The Born Losers Club .....

  Must have been about, what? Thirty years ago now. I can still remember it like yesterday though. 

 (Come to think of it? At my stage in the game, I can probably remember shit from thirty fucking years ago better than I can yesterday!)

  Morning opening time, or just there after. I'm sat at the bar of my old local. Just pondering the meaningless of life. Staring through the back of the bar.

 Some stranger drifts in and takes a stool maybe one along from me. He sits there, much as myself. Chin fucking near in his glass.Long faced pair of cunts. We must've looked like two world weary horses. 

  A glance. An exchanged nod. Someone said something ..... And I'd met Bob. My spiritual oppo. A guy I think, terribly fondly, of to this day. My old, long lost mate. And co founder of " The Born Losers Club ".

  We'd exchanged a couple of words. Shit like; " Fuck it. " And, " For fuck sake! ". Then started warming to our subject as we started into the shit like; " Why the Fuck is it that Whenever I ..... "

  In no time, we were as old friends. Each of us recognising that shared bond of the kindred spirit. Spirit of the down trodden. The struggler in life. The natural born fucking loser.

  I told Bob my latest tale of woe. He listened, attentively. Never once trying to butt in, or over lay my miseries with his. He listened well. We supped some more beer, in companionable reflection. Then, dear Bob told his tale.

  I will relate it to you here, just as I heard it that day. This is Bob's story. That of a fucking loser .....


  " I was working in this fucking call centre place. We had a desk. A phone. We were meant to cold call this huge list of numbers they gave us. And sell some shit to the poor cunts who'd answer. It was completely fucking soul destroying. And I was useless at it. "

  " Uh, hullo? Mr Dwyer....? Yes. My name's Bob and I'm calling you about our great offer on the new, robotic paint roller we're ..... Hullo? Hullo ....? "

  " I was all day at this shit. Getting hung up on. Told to fuck off. I just couldn't get anyone to show any interest. To make it much worse though, there was Andy! "

  " Andy was this cunt who worked the desk directly across from me. I had to sit there, watching Him all fucking day.  He'd literally have his feet up on the desk. Lean back in his chair. Picking his teeth as he watched Me struggle and fail. "

  " Then, when he considered he felt like it? He'd say to me; 'Guess it's about time I made another sale, Bob.' And he'd dial a number; "

  " 'Hullo. Mr Edwards? Hi! Listen; I just rang to .......... Okay, Tony. I just need the last three numbers on the back ....? Great! You too, mate. Bye now!'  And the smarmy bastard wouldn't take his eyes off me as he did it. "

  " Then he'd go get a coffee ~ for himself. Sit there for another hour or so. Before telling me it's time he made another sale. Bastard. "

  " Our boss was some big, Yankee cunt. Perfectly pressed shirts. Wine bar sort. Probably drank white wine before fucking gorgeous women after his dinner break. "

  " Drawling, 'Cum urrn, Buuub! We need those orders!' That was him. I was Trying! He was just making my life even more hell. His whole attitude was really getting to me " 

  " Walked in one day. He's like; 'Don't bother taking ye coat off, Buuub. Ya outa here, man. It's over.' "

  " The bastard! Just like that. Sacked ~again. Well, fuck it. I wasn't just quietly slipping out the door This time! I was gonna leave This bastard with something to remember me by! "

  " As I opened the door, I turned round and drew my shoulders back. Looked him straight in the eye and yelled: 'Remember Viet Naam, muvva fukka!!! "


   " Cunt just looked at me and said; ' I'm Canadian, shit head.' " 



  Still love ye, Bob! Where ever ye may be. Remember:

" Semper A Ballio! "