Be it the cunt in the street who sees me lighting up a cigarette and swerves over the pavement trying to scrounge one off me with a cheery “Scuse mate, have you got a spare fag for me”? and then instantly follows it up with a mouth full of abuse when they get directed to the nearest tobacconist (20 Bensons are £9.30 FFS! I guard these things like I would guard a pallet load of cash!).
The irritating chuggers (charity muggers – AKA chunts) that now litter every high street in the kingdom , who bound up to you and block your path, trying to get you to sign up to some direct debit charity bollocks that I wouldn’t give to in a million years.
I have found that the correct response to “Excuse me Sir, do you have a minute to talk about the abused children of Pakistan”? is in fact “No, but I do own a nine stone Rottweiler and a frighteningly short temper and I’m happy to introduce you to both of them, now get the fuck out of my way!”
What really brings this to the fore is that where I live, we have scrounger’s corner. This is the place that every pisshead, junkie and sad act cunt seem to congregate on a rolling basis looking for handouts from the unwary leaving the local supermarket.
Well, I am fucking wary and fucking weary of the bullshit sob stories trotted out by useless cunts trying to part me from my hard earned.
Yesterday’s little gem was some scrote giving me a pile of steaming shit about having ADHD, OCD and numerous other imagined illnesses along with the “I used to live in Manchester and if you can give me a bit of cash I can get back there to my family……..I haven’t eaten in eight days.”
This cunt got directed to the nearest hospital with a two fingered salute and a hearty “Now fuck off!” The cunt didn’t even have a Manc accent. Stupid prick!
Last weekend one of the regulars who doesn’t seem to realise that she has now tried to scrounge off me in three separate locations, tried the “I’ve lost my purse, can you give me some money to get home” bullshit.
She is quite convincing with a panicked look, also direct and to the point. I have to give her that.
What she forgot is that when I asked her where she lives, this time it was Richmond. Last time I saw her was in Victoria station and all she needed was £80 for a train ticket to Bolton, where her family live. I pointed out that trains to Bolton don’t go from Victoria and that she would be better off getting a coach as these are much cheaper. That was met with a tirade of four letter abuse.
Frankly put, I hope they all die screaming, as they get their head stamped on by a gang of hoodrat cunts.
Nominated by: Odin’s Balls