Friday, June 26, 2009

Seven jealous fools playing by her rules

Friday, June 26, 2009
Who knows what sport Gimme hates the most in the whole wide world?

You, yes, you at the back with the painted on moustache, what's your answer? Rugby? Wrong. I can see why you might think that what with the almost infinite trauma and humiliation that this game inflicted upon my both fat and weedy person as a child. But no, Kellissa, rugby does not hold the top spot.

How about you, the tall lady with magnificent hair, jigging up and down in your seat, pumping your arm repeatedly in the air, making that keening 'I know the answer' noise? Go ahead. Hurling, you say. Hurling. I'm afraid not. Again, it's a reasonable guess, given my well known aversion to pointless pig-fucking savagery. But no dice, Fats.

Shush, now Common Law, we all know that you know the answer. And feel free to ease back on the uproarious laughter. As nobody else knows where this is going, you're just making yourself appear to be afternoon drunk again. And you've cut that out, right?

Yes, the not overly hairy headed recently unemployed looking gentleman. What's that you say? No, no. Speak up. Don't be shy. You have the look of a sports journalist abou you, sir. I think you might have hit Gimme gaming gold. Just one more time so that everyone can hear you...

That's it. Congratulations. Although I do prefer to use the term 'stupid fucking golf'.

Gimme hates golf. He hates the game. He hates the clothes. He hates the rich cunts who play it. He hates the rape of the land that it requires. He hates the fact that it's a fucking verb. We don't football. We don't go tabletennissing. He hates it all, and the rest of it too. And come 7.30am on the morning of July 4th, the morning of the opening of the Tour as it happens, hungover to fuck from the wedding rehearsal dinner, Gimme will, for the greater good, golf.

I asked a friend whose enjoyment of this 'sport' I have decided to temporarily overlook, for advice. It seems that along with 'dress pants' whatever the fuck they are, and a sense of appropriate sobriety, this wedding trip now also requires me to find a t-shirt with a penis on it. Someday my trials will be at an end, but it's not going to be any time soon.

11 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Medbh said...

Bonus: you could toke up on the links.

Twenty Major said...

Bonus: you could toke up on the links.

The lady talks a lot of sense.

And this should do the trick - t-shirt with a penis on it

fatmammycat said...

ahah, I was a hen recently, I feel your 'dutiful' pain even as I cannot help laugh. Perhaps something in a plaid might assist your strike. Ahah, oh dear.

gimme a minute said...

It's the morning of the wedding. And that BC shit renders me incapable of speech, let alone a speech.

Which might work out quite well for all involved.

Twenty Major:
I should know who that is, right? Riker didn't know either. I didn't tell her it was a penis.

Common Law thinks it's the funniest thing ever, in the history of the world.

And I'm wearing my bicycle shorts. Try and stop me, cultural oppressors.

Sniffle said...

I’ve haven’t been able to call it anything other than the sport of cunts, since I heard it here first. But John Updike liked it, go figure.

Twenty Major said...

That's Perez Hilton

Medbh said...

Nice, Twenty.

Radge said...

A good game of 'wank' is often called for. They verbalised that one for the greater good.

gimme a minute said...


Twenty Major:

The majority of comments on this post seem designed to confuse me.

Conan Drumm said...

So, do it all go horribly wrong?

Mermaid of Moorgate said...


Spell it backwards.


Says it all.

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