There’s a reason why I don’t talk to people.June 22, 2007 at 12:40 am | Posted in embarrassing moments | 26 Comments
It’s because I’m not very good at it.
It’s been a while since I made an arse of myself in public. Perhaps the longer you leave it, the worse your blunder is when you inevitably do make a gobshite out of yourself.
On my way home from work, I fell asleep on the train, as happens every single day. The carriages are so damn warm, it’s almost impossible to stay awake.
Today, my friends, I dreamed. I had a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
Oh wait, that wasn’t me, that was Martin Luther King. My dream was far less inspirational, but it comes from the same place that MLK’s speech came from: that bit of skin behind the scrotum.
In the dream, I was playing five-a-side (soccer/football, argue about what it’s called amongst yourselves) with the lads. I relived an absolute peach of a volley I scored a while back, the connection with the cross sublime, that feeling that you get when you know you’ve struck it so sweetly that you don’t even need to look at the ball to know it’s in the back of the net. After I scored I did my customary let’s-just-get-on-with-it non-celebration. Then time skipped, as it does in dreams, and next thing I know I am back in goals and Kerr, who has been cleverly nicknamed The Rocket on account of his hard bastarding shots, is bearing down on goal. Only I stand between him and an equaliser. He lets fly, sends a bullet into the bottom corner, so I dive to save it –
– and snap awake when I bash into the guy sitting next to me. Yes, I dived into him. On the train. My arms were still outstretched trying to save Kerr’s shot, and I may well have let out a traditional dream shout (“Noooooo!”) as I commenced my dive. Judging by the number of people turning to look at me, I think I must have at least squawked a bit.
“Okay mate?” the guy sitting next to me asks.
“Yeah, um, sorry about that” I say sheepishly, “I was just trying to save…”
I trail off, realising what a ridiculous human being I am. I clear my throat. Should probably say something, in all fairness.
If you’re going to be thought of as weird, you may as well go the whole fucking hog.
He wouldn’t say anything to me after that, and I was too scared to go back to sleep, so I passed the rest of the journey writing a note to myself to make this story into a blog post.
By the way, I’m a bit late to the party, but I don’t think Damien will mind some more links. Do him a favour and link to this ridiculous bullshit. To add insult to injury, instead of having a bit of cop-on, the tossers went and sent him a letter asking for the post to be taken down. Now the whole world knows that not only are they devious malicious cunts, they are also stupid dinosaur cunts too. Watch out for the internet, Sky Handling Partners. They even have it on computers these days.