So I'm on the train. I see this cunt over there with his can of Stella. Could go a drink myself in all honesty. The train is fuckin' mobbed as it always is. We pay all this fuckin' money and you end up squashed in the train like a fuckin' sardine. Cunts. We're getting close to Paddington. Grim. As. Fuck. What a fuckin' shithole this place is. And people bust their arse, spend weeks on boats, or smuggled in a van with 100 other peoples farts for company to get here. Where the streets are paved with gold... Sorry mate, the gold on the streets was ripped up, stolen and sold in the pawn a long fuckin' time ago.
There's a wee honey sitting with her office attire on listening to her iPod. I fuckin' love that style so I do. That office wear. Magic.
Then I see him.
Fuckit, yea... It's gonna be him. He's a big cunt. He could easily kick my fuckin' head in, but this tool in my hand levels things up a bit. I look down and he's been eating a tuna and cucumber sandwich. I fuckin' hate cucumber. The half eaten sandwich is sitting on his British Army issue rucksack. A fuckin' squaddie. Hahaha... I-fuckin'-deal..
He's kinda half squatting down, I can't do it when he's like that. That's taking liberties. I'll wait 'til he's up. Then I'll do it. I feel "the thing" in my pocket. I've got a lump in my chest the size of a football, the likes of which I haven't felt since Lucy Turner showed us her fanny in second year. My heart is going like fuck. Here it is. He's standing up. He's fucked now. He's gonna fuckin' get it.... CUUUUNNNNT!!!
I used to be alright you know. Hard working, fun loving generally happy guy. I'm getting back there I guess but the last wee while has been some crazy times. I guess too much boozing, drugs and general bad living has taken it's toll. I guess I should start at the beginning though.
I'm sitting in the office of the head lecturer at The Glasgow College of Nautical Studies. Yer man, I forget the cunts name, is telling me that I'm a fuckin idiot. Because I should have coasted this course. But I'm not giving a fuck. I'll take my bollocking here, then I'll catch up with the rest. He's rabbiting on a bit, but I'm no' really listening. Until he says "so that's it John, you're out."
Eh? Did he just say...? Fuckin' cunt... Can you fuckin' believe that?
I kinda half heartedly plead with him for a wee bit to see if I can have a go. But he's not for budging. He's not a bad cunt really, but right there and then I coulda smashed his fuckin face in.
But I don't. I go and meet Jim for what *was* our daily pint, but what now will be our final pint. We play the wee game of "aye, we'll keep in touch, meet up for a pint still" etc etc... We both know it's a sack of shit but still it's not the first and won't be the last time that it's played. I like Jim. He's a good cunt, despite his football affiliations. I probably should have kept in touch with him, I sometimes do wonder what he's up to. But fuckit... I never and that's that.
So there I was, fucked up with school, then fucked up with College. That was a bit of a cunt. Fuckit... What can you do.
I phone a friend of mine and get a start in a data entry place, inputting applications for Barclaycard Credit Cards. It was the most mind-numbing shitey job you could imagine. But funnily, it was probably one of the happiest times of my life. I met some good people there, and I met a girl who would become my "first love" on the same day. Good times really. Meeting this girl was good for me, I stopped drinking so much. Became a bit more straight laced. But not being pissed all the time showed up that job for what it was. How the *fuck* could I do that for the rest of my puff? Fuck that. So once again I found myself in academia. Back in a fuckin classroom. Jesus Christ. I made sure I didn't fuck it up this time though, still boozed but at a more acceptable level. And it was ok.
My girlfriends family hated my guts, but I could live with that. We were happy, doing ok and progressing in life. I talked her into going back to Uni and getting herself sorted. I "fixed" her... (I don't even get a bi-annual blowjob in thanks for dragging her confidence from the depths of hell to a place where she's able to excel in her career. Bitch.) And then one day she realised that she didn't really want to live that life anymore, and I got binned. I'd been with her for almost 5 years, and here I was now. 23 years old and fuckin' lost.
