our flat, to do what only comes naturally.
I haven't seen Tony this happy for ages, and only hope that it's a sign of things to come!

Friday, 23 December 2011

The Boy's Excited

Tony has just finalised the preparations for this year's Christmas lunch, which he reckons is a tradition that even two hopeless losers like us should never do away with.
Personally, the thought of sitting opposite him at the dinner table, watching him stuff food down his throat, is enough to put me off the idea, but because the pub will be closed Christmas day lunchtime, and I need to eat, I have no choice in the matter.
The menu for this festive feast is one that has hardly left me licking my lips in anticipation.
Our first course, he announced, will be duck liver paté served with toast, and garnished with cherry tomatoes. To follow, we will dine on frozen pizza, after which we will complete our meal with bread and cheese.
I think the boy's been watching too many cookery programmes on television, but because he's so excited about Christmas, I've decided that it's best if I keep my mouth shut, and try not to spoil the day.
This year, he's even decorated the flat, and stuck a massive Christmas tree in the corner of the lounge.
Tony proudly told me that he stole the tree from somebody's garden, but because it's Christmas, he's certain that the rightful owner of the tree will forgive him, because apparently, Christmas is a time when people forgive and forget.
I told the useless bastard that I would have been happier if he had stolen twenty cans of lager, a bottle of whisky, and a packet of cigarettes from our local supermarket, instead of a fucking Christmas tree!
I already feel ill just thinking about the meal he's going to prepare us, and reckon that a trip to the pub will be necessary after lunch, so I can drink myself senseless, and forget about the fact that I'm probably going to die of food poisoning, before I get to see the beginning of 2012!

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Music To Make Us Violent

Once again, another lunchtime drinking session has been ruined by the dross pouring from the jukebox, in our favourite pub.
Tony and me have already had our fill of seeing sickeningly happy people, pouring into the pub, getting excited about Christmas, and talking at the top of their voices about the fun they're going to have during the festive period.
The same people who find it necessary to pay good money to listen to such crap as Bing Crosby's White Christmas,  or some other example of seasonal drivel.
We asked Sid, the landlord of our favourite pub, if he could switch the jukebox off, or at the very least, remove the Christmas songs, and replace them with something more lively, like a few Iron Maiden or Sex Pistols classics.
Sid understood our concerns, and agrees that we are probably his most loyal customers, but as he said, he likes to think of his pub as a family pub, where parents can come with their children, sit by the open fire to warm themselves, enjoy a nice glass of wine, whilst listening to a Christmas carol.
I pointed out to Sid that his pub is probaby the least family friendly pub in London, because like us, he cannot tolerate small children running around the place, making a nuisance of themselves. Also, the last time I looked, I couldn't see the open fire Sid is so proud of, but only an electric radiator, which is never switched on, because he reckons too much warm air is bad for the planet. And as for his "nice" wine, Tony reckons that given the choice between a glass of  weed killer or the red wine Sid serves his customers, the weed killer seems a more attractive proposition.
Tony and me agree that at this time of year, even the sanest of individuals get caught up in the spirit of Christmas, and lose touch with reality.
Still, it's no good moaning, because as Tony said, we have only two options in life, when it comes to filling our spare time.
The first option is that we stay at home, shivering in our cold flat, whilst looking at the damp patches on the ceiling, or the second option is that we go to the pub, drink heavily, and only hope that nobody decides to play Bing Crosby's White Fucking Christmas!

Saturday, 17 December 2011

Kicking Old Habits


It's at this time of year that Tony likes to sit down with a notepad, and make a list of all the changes he's going to make in his life, so, as he says, he can become even a better man than he already is.
I agreed with him when he said that change is necessary, but I also know that there's no chance that my fat friend is going to alter his ways.
For a start, Tony's use of foul language is never going to change, because even the boy admits that he suffers from a rare medical disorder, that means he swears for no apparent reason. Of course, he doesn't really suffer from any such condition, and agrees that his foul-mouthed outbursts are caused by excessive drinking, and being provoked by foreign people, just like in the pub the other night, when a couple of French tourists decided to annoy us with their disgusting body odour and loud talking.
Last year he vowed to reduce the amount of porn he watches, but here we are, twelve months later, and he's still spending half of his life sat in front of the television, watching anything that contains naked women.
He also promised to become less aggressive, eat fewer cheeseburgers, smoke less, exercise, and get a job.
But as we all know, he's still stuck in his ways, and still unemployed.
I think the boy now knows that lists are a waste of time, and he reckons that because he's as near to being as perfect as a man could be, it's time to put away his notepad, put on his shoes, and go to the pub.
I can only congratulate him on his idea, and so we're now off to our favourite pub, at the end of the road, to have a few pints, and see if there's anybody who we can upset, just for the fun of it!

