How long do you think it takes one man to paint a five bedroom house? A week? A bit longer? No – how about two weeks and a day. Picture this: Kevin the Cunt rolls up in his van at 8:30 and sticks it on the double yellow lines. There’s plenty of legal parking, but that means he’d have to walk ten feet further. Literally. Kevin the cunt knows best. “PCSO’s can’t issues tickets” he tells me when I suggest he parks in the drive belonging to the house’s he’s painting. Two days later, a PCSO gives a ticket. Result.

Anyhow, it’s 8:30 and Kevin doesn’t start work before nine, so he sits under my fucking bedroom window with the radio blaring while he drinks tea, reads the paper, and plays with his phone. At 9 o’clock the props come out – ladders are leaned against the wall of the house, then Kevin fucks off to make a few phone calls and drink some more tea. In his fucking van. Under my fucking window.

Of course, whilst all this is going on, he leaves a radio blaring away on the next door back lawn so the people inside think he’s working. In fact, Kevin the Cunt likes his radio. He leaves it blaring all day. Even when he’s not there. Because he’s fucked off to his van to make some more phone calls.

Kevin’s phone is omnipresent. I can only assume that he’s got a contract with 10,000 free minutes a month on it and he’s fucking desperate not to waste any of them.

Anyway, it’s been nice and sunny for the last couple of weeks and you wouldn’t want to waste the sunshine, would you? Well, Kevin the Cunt certainly doesn’t. Because he doesn’t like to paint more than half a window frame at a time without taking a ten minute break lying on the customers back lawn – and of course it’s a perfect opportunity to make a few more fucking phone calls.

Even when he’s two stories up the side of the building on a ladder with a paint pot in one hand and the brush in the other, he’s rabitting into his bloody phone which is tucked under his chin. I found myself praying he’d just lose his balance because at least while he was in hospital, we’d get a break from his radio. And his fucking phone.

I have met some fucking lead swinging bone idle bastards in my time, but this cunt takes the fucking biscuit. What I haven’t worked out is who he’s conning. He’s self employed so if he’s skyving then who’s he robbing but himself? We reckon the only explanation is that he’s quoted ten days for the job and doesn’t want to finish under that in case the customer complains at the cost.

But at the end of the day, is he a good painter? Well, I saw him paint half of a window sill and then move the ladder to paint the other half. Shame he rested the ladder against the half he’d just painted.

So my advice is if you’re looking for a painter, don’t give the job to fucking Kevin!!!

Nominated by: Dioclese