Fuckin' hell... I didn't know how to deal with it, so I dealt with it the way I always dealt with things. I got fucked up. For a good 6 months I spent shitloads of money on coke, strippers and boozing. I hated myself more and more each day, waking up feeling shit every single morning. Assuming of course I managed to get some sleep. It was crazy times. The final crunch came when I was sitting in the VIP lounge in a strip club that I'd been going to far too much. I had 3 girls kneeling in front of me, all with coke on their tits. I'd just spent £600 on 2 bottles of Champagne. Living like a rockstar. It's everything you'd want... right?
I snorted some ching, and slumped back on the comfy, leather chair. A million thoughts running around my head shouting and telling me to pick them. But one is much louder than the rest. One telling me that I don't want this anymore... I can't do this anymore. I want to be at home, cuddling with my girl watching shit Saturday night TV, having bad chinese food. I feel like I have nothing at my back anymore, I'm falling... and there's fuck all there to catch me. And this thought, clear and concise. Cutting through the madness, the riot in my brain. Telling me this isn't what I want. Isn't what I need.
So I bunker in for a few days at my parents house, I know they're worried as fuck about me. And that makes me hate myself even more. I feel like I've done alright with covering up the cuts on my arm from my own personal handiwork. Explain to my mama it's from carrying boxes at work. That's plausible right?
I know both of them know it's a sack of shit, but so fuck. I can't deal with knowing that both of them know the real story and then having to face up to those kind of conversations with them. I've been playing the game of the happy, fun good time guy for so long with them now that I don't even know how to converse with them on any kind of level, without it being a fuckin charade. But I know I can't. I know they'll blame themselves for this putrid, bleak fuckin' outlook on the world that I have. I can't fuckin' have that now can I?
I get a job in London. The big smoke. Big John, leaving the fuckin' dredgery of the housing schemes of Glasgow for the bright lights of London. It's good for a while... I meet good people. The English aren't half as bad as people think. They probably have more than their fair share of wankers, per head of population. But they're good people really. I get my head down, work hard. Make my company love me. Meet a girl, start having some fun again... it's all good.
But it's not right.
Fuck knows why.
It's just fuckin not.
I play the game, move in with the girl. This is what I want and all that business. Then we're lying in bed cuddling, and I'm thinking about the girl from Glasgow. What she's doing, is she happy? Am I happy? What the fuck am I doing with my life. Fuckin' poor me, Dawson's Creek bullshit. Teen-Angst I should have grown out of a long time ago fuckin' consumes me. There's just something missing right now. I'm not sure what it is. But whatever it is, it's not fuckin' there. A big void in my soul that I've tried to fill with every single kind of nonsense that I can possibly think of. Snort it, drink it, pop it out and throw it down your neck. Take a wee trip from this fuckin' mundane reality of life. We're a fuckin' nothing generation. We're likely the first generation that have grown up with everything handed to us. No struggling, no battling for stuff. Even the poorest families have enough for Playstations and big fuckin tele's. Sky TV. Fuck... some of these kids don't know anything other than Findus Crispy Pancakes and Jeremy Kyle in glorious High Definition. Sprinkled with some 18 certificate computer game that'll turn the wee fuckin cunt into a junkie or criminal by the time he's 15.
And that's why people like me are the way we are. We're products of our environment. Some people are too fuckin' stupid to realise it, but they are all the same as me. They're fuckin' bored with their loveless, sexless marriages, high paying jobs that they're doing because it's what their parents wanted for them.
People who don't need them, throwing anti-depressants down their neck, because some fuckin' doctor can get a new car from the pharmaceutical company if she prescribes enough of them.
It's all a big fuckin' con.
We need something to happen. Some kind of drama.
And that's why I'm doing what I'm doing.
I'm on the train, and I'm going to make some drama. I'm going to make one of these fuckers miserable fucking lives interesting. I'm going to give everyone a story they can tell to their uninterested spouse when they get home and have their Marks & Spencers ready meal for 2, with a cheap glass of plonk. I'm doing them all a favour. Yet I'll be the bad guy. Maybe one day they'll see it, they'll realise this was all for them. This is everything they needed to happen to stop them dying of fuckin' boredom.
I'm gonna save the cunts.
It's just a case of who's going to be the lucky one....
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