The Caravan holiday
So I have got a new girlfriend, yes Stan Bennett has himself a woman and yes that is a pig flying outside your window. She’s ok, not great but she is what she is. Just a decent 4 out of 10. She knows that and she knows I know that. She accepts she can’t compete with the big players, the ‘Kelly Dyson’s’ of this world. She will never be at that level. She dresses ok, hasn’t got much in the chest department and I will be the first to admit that she has a fair sized hooter. This Gonz was huge but then I have an abnormal wart on my face so if she was willing to let that go then I could get on with the Schnoz. I reminded myself to watch out for compulsive lying. Why was I with her I hear you scream (I don’t think one single person who is reading this has screamed “Why was I with her”). I had bounced from date to date, each of them worse than the next. I was at a point in my life where if she breathes I was interested, very interested.
I met Mary (she has a dull name) in a bar. She ordered some nuts, I thought she said something else, I cracked a vaguely decent gag, she didn’t understand it, I explained it and two weeks later I am going caravanning with her deaf dad Derek and her dumb ugly mum Susan (NEVER shorten it to Sue).
Now I don’t mind the odd caravan holiday but Deaf and Dummer do it literally every 2 weeks. That’s fine I hear you say (again you haven’t said anything) and normally it would be fine but they go to the same spot in Scotland every 2 weeks. They live in Essex. They drive, with a caravan towed to the back, to Scotland every 2 weeks. This gives some insight into the calibre of Mary’s family. Blessed with intelligence they are not. Still who am I to judge? I once pissed my pants on a dare so I can hardly hold myself up as a beacon of how one should live their life.
We arrive in bonny Scotland, I have never understood the meaning of the word bonny but I persist in using it. Derek hooks up the caravan next to an almost identical caravan that contain the Hurst family. I would love to see Mary’s family go up against the Hurst’s in a game of Family Fortunes. My word, there was not a brain cell between them. You could rub them together and no spark would appear. Still they were amiable enough, if incredibly dense. The mum was a better looking version of Mary, I instantly regretted telling Mary this. She didn’t speak to me for the next 3 hours. I just wished it could be longer…dull cow.
The evening closed in and soon it was Mary, dumb and dumber and I in the caravan. We started talking about me, they wanted to know what I did, what my intentions to their daughter was, whether I was viable as a husband and father and whether the rumours of my dad and the old lady across the road were true? I was taken a back at the level of scrutiny!
They wanted to know what I did? Every bit of me wanted to say I was a hentai porn artist but I stopped myself ‘I work in an office’ I pathetically said.
Let me remind you that I met Mary Queen of Scots only 2 weeks ago and they have the audacity to ask me what my intentions are? My intentions?! I presumed a ‘cheeky finger’ would not be the best answer I could give in this situation so I uttered the response “Friendship”. What a complete Gaylord (a word that I am trying to bring back).
Was I viable husband and father? Surely they are on the wind up! Derek do I look like a viable husband and father? Just three weeks ago I ate dog shit for a bet. Just a week before that I decided to see if I could survive a week on nothing but Petis Filious yoghurts (and yes I could). Then just two weeks before that I babysat my best friends son and ended up accidently giving him a White Russian instead of his bottle. So Deaf Derek, what do you think? “Yes, yes I think I would be an excellent father” I loathe myself.
Finally, are the rumours about my dad and the old lady true? Well for a start forensics found nothing conclusive. She also had many a suitor who would want to push her down those stairs. And finally my dad is in Thailand and I haven’t been able to get hold of him to check. So Derek, you can stick your rumours up your arse. “No nothing in them. People just gossiping, horrible isn’t it?”
The night has drawn to a close and I have every intention of sealing the deal with Mary tonight. As I was helping her to pack her bag I saw a tub marked ‘Pleasure Gel’. I made a mental note as to which compartment of her bag she packed it in and I had every intention of spreading the gel on to her lumpy body like you would butter on toast. Before I gave her the best night of her life though, I had to go to the little caravan shop to buy a tooth brush. I certainly wasn’t going down to breakfast tomorrow knowing what we were going to get up to without having minty fresh breath. I foolishly left my glasses in the caravan and realised as I got outside that I could see fuck all. Still it was a quick dart over the road, buy the goods and a quick dart back.
As I headed back, with my newly purchased ‘Aquafresh red doubled striped plaque attack’ in my pocket, I became slightly disorientated. I desperately needed my glasses but they were in the caravan. I eventually found our caravan and stumbled up the stairs. I was ready to give Mary the night of her life. I had to first negotiate the pitch black caravan. Deaf Derek has eyes like bats and is unwilling to budge on the no lights after 10 rule.