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Another Spectacular Failure

So, Tony's latest job as a Father Christmas impersonator didn't last long, after his employer fired him yesterday for turning up for work drunk, and telling a customer that her child was an ugly bastard.
The boy's not that concerned, because as he rightly says, it's too cold to go to work, and being nice to children isn't really his thing.
We're now off to the pub to spend what very little money he managed to earn in the two days he worked, and I only hope that the pub is tourist-free, because Tony is in one of his vile moods, which are hard to control, and made worse by drinking vast amounts of strong lager.
Of course, even if we remain hopelessly poor, our plans for our party remain unchanged, because as Tony says, it's only right that we wave goodbye to 2011 in the only way we know how - by getting together with our friends, drinking heavily, and singing very loudly until we all collapse in a heap, on the pub floor.
We know that Glen is coming to the party, with his girlfriend, but we're not sure if Andy will be available, as he's up in front of the judge next week on a violent conduct charge. Kevin, the potato peeler from hell hopes to join us, but as I said to Tony, I only hope that the fucking parasite brings some money with him, because I don't see why the rest of us should pay for another man's lager all night long.
Naturally, the venue for the party is our favourite pub, because even if the lager is crap, and the landlord is a miserable bastard, to us it's the place to be, when all we want to do is PARTY!!!

Sunday, 11 December 2011

Christmas Joy

Tony and me are off to the pub, to celebrate the fact that my fat friend has managed to get himself a job.
Okay - the job in question is hardly going to make him rich, but as the boy rightly says, with the festive season approaching quicker than a very fast train, and our financial situation worse than usual, any money we can get our hands on right now will help pay for our end-of-year party.
So, for a few hours a day, right up to the twenty-fourth of December, Tony will take his place in a downmarket department store, not a million miles from here, where disguised as Father Christmas, he will welcome small children into his grotto, ask them what they want for Christmas, and help keep the magic of yuletide alive, for the younger generation, here in south-east London.
Of course, being naturally fat, Tony doesn't need to worry about wearing the padded costume supplied by his employers. He also reckons that with his natural gift of bringing joy to others, his love of children, and his warm and sincere personality, he says that it was only right that he got the job.
I can't see his latest career being a blazing success, because as we all know, Tony likes to spend most lunchtimes at the bar of our favourite pub, knocking back delicous pints of lager, smoking heavily, and swearing at anybody who annoys him. Also, his tolerance of small children, who he often refers to as "little bastards", is very limited.
Still, if he wants to end the year with what he likes to refer to as the mother of all parties, it's best if he gets on with the job, brings home some much-needed cash, and be nice for at least three hours a day, for the next three weeks.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Sexual Pleasure, Burgers & Fine Wine

Tonight, we're going to wine and dine our two new friends from Finland, who we met in the pub last night.
Unfortunately, the language barrier meant that we weren't even able to ask our two latest admirers their names, but because they both gave Tony and me all of the right signals, appear not to wear bras, and insisted on matching us pint for pint in what turned out to be a lager-fuelled evening, Tony reckons that conversation is the last thing that we should be thinking about tonight, when we hit the town with what he thinks are two of the sexiest women ever to come out of Finland.
I can see that my fat friend has a point, and whilst Tony has been resting his weary body all day, so that his batteries are fully charged for tonight, I can't help but think that this evening is going to be another total disaster.
Still, as the boy rightly says, it's nearly Christmas, there's nothing on the television tonight, and he's in the mood for double cheeseburgers, strong lager and then a fuckathon back at our flat.
Sid, the landlord of our favourite pub, says that the Finnish are a funny lot, who seem to get by on eating reindeer steaks, and spending their days knee-deep in snow.
Tony laughed and said that Sid was just jealous, because his best years are behind him, and that the girls know that with us they're guaranteed a FUN evening, with two guys who know what women want, when it comes to fine food and sexual pleasure.
I'm now going to see if there's a few phrases I can learn, in time for tonight, which should help Tony and me finish the day on a high, and impress our friends like they've never been impressed before.

Sunday, 4 December 2011

God & Apples

Tony wants the latest Apple i-pad for Christmas, but because of our dire financial situation, I've told him that we've got to tighten our belts, and that means that buying expensive technological hardware is strictly out of the question.
But Tony soon put my mind at ease, and told me that he has no intention of buying an i-pad, but instead has decided to get hold of one (or two), by way of theft.
Of course, and as I told my thieving friend, theft is immoral, with even one of the ten commandments telling us that "thou shall not steal."
Tony laughed when I quoted from the bible, admitting that although theft is a crime, he reckons that God has got enough to be getting on with, instead of worrying about a fat bastard like him helping himself to an i-pad, or two.
Having now given the matter some thought, I can see Tony's point, and agree that with earthquakes, tsunamis, civil wars and soaring unemployment to deal with, the Almighty one probably doesn't give a shit right now about how on Christmas morning we're going to be the proud recipients of two Apple i-pads.
Tony's pleased that I've seen the light, and to celebrate the fact that his Christmas wish is going to come true, we're now off to the pub to get absolutely hammered.
Amen!