Russian Roulette? How is that like Russian Roulette?

October 5, 2006 at 10:58 am | Posted in fun at work, nonsense | 18 Comments

The thrill of getting the train has passed. It’s become just as monotonous as driving, the only benefits of the train being lots of people-watching opportunites, and the chance of a decent sleep on the way in to Glasgow. In fairness, you can only do one of these things or the other. Doing both just doesn’t work. Trying to casually ogle the sexy women on the train with one eye, while the other gets some rest, just makes me look like I might be going through the early stages of an epileptic seizure.

Even having a nice sleep comes with drawbacks. Yesterday morning (exhausted as I am with Jack waking through the night and my idiot self staying up too late) I pretty much passed out as soon as I boarded the train. I only woke up when the train captain’s voice boomed over the intercom: “Yaaarrr! Ladies and gentlemen we are now approaching Glasgow Central. Please ensure that ye take all ye luggage and personal shite with ye, or I’ll have ye walk the plank…” etc. His clipped, nasal barking, shrill-filtered through the crackly speakers, caused my body to release a shitload of adrenaline and I awoke with a yelp, jittering like an alco with the DT’s, to find I’d been drooling. Bollocks.

Worse, though, was that everyone else was already standing in the aisle, queueing, watching me jolt awake while they waited for the doors to open. Feigning a yawn, I casually wiped the already-hardening drool-crust off my mouth and chin. There was nothing I could do about the warm pool of stuff on my jacket. I just did one of those relaxed “that’s how my jacket always looks” faces.

That reminds me: I must wash that jacket.

All in all, not my finest moment. I tried not to catch anyone’s eye, so I wouldn’t have to bear witness to their smirknudgings, but I knew they were at it anyway. Fuckers. I have a ten-week old kid, you bastards.

To spice the mornings up, I’ve started playing Russian Roulette with my fellow commuters. Well, those boarding at my stop, at least. Every day, it’s the same old faces, and I don’t particularly like looking at any of them. There’s a brand of ugliness that comes from being a bitter moany ould cunt, and it’s all too ingrained on the faces of a vast section of Lanarkshire’s inhabitants. To alleviate the tedium, I play this game with them, though of course none of them realise they’re participating.

The Russian Roulette I play is of the non-fatal variety; you don’t need guns to play. This isn’t The Deer Hunter, for fuck’s sake. Things haven’t gotten that desperate. Yet.

Nah, the only risk involved is that I might miss the train and be two hours late for work. See, my goal each morning is to be the last person to arrive at the platform for the 6.59am train. This bit of foolishness makes me feel superior to all the suckers who’ve had to stand around waiting like idiots. Hah! Drones! Idiots! Robots! Slaves to the man!*

So, each morning as I approach, I take a mental inventory of them all: There’s Tall Cunt with the Glasses, and there’s Sexy Spanish-Looking Bird, and there’s Smoker Cunt and his Bird. Ah, there goes the Three Workmen Cunts. There’s Appropriately-Below-the-Knee-Skirt Bird, also known as I’d Find You Attractive if You Didn’t Smoke so Much Bird. Hmmm….looks like everyone’s accounted for.

Fuck! There’s no sign of Fat Cunt yet! Fat Cunt lives in the same street as me.

He’s a slippery fucker, is Fat Cunt. He’s the only real contender, to be honest, when it comes to winning this game. He has this trick, you see, where he purposely walks slowly, and leaves the house after me. He makes out like he’s all slow because he’s fat and he can’t move any faster, but I’m well onto his game. If he thinks he’s going to beat me, he’s got another fucking think coming.

There are various tricks you can employ to let someone pass you by, but on this day I opt for the classic “tying-my-laces” technique. Sure enough, with only yards to spare before we hit the platform, Fat Cunt passes me, and I claim my place as the winner of today’s episode of Delusional Gobshites.

“Suckers!” I shout as I swagger, victorious, onto the platform, “You’re all suckers! Slaves to a fuckin timetable!”. My roars coincide with the roar of the train’s arrival, so nobody seems to hear me explaining what fucking idiots they all are. I’ve thought about buying a megaphone, but they’re awful bulky to be carrying around once the game is over.

