Slow movers should be shot on the spot
Dawdlers do my fucking nut in. Ok, the article picture is a little misleading as I’ve got nothing against pensioners per say.
But to be fair to Doctor Shipman, Post Offices in Hyde on pension day are emptier than a Love Island contestant’s head these days.
Say what you like about the cunt, but in a way he did a public service. Think of it as a kindness.
It’s easy to overlook evil people, take Fred West for example, his landscaping was second to none, and don’t get me started on his brother’s tuna, it’s pure tinned flaky goodness.
I digress, where was I?
Dawdlers! Human sloths, packet reading pricks, phone engrossed fucktards.
They’re the worst kind of cunt when you’ve got shit to do.
They meander around without a care in the world, somehow pre-empting your every move from behind as you shuffle from left to right, internally screaming with an expression of pure rage on your face.
Until they turn around of course to catch a glance, probably because of your fiery breath on the back of their neck, to see your face contort into a reluctant grimaced smile.
What the fuck are they doing? They act like it’s 1847.
Listen pet, you may have a 4 day, horse drawn journey back to town and time to burn, but I’ve got to get home, put the tea on, put the kids to bed, and sup a bottle of red before it’s too fucking late.
Why are you reading the fucking packet? It’s pasta. They’re all fucking pasta. Here, I’ll read it for you you dithering cunt! Ingredients: Flour and water. Now fuck off you immobile prick.
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