Taxi drivers are fat, lazy, dirty, unshaven, smelly blokes that are thick in the head, have bad breath and brown teeth. Surely you’ve noticed? It doesn’t matter what you talk to them about – they have been there, done that and know everything there is to know about the subject. Well if you’re so phucking clever how come you are ferrying around drunken arseholes on a Saturday night for a pittance when you could be swanking about having a good time yourself?
Taxi drivers the world over are reckless and dangerous behind the wheel. They are careless and ignorant of road safety. Just because they drive for a living they think they ‘own’ the road, can violate traffic laws and should receive special treatment from other road users. Well I’m sorry Mr Taxi Driver – but you bloody well don’t. Buses, ambulances, police cars and fire engines get priority and right of way, not you sweaty money-thieving lunatics. You have no right to stop suddenly to catch a fare, to hold up traffic or attempt a stupid manoeuvre on a busy road. You are supposed to be professional drivers – my smelly arse!!
For over 25 years it has been law in
What can possibly be their argument not to wear one? 'It’s a bit uncomfortable to wear all the time' or 'I have to keep getting out the car to put luggage in the boot' or 'It restricts my movement' . Well I say bollocks! I’ll tell you what mate, it’s a bit more uncomfortable when you fly out through the windscreen and go screaming head first into a concrete wall or another steel vehicle breaking every bone in your body and ugly face! I mean how many brain cells do you actually need to tell you to wear a seat belt? Too many for these guys clearly.
How come when people book a taxi and it takes ages to arrive then people just accept it? But if you leave them waiting outside for half a nanosecond whilst you grab your coat, they are honking and revving their engines and stoking the meter? I know they have got a living to make, but if I treated my customers like that I wouldn’t last 5 minutes. Rude arrogant bastards.
And another thing Mr Taxi Driver, turn off that poxy CB radio thing from the control centre. Yeah that’s right, the control centre. By that I mean some demented old ugly bird in cheap clothing, smoking like a chimney in a tiny dirty dingy office with wallpaper peeling off the walls and the ceiling dripping with tar. Why not take a seat on one of the deluxe stained and dilapidated chairs for customers to use when waiting? It’s like a Chinese dope den or the gateway to hell!
Anyway (back on track) I don’t wanna hear all that inane garbage that comes from control and deafens me in your cab. I’m a paying customer so turn the stupid thing off! I don’t wanna hear all that shit! It might make you feel wanted or important – but I say bollocks! You are all just paid scum to be used by us proper blokes when we get pissed up and need some low-life to give us a lift home! If you don’t like it then tough. Phuck you lot – next time I’ll take the bus…
Coming soon…
Committee Members
Dog Owners
Caravaners
Car Boot Sale Enthusiasts
Mobile Phones on Trains
Men in Replica Football Shirts
Pikey Gypo Lowlife
People With Personal Number Plates
BBC Local Radio
Unsolicited Phone Calls
Jehovah’s Witnesses
Religious Twats
Lager Drinkers
People Who Think Their Kids Are Cute
Civil Servants
Well as astonishing as it might seem to ‘sane’ people like you and me, it is nevertheless a fact that some blokes don’t drink alcohol! To choose not to drink is such a bewildering and incomprehensible concept that I just don’t understand it. It surely makes no sense whatsoever. What is this point of this heroic self sacrifice? What do they hope to gain from it? It’s like choosing not to watch sport, or wank off, or eat burgers or indeed any pleasurable activity you care to mention.
I’m not just talking about teetotallers here, or those that don’t drink on so called religious or health grounds. I’m talking about the bloke who goes into the pub and orders a sodding diet coke or orange juice! What a dick! Look mate I don’t care if you are bloody well driving, get some phucking beer down your neck! If you’re driving you have no phucking business being in a pub in the first place. Sod off home and have a cup of tea you prize twat! If you are in a pub you drink – end of story. You drink lots and then get a cab, walk, bike, get her indoors to pick you up, take the bus, crib a lift or do whatever it takes! But do me a favour and have a bloody drink! There are lots of options – but I’m afraid pal – not drinking is not one of them OK?
Almost as bad are the pathetic ‘lightweights’ who have a pint or two and then are ‘too full’ to drink any more. What complete and utter tossers! What are you, some kind of tart? Get it down ya neck for phucks sake. I don’t care if you do feel bloated, or sick, so what if you’ll have a hangover in the morning – ever heard of aspirins? No excuses – drinking is what blokes do, and if you don’t then you are a sad pathetic apology for a man, and I hope you rot in hell.
Not just in pubs either. I mean what regular proper bloke doesn’t have a decent supply of cans at home in the fridge? You never know when you might need a beer, or when a mate might call round to pull a tab, or that football match on TV you’d forgotten about. It just makes perfect sense to take precautions and have a ready supply indoors. After all, a beer-stocked fridge is a joy to behold.
Over the years I’ve met several men who don’t drink, or don’t drink much. Without exception they are the most boring and dullest people I’ve have ever met! Boring phuckers with the personality of breeze blocks!
I mean what do these people do in the evening? How can they possibly go through life without the eager anticipation of an early evening pint to look forward to? It really does beggar belief. Try as I might I just cannot fathom their motives or their thought processes. Do they spend the whole evening watching soaps or chatting on the telephone? Perhaps doing some home DIY, or playing with their kids? Really I cannot think of what they can possibly get up to that they consider more important than a beer down at the local.
Look the whole point of being a bloke is to get beered up with your mates on a regular basis. Don’t you dare get on your high horse and think otherwise – you know it’s true. It’s been in our culture for centuries. Eating well and drinking good beer and wine is what life is all about. Feasting and drinking go back to the Middle Ages. Even the monks in their quiet solitude and contemplation got plastered in their monasteries – they all brewed their own beer and made their own wine. Bloody right too!
So to all you non- drinking, self righteous, goody-goody, dull-as-hell, boring farts, I say bollocks to you. Put down that TV remote, grab your hat and wallet and get down the phucking pub now, and get completely arseholed. You know it makes sense!