I eventually get into our room, I strip down to just my Batman boxers. I kiss my left gun, I know I am ready. This is it, this is showtime. I climb into bed, the left hand side (Mary can only sleep on the left as the way she sleeps means her nose prevents her from sleeping on the right). I crawl in, I whisper “Are you ready, where’s the pleasure gel?” I then start slowly kissing her on the neck. What happens next will haunt me for the rest of my days…
“Excuse me. What are you doing to my wife?” said Mr Hurst. I was in the wrong fucking caravan. I was kissing Older but Fitter Mary. Older but Fitter Mary has a huge smile on her face. The lights come on. Mr Hurst is no longer so polite – he swings for me, I duck. Their two children come running in screaming and crying to be confronted by a semi naked man wearing nothing but Batman boxers. Older but Fitter Mary says “What’s pleasure Gel?” Hursty doesn’t look too impressed with that comment. Deaf Derek starts smacking the side of the caravan “What is going in there” – maybe he is not as deaf as I first thought. Hursty replies, “It’s your daughters boyfriend, he has just got it on with my wife”. Technically Hursty I only ‘tried’ to get it on with his wife. Focus Stan. Now is not the time for technicalities. The children are now asking what Pleasure Gel is.
Deaf Derek walks in. Looks at me in my Batman Boxers. Looks at Hursty, Older but Fitter Mary and the children. Then looks at me again. He scratches his crotch, which I found very strange given the circumstances. He took a deep breath and then said…
“Just like your father aren’t you…Pathetic”
I was not standing for that…
“I tell you what is Pathetic DEREK. What is pathetic is how ugly your daughter is. What is pathetic is how thick Sue, (yes I shortened it from Susan) is. What is pathetic is what a fucking ridiculous excuse for a family you have.”
“Pardon” said Derek. Give him his due, amidst the carnage he still has his manners…and with that it was time to leave Bonny Scotland.
The Caravan Holiday
18 08 2011Comments : 1 Comment »
Tags: blog, funny, Holiday, humor, life, love, relationships, travel
Categories : humor, life, people, rants, relationships
Oh to be cool and good and looking
7 06 2011I wish I was cooler. I wish I was good looking.
I am out in a club, a club that is has one of the real edgy one worded names ‘Mineral’. I look up at the neon sign and I look at the smokers, I look back at the neon sign. I look back at the smokers, the lads are all decked out in the latest gear, wearing Sunglasses. The chicks are wearing ‘jeggings’. I look back at the neon sign. Mineral is not my natural home. I am not comfortable in this crowd. I know that. They know that.
‘ID?’
The bouncer looks like he was born in a tin, he literally has no neck and some of the most tightly compacted shoulders I have ever seen. My mates are cracking gags with the smokers. Mitch has started chatting up a girl in the queue. I am desperately fumbling to try and find my passport. I have a passport because I don’t drive. I don’t drive because I am not a cool man. I have a passport as my ID. I have a passport as my ID because I am not a cool man.
I’m in. I’m in Mineral and the ‘tunes’ are blaring. Everyone seems to be going mental to this song. And I have absolutely no idea what tune it is. I look left, Mitch is casually tapping his foot to the beat, 2 girls are hanging off him. He loves it. Good luck to him. He is looking ridiculously smug and he has right to. These 2 girls are absolute dreams. Me, I have to focus on the ones that look like little pugs. Pugs are the ugliest kind of dogs. They look like deformed dogs. They are the retards of the dog world. I seem to attract pugs, they are all I attract. I look for a nicer breed but there’s no point in setting the goalposts high. I just accept if I pull above a 3.5 out of 10 I have done bloody well. If I pull above a 5 it may even warrant a Facebook status. If I pull above 6 even I won’t believe me. Mitch is loving it, a couple of eights draped over his shoulder. Lad.
I look to the right, Ray has his hands in his pocket and adopts the head bob – a move he pulls off so well. He takes his hand out of his pocket to sip on his pint. I do the same and take some Smirnoff Ice up through my straw. I choke on the Ice. Mitch and the chicka’s look around, this is not a good moment for me. Mitch goes back to tapping his foot, Ray goes back to the headbob. Me, well I cannot begin to even find the beat. I know none of the words, I find it all too loud. I am desperately hoping that Whitney or Bryan Adams come on but somehow I think ‘Mineral’ may be to ‘good’ for Whitney.
God I hate this place. The phrase fish out of water springs to mind. At least a fish can survive for a minute out of water. Me…me I am a dead man. I died as soon as I walked into shitty ‘Mineral’. I look around, desperate for a lifeboat when all of a sudden, right on queue, a little pug appears.
This girl is atrocious. Absolutely atrocious. You could do time if you get with her she is that bad. She looks like she belongs on one of those extreme channel 4 shows – ‘The girl who ate her own face’ or something equivalent. Has she no pride? How can she leave the house looking like this? For the first time in my long career I mentally hand out a negative rating. Unprecedented.
