Irking Me Off; #3 Bloke in High Heels

Bonjour you cunts [#PrayForParis], firstly let me apologise if you've been waiting for me to drop some literary gem, because this ain't it. I've got some shizzle [people still say that right?] I'm working on, but right this instant I'm in a bad mood, but I don't want to write about the thing that put me in a bad mood because I need to keep my job... at least until Christmas. So instead I'm writing about the last person to irk me; the bloke in high heels.

First and foremost, I'm just going to put it out there, I don't care about people cross-dressing, got no problem with it. We as humans have dedicated certain clothing items to certain genders, if a man wants to wear a skirt, it doesn't make him any less masculine, it's often funny as fuck, but I wouldn't think any less of him... because if he's brave enough to do that he'd probably knock my brittle frame in half.

Anyway, let's get to the fucking story...

I was walking to work the other morning at exactly 9.23am and my walks to and from work are always quite interesting. This is because from where I live is a shit-hole rife with unhappy married couples, students and drug addicts [that's me by the way], yet where I work is a rather upmarket, Tory voting [SCUMBAGS!!] area. For example; When I start my walk to work, I get the joy of seeing a man stealing clothes off a washing line on a Sunday morning. And when I'm five minutes from my house on a walk from work; I get the pleasure of seeing a group of junkies shooting up on a set of steps on a Thursday night [and yes those things actually happened].

And on the other hand; minutes after leaving work I pass a house with four cars on the drive [and none of them are up on bricks!]. And once before work I was in the local shop [that closes for a few hours midday, in this fucking day and age!] buying some Lucozade to power me through the onslaught of shit I was about to receive at work, and I was clearly second in the queue and while waiting an older middle-class lady [aka COFFIN-DODGING TORY CUNT] entered the shop, picked up her Daily Telegraph [aka FILTHY FUCKING TORY RAG!] and proceed to try and get served before me, but I'm a fucking gangsta... when it comes to retail etiquette... and I wasn't standing for any of that shit and she actually scoffed at me when I get served first... BITCH, I WAS SECOND IN THE QUENE BEFORE YOU EVEN STEPPED FOOT IN THE SHOP, YOU CUNT!

I kinda got rambling, but you get the point; I encounter a mix of people on my journeys to and from work, so on to the bloke in the high heels.

So once again; let's get to the fucking story...

I was walking to work the other morning at exactly 9.23am and I was almost at work, while descending quite a steep residential road coming up against me was the bloke in high heels [no homo]. When I walk to work I don't listen to music, just the noise around me and the thoughts in my head... and on this day; my thoughts were disturbed... and later on those disturbed thoughts were disrupted by the sound of high heels, yet when I glanced up from my iPhone expecting to see a female, I in fact saw a male!

I was slightly confused. Look, 9.23 am is not my “peak time”, I achieve my “peak time” after about four beers and two zoots, so if I'm working early; 7:45pm, working late; 1:30am, day off; ASAFP [the F stands for Fucking]. So, at 9.23am I'm usually feeling the effects of getting to and beyond the previous' day's “peak time”... what I'm trying to say is; I'm not too on-point. It takes a little time for things to register.

Although I'm slight be-puzzled, I glance at the man's footwear as he approaches me, maybe he's wearing some fancy winklepickers...
“They do look like high heels.” I think to myself, as my heavily bagged and still bloodshot eyes view the man's choice in foot attire.
I look away as he gets closer.
“Nah, he's not wearing high heels, you're seeing things you alcoholic stoner!” I think to myself. But I should have another look for conformation...
“Yep, he's wearing high heels! This man, is wearing high heels!”
Yet I still don't believe what I'm seeing, so I go for another look. And lone and behold this bloke is in high heels.

By this point the bloke in the high heels had noticed I taken notice to fact he was a bloke in high heels, and he shot me a dirty look... the kind of judgemental look a narrow minded individual would give to a bloke in high heels. But I'm not some narrow minded individual, yes I was giving the bloke in high heels a judgemental look and it was in part because of his choice of footwear but it has fuck all to do with any hatred towards his life style choice... it's all simply based around the fact he had his bicycle with him!

He was obviously pushing his bike... because he was in high heels! Who the fuck rides a bike in high heels, that's ridiculous! It's like this dude's seen the ending of Jurassic World and thought;
“Fuck it, if that bitch can outrun a T-Rex in high heels I can ride a bike in them!”
… but you can't, you twat! You was fucking pushing your bike, the fact of the matter is, if you were actually riding your bike, I wouldn't have noticed the clippity-clop of your heels sounding like a tap-dancer having a fucking seizure on stage! Which wouldn't have made my drug-addled mind constantly glance at your footwear, which in turn; wouldn't have got you thinking I was judging your lifestyle choice... which I totally wasn't, you cross-dressing twat!

The End.

#UnfinishedBusiness; Ben’s Big Day Out

#UnfinishedBusiness is a collection of Blog posts from 2013 that I never quite completed or totally forgot about.

Synopsis:

It was the summertime and it was a warm day, so after a few too many days trapped in my own home I decided to venture out into the real world and then attempted to write about it.

Now, I’m a notorious shut-in. I’m most at home when I’m … at home, basically. Venturing into the outside is oxymoronic in my drug-addled mind [into/outside – stick with me people]. But after spending the majority of my spare time attached to my rickety chair has began to take it’s toll on my productiveness, as in it’s completely obliterated it, so in an effect to not go completely stir crazy I decided to leave my home and do something.

Now, I wasn’t going to do anything totally outside my comfort zone. No! That’d be way too much for me to handle. This was simply a practice run.

