Honestly!
If fireyarms were legal in the UK, I'd be shootin' up punks more than George Zimmerframe stalking black burglars who take exception to being followed by creepy ass men lurking in hedges on the prowl for black ass to rape. Backpackers buried in Belango State Forest? Gunned into shallow graves in Fiddlewood Woods, more like!
or something.
Anyhoo, it all started with a Saturday Breakfast.
The Xym, being all stressed and glum, decided to pop to the market for a bacon bap. Mmmmmm... bacon bap!
So, this time, I used BsTs, which presumably stands for Bacon's Terribles! Not only did they replace my Bap with an oversized crusty breadstick, the bacon itself was green. Irridescent green!
Like petrol-reflective shimmery green, but not shifting in the light as you move. The actual bacon was green, like some scaley green baconfish.
So I didn't eat that!
So, I popped to George's next door (where I normally have their fantasic Big Brekkie when I'm celebrating) and had a yummy yumscious baconian meal of the proper sandwich persuasion.
And here is where homicidal Xym comes in.
As I stood there, blissfully baconing, some gobshite decided to sit on the chair.
At 90° to the counter, with his back to me.
Without removing his backpack.
What is it about backpacks that turn people into right selfish cunts?
I mean, I get the fact it's a backpack, so belongs on your back, but surely common courtesy would dictate you remove it from your back and carry it in confined areas?
But not only do these dumbasses refuse to remove their rambling gear - they tend to swivel more than normal folk would. Presumably from the momemtum of their Quasimodonian lump upon their back.
They barge through, taking up the space of two people (because it's never a small, thin, backpack, it's always a huge, overstuffed bulging hump protruding from between their shoulders.
Oh, we're at a gig... and here comes a bopping backpacker. "'scuse me. coming through, coming through", whilst wacking people with his backpack. Turn here, wallop a few more. Turn to apologize whilst clobbering the clubbers on t'other side.
Like this cuntbubble, plonks himself into a tight space, mahoosive hump overspills the chair and spills me milky coffee. Turns to apologize, and almost takes the eye out of a mobility scootering scooterer. Reverts to original position with backback overhanging my latter half of sarnie.
Just take it off and put it between yer legs!
Squirming through a crowd - take it off and carry it in one hand.
Alternatively, give Xym a rifle and one of them there Licence To Kill Backpacking Bastards With No Manners!
