Lurking in the shadows
Frankly, I despair of the British public.
Have you seen what they’ve done now?
When the BBC unwisely invited them to name the Worst Briton of the Last 1,000 Years, who do you think they opted for?
Would you believe, Jack the bleedin’ Ripper?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying Jack the Ripper was a cross between Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama. He’d have attracted too much attention, looking like that.
But how on earth can any reasonable, intelligent adult think Jack the Ripper was anywhere near as vile as Andrew Pickering?
What do you mean, ‘Who’s Andrew Pickering?’?
The Andrew Pickering!
The Andrew Pickering who sat next to me at primary school and was always flicking bogies and chopped-up caterpillars at me when Miss Robocop wasn’t looking; who stuck pins in me and pelted me with school tapioca pudding in the bike shed; who filled my satchel with paraffin and left me roped to a poisonous shrub after stealing my collection of Reginald Maudling non-moveable inaction figures…
The Andrew Pickering who gave me the nickname ‘Trough Of Sludge’ that I’ve never been able to shake off (the Princess Royal was using it only yesterday)…
The Andrew Pickering who went with me to Futon Vale Remedial Academy and taught the other kids to clash two dustbin lids together with my head between them; who forced me to shove giant hogweed up the headteacher’s pantaloons and then ran away; who sabotaged my science project by telling the CIA it was a secret Soviet germ warfare bunker…
Ring any bells yet?
The Andrew Pickering who used to walk up and down outside my hostel all night, just to unnerve me…
The Andrew Pickering who got me sacked from every job I’ve ever had by convincing them I was fat and idle and never came to work and was always sticking my tongue out at them behind their backs, and how would he have known any of that, and why on earth did they listen to him anyway?
The Andrew Pickering who keeps ringing me up and then putting the receiver down when I answer; who makes horrible rustling noises behind the skirting boards, night after night; who tells my neighbours to empty their wheelie bins through my letterbox; who gives me food poisoning and eczema and delirium tremens; who puts banana skins and abandoned skateboards on the pavement exactly where he knows I’m going to tread…
Do you know that every night of the week he follows me home, taking great care to remain out of sight at all times?
No, sorry to be blunt, but the British public are simply WRONG. This sort of thing is far more evil than just disembowelling the odd prostitute, which anyone might find himself doing, had he happened to mistake her for Robert Kilroy-Silk.
So come on, Brits. Get a grip, eh?
LEGAL NOTE
I have been asked to make it clear that the foregoing remarks are not in any way connected with this Andrew Pickering.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
Or this one.
posted by Toasty Lundqvist @ 9:39 AM
12 comments
12 Comments:
I voted for Andrew: vile cad.
Oh. And sorry....
For the benefit of those with better things to do than read blogs (what are they doing here, then?):
Caroline, for her own good reasons, is having a tee-shirt printed bearing the legend ‘TOASTY TRIVIAL TWAT’.
No need to say sorry, ma’am. I’m sure any court would accept a plea of justification or fair comment.
Alas.
Hi there - Just doing the rounds of the 'Edinburgh' area blogs. There's a blogmeet on the 18th, in the Jolly Judge. More details on the Scottish Blogs website.
pass it on.
Haggis, sporrans, that knife thing in your socks - no sterotype too small for me to ignore.
I hate myself sometimes.
I never knew you were Scottish.
You must go.
And give a speech.
I must go away.
Now.
Is this a haiku?
I laughed - a lot . Actually more than at the missus's posts - in trouble ... must go now. TOM.
Sadly, it's true. I was cleaning up the kitchen and had pointed The Old Man your way only to hear ribald guffawing and laughter that has never, ever, been heard around here.
I just feel hurt.
Ohhh, that Andrew Pickering.
Gordon, thanks for the invitation, but I dare not attend blogmeets in case someone sneaks a photo of me and sticks it on the web. One is quite enough.
Caroline, Scotland is merely the country I infest. In fact I’m half Irish Catholic, half English Protestant. (I beat myself up at 3 pm every day.) And the correct expression is, ‘Is this a haiku, or are you just pleased to see me?’
Tom, many thanks for laughing at me, at the risk of life and limb.
And Fuckkit, yes, definitely that one. I see you’re in Oxfordshire, so you’re ideally placed to take part in my latest little venture…
Oh, OK.
You know you just sound a bit weird when you say that.
You're still bloody funny though: chin up old thing.
Weird? Moi?
Or rather, on reflection, yes, it does sound a bit weird, doesn’t it? It just occurred to me as the obvious gag and I didn’t really think it through. Feeling a tad embarrassed now. Ah well. Next time I shall uphold stricter standards of decorum.
Post a Comment
<< Home