Before I left on my adventure, I had to make sure I had the suitable equipment; a sandwich, packet of crisps, books, sunglasses, recreational drugs and obviously a couple of beers. I also had plenty of tissue, for HAYFEVER – before your minds begin to conger up any ill thoughts of masturbation. Obviously I had already attempted to halt any effects of that disgusting pollen that fills the atmosphere around this time that renders the majority of hayfever suffers absolutely useless, with tablets and nasal spray, which later turned out to be as effective as homeopathic medicine. But either way, I had my bag packed and I was on my way.

My destination was a familiar one; Markeaton Park. I don’t think I’ve been since my frolicking years as a student, even then I wasn’t keen on the place but it beat sitting in lectures or studying … all that would have gotten me would be a better degree … a better job … and a better life… but who needs that when the sun’s out and you’ve got a Frisbee?

Before locating my spot I stumbled upon what could be described as a damsel in distress, or what could also be described as a mother struggling to push a pram up a steep, yet small hill. Seeing as I was in a joyful mood, I offered my assistance. Although it was slightly upsetting that we didn’t get to push the pram down the other side. Apparently harming children isn’t a hobby each and everyone of us shares, who’d have known? 

#SunshineSelfie

 

I made my way onto the park and secured myself one of those fishing dock things by the water to sit on. I was able to relax in the sun far enough away from anyone else so that I could enjoy myself. I then sat back, relaxed and listened to a couple of podcasts – with my earphones in of course, just because my phone is perfectly capable of producing audio for others to hear, doesn’t mean they should have to [take note, kids].

And that's as far as I got. I can't remember anything really exciting happening. Some baby swans got a little too close for comfort and then a random dog started barking at them, that seriously messed with my buzz. I saw a massive dragonfly. And after too many beers I had to use the communal toilets. Never fun. And that's all I can remember. 

Baby Swan fucking up my buzz.

 

#UnfinishedBusiness; Irking Me Off; #1 Helmet

#UnfinishedBusiness is a collection of Blog posts from 2013 that I never quite completed or totally forgot about.

The files I found, and YES, I'm still using XP.

Synopsis:
I'd read a news story about a father trying to make wearing a helmet while riding a bike the law, strangely enough he had the exact name as one of my University lecturers [I've changed the name now though, privacy and all that jazz] and for some reason this got me peeved enough to write this.

DISCLAIMER: Due to my recent all time low of writing, I’ve began to formulate a plan to write more frequently to get me back into the habit of writing, it is a skill that needs to be kept sharp.

So welcome the “Irking Me Off” series.

It’s about those things you [or more specifically; I] see that kind of resonate in the back of your [my] mind for an unbeknownst reason.

I don’t know if you’ve seen in the news recently, but a young boy was involved in a road accident while riding his bike, he is in a very bad way. [And you thought I lost the knack for jokes]. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. Now his paramedic father [named Matt Smalling] is campaigning to make it the law to for cyclists to wear helmets.

Now you’re up to speed, I can delve into this situation.

Firstly the poor victim of this accident didn’t want to wear a helmet because it would mess up his hair. Ironic seeing as the back of a van has messed up his face beyond repair. No amount of Brylcreem is going to mask that asphalt embedded in his face.

I used to bike to work, and in all honesty… I once raped a chicken… plus I never used to wear my helmet – not because of any superficial reason, luckily I’ve been blessed with a winning personality … and natural beauty. I had a helmet; it even matched my BMX [who says safety can’t be stylish?]. But I never wore it until my favourite lecturer [ironically named Matt Smalling – I’m not taking the piss here, Google him, he’s real*] was involved in a bike accident and he told me that if it wasn’t for his helmet his injuries would have been much worse.

Now I clearly took heed to Matt Smalling’s [my lecturer] advice. As he was an authority figure in my eyes and while there’s that constant burning fire inside myself to rebel against any authority, I’m not a fool, I know good advice when I hear it.

Now if you take my own experiences into account you begin to see some slight similarities, especially the Matt Smalling stuff, that’s just random and likely to be made up… even though it definitely isn’t**.

So I understand the plea of the Matt Smalling [father of Tarmac Face] to make wearing a helmet the law – although I honestly thought it was already the law, but one of those laws that everyone breaks like speeding, smoking weed and sexually molesting OAPs. It clearly makes sense that cyclists should be kitted out with something that keeps their grey matter from making our roads slighter greyer.

But the thing that continues to nag at me is Matt Smalling [parent of the only child with a licence plate imprinted in his face] is a fucking paramedic! He must have been in many situations in which he was peeling people off the road due to numerous car incidents, many of which must involved a cyclist at some point. Why wasn’t he more forceful with his own son?

“Hey Dad, I’ll see you later; I’m off to work”
”Wait son, aren’t you wearing your helmet?”
”Nah, don’t wanna mess with the ‘do, need to cock-tease the guys down the factory”
”Son, I’m a paramedic, I peel the faces of cyclists from car grills on a day to day basis, and although my medical training is limited… there’s no giving CPR to a caved in skull… so wear your fucking helmet, fuck your hair, think about your safety you fucking pompous cunt!”

Clearly this didn’t go down in the Smalling household.

The thing that irks me the most about this whole situation is I completely agree with both Matt Smalling's on this matter. It’s just that how can paramedic Matt Smalling be the face of this of his campaign [I understand his son can’t be the face of it for obvious reasons]? This is a medically trained man whose working life revolves around emergency accidents, yet it isn’t until his own son suffers from such a fate that he decides to chirp up. If he was a decent person, father and paramedic his son should have never left his home without the correct safety measures in place.

And that’s the truth.

If a police officer’s son went and shot up a school, and the father said; “Well, I knew he had the gun, but I never thought this would happen!” Everyone would be pointing out the irony of the whole situation.

*Don't Google him, I changed his name.

**He isn't made up, I just changed his name.