I hate commuting in the mobile fart incubator known as the Tube … especially in the mornings when a fair proportion of the professional minion community does the tightest version of the YMCA dance, armpits raised to the Gods of Anti Perspirants, holding on to the sticky, sweaty poles (sometimes used as arse crack holders by deranged travellers).
Holy Mother Fucking Pinocchio Schnozzle, today I had to pray to the Lord of the Fans asking him to STOP letting shit hit it.
Between the verbal diarrhea and the physical anal cabal, I just cannot deal with the morning madness.
Today, I had to make an exception to my “do not call Deities on their days off” rule, and had to ask Jesus to be a can of Febreze and spread love and freshness.
Urgh. Methane Monday. A blog label is born. And a great start of to the week!
Note to self : include a gas mask in my next office stationery Amazon order and expense it under “director nasal maintenance”