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Thursday, 30 December 2010

Confessions of a Cab Driver, Part 4: Yes! I know You've had a Crap Day...

I know you've had a hard week. Your boss who's still not old enough to shave yet has been pissing on your efforts and nicking your best ideas as his own and Imogen in accounts has accidentally Cc'd you in a company wide email telling everybody what a dick you are and what a small penis you have. Please when consoling your sorry life, for once, have one or maybe ten less drinks tonight and don't mix all your drugs into a vodka and red bullock and down it. Because tonight, I will be the sole beneficiary of all your bitterness, fashion mistakes and possibly your unbridled latent gay sexual tendencies and prove that, maybe Imogen in accounts was right. You ARE a dick.

Oh! You need reminding what you did recently? You can't remember? well, last time...


You danced and dicked about in your seat to my banging quality tunes and let's face it, you're more than a bit fat. I had to turn the music off.  I didn't want uneven tyre wear and give my auto self adjusting headlights a fit.

You got in the cab with your bucket of chicken and ask me if I wanted to see your giblets.

You punched my cab as I drove by. According to top physicists and anyone with a brain, mass times velocity etc, equals it must have feckin' hurt loads...

You wore stockings to that annual gimp n' flog dinner in town and they weren't even a matching pair! The vision of you tucking the excess fat into the tops of your fat hairy thighs and asking me to help still haunts me...



You fell asleep on my bonnet dribbling, I deposited you on to a nearby pile of dogs crap and regurgitated kebab meat. I am quite proud of my reversing skills and do it with a sushi chef like spatula precision.


You wobbled towards me covered in sick with a foot long saliva drip hanging from your lip in the hope of getting in my cab. I reversed slowly to match your speed to deliberately fuck with your head.  The vision of you punching your legs and shouting at them to hurry up is one of the highlights of my existence.

You acting like an idiot because you've been mixing your drugs, got you kicked out, you were far from home AND you didn't have any money. I normally provide a hoop and stick to continue your journey, but this is subject to stock availability and paying a heavy deposit and whether or not I can be arsed.

Nb: A fake Rolex may be considered as a deposit if it has all the correct markings and is designed to fool an expert. The ones designed to fool a chav on holiday in Turkey won't be accepted.

No, I don't know where his wallet is.

You fell into an unconscious drunken heap between two parked cars and flopped out your arms for a stretch JUST as I drove past. I, of course stopped and reversed over them again to see what I have just driven over. Sorry about that

You got in my Cab and after a while you put your hand between my thighs and stupidly asked "What shall I put as my facebook status in the morning hmm?" I suggested "Deceased" as I made a hole in your hand with my pen.

You asked, No. Menacingly demanded that I wait whilst you go back in to the bar, finish your drink and kiss all your friends goodbye...twice. I did wait, so when you eventually came out, you watched me drive off giving you my surface to air middle finger missile thing that only I think is funny.

Oh! Bollox... Forget all of the above. You're not going to pay attention to anything I've said are you? Just pay me that's all I ask. I'll even laugh at your jokes and carry you to your door. Just pay me that's all...

I know! I know! I'm fickle and lack conviction... Oh! And my least favourite phrase? "Don't worry driver, I won't be sick." Because that's my cue to power slide, stop and push you out into a nettle bush because you're about to be sick...


This has been published in the SabotageTimes.com