Still I’m not a proud man…I crack on to it.
The breath on this girl. My word. It gives halitosis a bad name. She has definitely shat herself as well. She had smells coming out of both ends. Mitch looks over to me, I can sense he wants to save me but then at the moment he begins walking Ray pushes him, proceeds to bollock him and persuades to get the camera out instead. Normally that would be ok as Mitch’s Casio is broken – broken in the sense that the zoom doesn’t work. Unfortunately for me no amount of zoom damage is going to prevent her from appearing. She is that big that the default camera setting will be too zoomed in.
The shame of me. Still desperately trying to find a beat, decking the Smirnoff (Ice) in the hope it will make her look more attractive. All the while trying not breath for fear that her odour will make me be sick in her mouth.
We start speaking, she sounds like she smokes 50 a day, she smells like she hasn’t heard of the word toothbrush before. I ask it what it’s name is (solid first line). ‘It’ starts to speak, (I am now calling ‘her’ ‘it’ as my memory has just caught up with how rank she was), ‘it’ responds – ‘Pat’. Pat?! Who at the grand old age of 24 is called Pat? I can only think it’s a nickname – like ‘Pat the dog’. We then begin a hideous conversation, ‘it’ tells me that ‘it’ has just got back from travelling the world – surprised the airline let her on. ‘It’ couldn’t have been allowed baggage as well…no way.
The convo continues, the shame deepens. In the end the 3 bottles of Smirnoff (Ice) catch up with me. I make my move, I close my eyes, I go in for the kill. ‘It’ recoils.
“What you doing” ‘it’ says,
“Sorry I thought you wanted to kiss” I retort,
“No. Sorry. I have got a boyfriend”
“Surely not” I say without thinking
“Surely not. How fucking dare you. Have you taken a look at yourself? I felt sorry for you that is why I came over” and with that barrage of abuse ‘it’ just walks off.
Ray and Mitch are in tears. Facebook has no doubt already been updated. I have just been rejected by negative 0.8, who’s name is Pat, who eats her own shit for breakfast and then doesn’t bother to clean her teeth. I’ve seen the term FML banded about before, never really understood it…until now
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Tags: boyfriend, dating, girlfriend, humor, love, morning misery, ramblings, rant, relationships, women
Categories : commentary, humor, life, people, ramblings, random, random thoughts, rants, relationships
The Internet Date
26 07 2011How are you supposed to end a date that is going horribly? May 4th, 2011, Rita Watkins. It was a day that defined me. It was such an important event in my life. May 4th, 2011, I realised that my life could never get any worse. I had hit rock bottom. No matter what went on in my life after May 4th 2002, it would never compare to the dark day that Watkins entered and left my life.
I am sitting In Pizza Express. I find Pizza Express the safest of all the date venues. You know exactly what you are going to get. You can’t take her for a Hut because you look cheap and you come across as a 13 year old. Likewise you can’t take her anywhere fancy because you will come across as a pretentious prick. She will see you can’t hold a knife and fork and she will see you panic with the array of cutlery that these restaurants offer. At the end of the day all I want is a knife, a fork – preferably a steak knife – and maybe a spoon. Lose all the other rubbish. Why do they give 18 pieces of cutlery in these restaurants? What’s the point? Just because they hire a washer doesn’t mean they have to bombard the poor man with miniature forks.
There is nothing worse than being out of your depth in a fancy restaurant in front of a girl. You have to have multiple courses of pretentious food. You are crying out for steak and chips and maybe some Tommy K. Instead they give you something that you are sure, but that you can’t prove, the chef has threw up on and then they charge you £40 for the ‘pleasure’. And at the end of the meal you get your bill in a book – what’s this about? Is this the story of the dinner? At the beginning there was 18 forks…no Pizza Express is the place to go. Solid enough food, expensive enough that when you pick up the bill you look impressive, but cheap enough that if she wants the Romana base, she can have the Romana base.
So I am sitting in Pizza Express when Rita walks in. I should point out that I hadn’t had a date for 19 months. Things were beginning to get a bit desperate. So long had it been since my last sexual encounter that I had forgotten any ‘moves’ that I may have developed over my sexual life. Confidence was at an all time low. I went through packets of tissues a week and if John Humphreys rung me to get me to do a spin on Mastermind my specialist subject would be ‘ Racks and Blacks’. Girls can sniff out confidence. They can see in one second if you have it. I must be odorless.