Some day, I have no doubt I’ll push my luck, and I’ll be the sucker, shaking my fist at the train creeping away from the platform just as I arrive.

It will serve me right.

* I’m not sure who the man is, exactly, but I heard he’s a right cunt.

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18 Comments »

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  1. You are sillier than silly.

  2. Wuh-ho! I was going to make a joke about ‘slippery fat cunts’ but I couldn’t manage it on the coffee I’ve had so far.

    Thanks for the link. It shall be reciprocated, as soon as I get my shit together…

  3. You are now. Officially. My favorite person on the Internet.

  4. Ugh. The Deer Hunter. I’d successfully tried to forget that movie …

  5. The Man’s not all that bad. Once he gave me sweeties while he looked up my skirt. I got sweeties and he got nothing because I had 40 deniers on that day.

    Hence the expression; socking it to The Man.

  6. you’re a strange and funny man. I think i love you.

  7. So, women are birds and men are cunts. Right?

  8. There’s a game I like to play while riding on our local buses; it’s called “Let’s see if we can avoid sitting next to someone who is crawling with lice, and/or smelling of piss.”

  9. I like to play train games too but mine involve getting the best seat which generally means I cannot be the last one on the platform

  10. My girlfriends & I used to take stickers with us on the bus in Edinburgh & see who could casually bump into other passengers getting on and off & plant some obnoxious american sticker……silly I know …but fun none the less! LUV your game……M

  11. You crack me up.
    That was the funniest post I’ve read in DAYS!

    I heart you much, so i do.

  12. In a word: genius.

  13. debbie: That’s why you like me though. Ha.

    andraste: I’m glad you didn’t make that joke. That would just be rude. I object to the word “cunt” being used on my blog.

    plimco: High praise indeed. You can come back any time.

    HDW: You can never forget that scene. The tension, oh, the tension.

    TSL: True enough. I was out in the woods one day, and I met the man. I bate the shite out of him with a cudgel I fashioned from a stout oak. Hence the phrase “sticking it to the man”. Cos I hit him with a shtick. See?

    duckie: As long as you mean that in a flamboyantly homosexual way, and not a platonic way, then that’s fine.

    cindy-lou: I’m going to write a post about this to give some clarification on the use of the word cunt. Apparently in America it’s taboo or something, but over here, every cunt uses the word cunt.

    fat sparrow: Buses, the filthiest, most disease-riddled form of transport known to man. I bet you lose that game every time you play it.

    natalie: There are no good seats on my train. Every day I think, maybe today, a nice-smelling lady with some pulse-enhancing cleavage will sit next to me. It never happens. Ever.

    drm: That’s just pure evil. Can you imagine how many lives you’ve ruined with your so-called “game”?

    steph: Thankee, my hot antipodean friend. That makes it all worthwhile.

    kieran: Guinness? Nice one, I’ll have the same. Cheers.

  14. Man, that was funny! You and Laurie are killing today!

    I have goofy contests that only I know about too. Like “I’ll beat you to the door sucka” or “my hair is natural, you have a weave.”

    I amuse myself.

  15. yikes, I used to play that game too.I was so dedicated I missed the train a couple of times.
    my nemisis was Nasty Little Man

  16. jali: Roffle, I like it. I play the “beat you to the door sucka” thing, but usually I do it to be chivalrous and allow others through…makes me feel all altruistic and shit.

    amanda: Welcome to t’blog. Jaysis, that is dedication for you! I think everyone secretly does stuff like this. Well, that’s what I tell myself to try and feel better.

  17. That is FANTASTIC.

    I used to commute 2 hours each way a while back and I kept myself sane by creating soap-opera ish story lines about the people on the train with me. He was sleeping with her, she is really his mother, neither of them knew but then they were outed by that guy over there who was her brother’s wife’s cousin’s dogwalker’s massuse and is secertly in love with her. They had a huge argument and now that’s why they’re ignoring each other on this train.

    Whatever passes the time.

  18. I’ve only just come across this – good stuff and some very admirable use of the word ‘cunt’.
    Keep it up!


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