Monday, 25 June 2012

Football Crazy

So, with England's exit from the European football championship, the boy Tony and me find ourselves once again with nothing much in life to excite us.
It's at times like this that the power of football becomes apparent, and makes us wonder if there's anything more important in life than our national sport.
Porn, cheeseburgers, pizzas, alcohol, war movies and gambling have always given Tony so much pleasure -but nothing can beat watching grown men kick a ball around a pitch.
My fat friend blubbered last night - like a small child - when we were eliminated buy the Italians, and I was left wondering if he would ever get over such a traumatic experience.
Mercifully, however, the vast amount of beer we had bought, to drink during the match, helped ease Tony's pain and suffering, and although defeat was difficult to accept, the power of alcohol helped Tony pull through his painful experience, and gave him the will to carry on with his miserable life, the morning after.
I don't know why Tony's puts his mind and body through so much stress, and doesn't start following another sport, such as croquet or badminton.
Anyway, we're now off to the pub to analyse why England failed, and see if there's any decent women on offer, to share an evening of wild sex and a four seasons pizza with us.

Saturday, 16 June 2012

In Search Of Love

Tonight is singles night at our favourite pub, and because we've nothing better to do with our time, and Tony is in the mood for an evening of wild sex, we're going to see what south-east London can offer two guys like us in the way of potential partners.
I have to admire my fat friend's enthusiasm, because the womenfolk in this part of the world are not the sort to get one's hormones active, or the type that you would want to be seen with in a public place, during daylight hours.
Still, as Tony says, fussiness has never been one of his qualities, and after ten pints of lager, he doesn't really care who he takes home - just as long as they let him have his wicked way, and stay around long enough to prepare his breakfast, and do a bit of housework.
You probably think that such an attitude is outdated, but even if Tony likes to treat his women like slaves, for some unknown reason, he's never had any problems in capturing members of the opposite sex in his web of charm.
Anyway, as I write, Tony is dousing himself in cheap aftershave, and getting ready to show the world that the art of seduction is still alive and kicking, and that fatness and vulgarity shouldn't prevent a hot-blooded male from charming the birds from the trees.

Friday, 8 June 2012

Fat, Forty-Something & Useless

My only friend in life, Tony, has spent all week considering the benefits of a crash diet, as he struggles to keep his expanding waistline under control.
He reckons that his love of fast-food and are all to blame for making him the fattest man in London. I told him, to make him feel better, that he comes from a family of overweight layabouts, and that his obesity is a result of inheriting his father's genes, and that although a diet would be a good idea, the fat bastard has got about as much chance of losing a few pounds, as I have in walking on the moon.
The other day he took time to read a blog written by an anorexic woman, who claimed that she ate only one lettuce leaf and half a tomato a day.
Tony chuckled at that, and said that he once thought about becoming anorexic, but fortunately he saw the light, and devoted his life to double cheeseburgers, pizza, lager, whisky, peanuts, chocolate bars, hot-dogs, ice-cream, bacon sandwiches and anything else that keeps his spirits high, and makes him the fat, jolly boy that he is.
I can't really blame him, and although he's now too fat to get a job, as he rightly says, it's better to be fat and out of work, than thin and in permanent employment.
Now, I know I've said it once before - but I'll say it again: I'LL DRINK TO THAT!

Friday, 1 June 2012

Neighbours From Hell

As our fine city prepares to be inundated by thousands of tourists - all keen to catch a glimpse of the Queen, as she celebrates her Diamond Jubilee - my fat friend has decided to join in the fun of the moment, and hold the mother of all parties.
The festivities kick off tonight, and as I write, Tony is in the kitchen, trying to cram as many cans of lager into the fridge, so that they're chilled to perfection for our guests.
We've invited our usual load of cronies, and all were glad to be invited to our cramped apartment, to help us celebrate this marvellous occasion. The only absentee will be Andy, because he's once again behind bars, after a minor scuffle in our local fast-food restaurant.
We haven't invited any of our neighbours, because we hate them with a passion, and which is why the music we'll be playing tonight will be very loud. Tony only hopes that fifteen hours of the Sex Pistols, at full blast, will help to only worsen relations with them upstairs, across the hall, and downstairs.
Of course, some people would say that Tony likes to provoke trouble, but as he rightly says, it's not every day that Her Majesty celebrates sixty years on the throne.
I think he has a point, and if any of our neighbours feel like complaining, they know where to find us - and they're more than welcome to join us, as long as they don't arrive empty-handed!