It is important that you don’t discuss your recent hobbies (milfhunter) and that you dress suavely (avoid the Puma jumper), act aloof (but not so aloof that you fall off your chair like last time), crack up at her rubbish gags (but not so much that you end up choking on your Vodka Lemon and Lime). Even is she is rough (and she will be) you must say how nice she looks. Invent hobbies, say you do cool things like sail and play chess. Pretend you have gone travelling – not Tenerife but road tripping across South America (even thought I can’t drive). Tell her you work in a charity shop at weekends when all you do is bet and watch Stelling and the boys. Lying is key to getting a second date. The more I lie the more chance I have. If you are honest and be yourself then you may as well get used to Friday nights with Jonathon Ross. The dating game is a minefield. One bad move and you are a dead man.
Rita was a blind date. An internet date. Yes I know horrible lows. Even for me. All I will say is that after 19 months you are ready to take a mutant to the pictures if it will come back with you afterwards. A mutant is an apt word when describing Rita. I had taken a huge risk as I hadn’t seen a picture of Rita. We just chatted through this dating instant messenger. She seemed ok, she had the ability to drive, so I thought she at least earned money or had a great relationship with her dad. She was also breathing i.e. she was a living being – this was good enough for me.
I am sitting down hoping, preying, that Heather from Eastenders doesn’t walk in. Instead Heather’s mum comes and sits down and says ‘Hi are you Stan?’ I could not believe it. This woman must be 60 and it looks like she has eaten the whole cast of Eastenders, including Minty. She smelt so bad that it smelt like not only had she eaten the cast of Eastenders but she then shat them out and smeared them over her face.
She clearly doesn’t believe in dentists, either that or the dentist was on the sauce that day. The smell of her. My word. I swear flies entered the room, buzzed around her and then found her too smelly so moved on. Doritos seemed to have set up base camp on her blouse and after dropping Tiger Woods as the face of Gillette the execs must obviously have turned down Rita as their face of shaving such was the almighty hair that seemed to have covered her whole body. I had never seen a girl with hair before. My word, channel 4 had obviously missed her when casting ‘Britains hairest mutants’. Imagine the worst looking girl in the world, that moment when you hit rock bottom, the moment where you are sick into your soup – whoever that girl is that you are thinking of I can assure you they are a high street honey compared to the disgrace that is Rita Watkins.
I was now faced with an almighty dilemma. I had to get out of this but I couldn’t just get up and leave (she gave me no window otherwise I would have happily of done this). There should be a codeword that men and women are both aware of before the date begins. As soon as the codeword is mentioned you both get up and leave with no hard feelings. I hope Cameron’s Britain will discuss this legislation. Cameron can’t help me now (no surprise there…political). No I had to fake a text. Fake a death. I could say that I got a text from my mum saying my Nan had died. Why would she text me that though?
‘Hi Stan, Hope the date is going well (yes she knows I am on the date) FYI your nan has died. Tb ma x’.
No I’m not sure that excuses washes. Maybe I could fake the phone call, begin crying on the phone ‘Nannna, Nanna, WHY. WHY GOD’. I am good but Hanks I am not. Twenty minutes has passed neither of us have barely spoken. I had to act.
I just had to tell her the truth. It could kill her though. Maybe if I told her the truth and then supplied her with a krispy kreme doughnut – could keep the walrus from crying. Right here we go. I am going to tell her that I just don’t think the date is working. Suddenly she speaks:
‘Stan, you seem like a lovely guy. I really don’t want to hurt your feelings. I have been thinking for the last 20 minutes as to how I can tell you this but I think honesty is the best policy. You are just not my type. I don’t think the date is working. Please don’t get upset. You seem lovely but there’s no point in us wasting our time. I am sorry.’
I could not believe it. Here I was being cast aside by a whale bigger than Willy. Hagrid’s uncle. I am not her type. Just because I am not covered in Jam and edible. How dare she? Have you looked at yourself love? You are a disgrace. Get your Christmas list written early this year and do us all a favour and ask Santa for a Wii fit. I was being dumped by this sorry excuse for a woman.
‘That’s fine. I guess you are right. Take care, I hope you get home safe’. Secretly I hoped she got hit by a bus on the way home. Having said that the bus would bare the brunt of the damage.
With that she left. The date was over. I got the result I was after. I was free, free from her, but it should have been me ending it. I guess I should be careful what I wish for. Rita Watkins left her mark on me (no she didn’t bite me thinking I was food), she made me realise my life had spiraled out of all control. She showed me that my life could not get any worse. I had hit absolute rock bottom. Things could only get better. The problem with girls and boys as I see it is that girls have the hand, they have the power. Even if we think we are in control we are not. I am grateful for Rita Watkins because I knew my life could not get any worse but I just wish I could have got in there before her and used the codeword first.
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Categories : commentary, humor, life, people, ramblings, random, random thoughts, rants, relationships