01 October 2009

Pull your trousers up

Walking through town yesterday evening Mrsslippy and I had the misfortune of being stuck behind some arsehole who was intent on showing it to us.

He probably thought he looked really cool, but to the 36 year old me, he just looked like a twat.

Having lost a bit of weight recently, I have found myself constantly having to hitch some trousers up. It's fucking annoying, so a belt is called for at all times.

I'm not ashamed of my pants. In fact I've got some great pants that I'd love to show everyone, but could really not be doing spending my entire time preventing them from dropping to my knees by carefully pulling them up, but only by a couple of centimeters so everyone can still see the ferocious Hulk defending my arse crack.

All this whilst walking with some affected tilt of the head, roll of the shoulders, and semi Jamaican patoire that just doesn't sound right from a whitey from Cambridge. It just screams out 'I AM A PRETENTIOUS CUNT' even louder.

I assume twats that wear their jeans like this want to emulate the gangsta style of American rappers, and are vaguely aware that it's history lies in the prison system.

'Yeah' there clothes say. 'I'm dangerous. I've done time, that's why my trousers hang half way down my arse'.

'I've spent time in the big house, and to let my fellow big housemates know that I was up for some big fun, I'd dress like this'.

'Yep, my ringpiece is an open door for anyone who wants to..........oh now just hang on a minute. Is this really what I want to say with my attire?'

Apparently so. There is the alternative camp that says the low slung trousers mean your belt was taken away in prison to stop you killing your self, but the first camp is ...well...,just more camp. Either way, if I can see your pants, it either means you're suicidal, or the local bicycle.

How can we stop arseholes from not covering their arseholes?

Two ways as far as I can tell;

Firstly, you could creep up behind them, shiv them, then violently violate them anally under the assertion that you believed they were sexually available, and therefore gagging for it.

Secondly - and probably more fun, is with chocolate Matchmakers. Any flavour will do, but if you can get hold of the new blackcurrant ones,they will probably work best. When you see a twat with trousers halfway down his buttocks, clean white Calvin Kleins on display, simply take a Matchmaker from the box and slide it down the cleft, between pant and trow, leaving a couple of inches protruding. They should be narrow enough to slip in un-noticed, and within a matter of moments the pristine stick will have transmogrified into a streak of brown sludge.

I have yet to test the melting properties of the blackcurrant ones, but am hopeful that the little crystalline fragments will create some kind of deep red stain amongst the fresh skiddy that would make it oh so more alluring on the eye.

Feel free to try with a finger of fudge, or a Twix, but I don't think the biscuit or caramel will disperse with any degree of speed or satisfaction. A Wispa might melt pretty quickly and efficiently, but could be a bit chunky to slip in without being noticed.

Or if you really want, I suppose you could go for both options, and just anally rape them with a Snickers.

Just make sure its a big one.

1 comment:

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