Went over to Dave Movihill's gun shop with Dean O' this evening. I'd barely got into the van when I decided to add to the ambience and so silently peeled off the most throat locking fart. I then sat there and silently PMSL. Counted to ten and heard Dean O' open his window. In equal but, somewhat more stoney, silence.
It's a long old drive and, by the time we were heading back, I was doing my bit to break the monotony of the journey we'd undertaken so many times before. To this end, I'd spent about the last three quarters of an hour periodically easing my arse off the seat and slipping out some of the most vile and loathsome samples of rectal putrification known to man.
Dean O's a stoic sort of driver though. All concentration. Eyes locked on the road ahead. He never once flinched.
Still determined to get a rise out of him, I went through my usual repertoire of randomly emitting strange noises. Thrusting my head in and out. Occasionally slipping another one from my rancid bowels. No reaction.
Finally, I thought I'd try a verbal approach.; " When I was in school, " I said, casually. " I knew this big family. Their oldest lad was on a train one time, with some mates. It was speeding along and he stuck his head out the window, like a Dog. To get the wind in the face effect.
Got an oncoming train in the face instead. Took his head clean off. "
" And, I'll take Your fucking head off, if ye don't stop that farting!!! ", snarled Dean O'!
Got the bastard!
No comments:
Post a Comment