facebook sausage-gate

My facebook memories today reminded me of the trouble I got into setting up a facebook account for my daft mate. 

He hadn't a clue about facebook. I'd just popped into the pub for a quick pint that night when he asked me to set an account up for him. Immediately ideas for having a right good noise up were rushing through my brain.

So I set the account up for him. Added about 300 people he knew then left him to it.  A couple of days passed and I'd sign into his account but only post wee daft things. Things like "drunk again tonight".  Gerry, being the least computer savvy person in the world, would say things like "fuck sake that's scary. How does facebooks know when I'm steaming?".  This was an amazing time for Gerry. He was bedazzled by technology now. 

A few days of this past and I was getting bored. He had around 500 friends by this time and lots were sending him private messages but Gerry hadn't a clue so I'd reply to them from his account with wee daft things like" awright mate, I'm working in Lidl now as a security guard".  Nothing mental. Just wee daft things so that a year later when they seen him in the pub he'd be flummoxed at why folk thought he worked in lidl or that he was a bus driver now. 

So aye, like I say, I was getting bored now so I done one last post on his account then signed out.  It was a Monday early evening and I posted.. 

"Fuck sake that's me just out the Sheriff court. I was in all weekend. They've charged me with stealing sausages. I never stole them. I just put them in my pocket and forgot about them" 

That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Well everyone had a right good laugh didn't they?  Cunts were posting hundreds of crap sausage related jokes.  

"fuck sake Gerry I was gonny send yae a LINK for the game tonight but you'll only steal it ya mad heid BANGER hahahaha" 

Shite like that. 

But this is where the problems started.  Unbeknown to me, Gerry had forgot his facebook passport/password.  He didnae know about the post.  So when he goes into work and gets pelters about being a sausage shoplifter he has no idea wtf they're taking about.  Someone tells him about it on facebooks but remember, Gerry thinks facebook knew he was drunk. Rather than thinking someones signed into his account he's thinking facebook itself is taking the cunt out of him. He was livid at them. He was asking people if they knew the phone number for facebooks.

Finally someone had the patience to explain it to him and asked him if anyone knew his password.  That's when the penny dropped and he's went "THAT LIMOND CUNT". 

Days and weeks went past and wherever Gerry went cunts were ridiculing him. He'd never want to hear the word sausage again. 

He used to drink down Paisley Road West a lot and when he explained to a few rough cunts that a guy had "hacked him" they wanted justice for Gerry.  There was talk of me getting done in. Like seriously.  Guys unhappy about Gerry's woes looking for me over a false sausage story. Even paramilitaries were getting mentioned. Not even kidding.  I had visions of Ulster cunts all sitting round a table in balaclavas discussing the weeks issues and them taking about sausages. A mad Proddy Fatwah against me. Jesus. 

So I decided to go and meet Gerry. This was getting out of hand. I was walking about all day muttering " sausages? Are people seriously annoyed? Sausages???" 

There he was sitting in my local. All sad as fuck. Alone. I went on the offensive and acted angry like I was the one being wronged. What's this about cunts wanting to do me in? 

Gerry said that was just drunk cunts talking and to never mind that shite. So the ball being back in my court I had to say sorry. Pure took everything I had in me to sound sincere.  I even made eye contact. Looked deep into those troubles eyes and said sorry. Pure dying to laugh. I just managed it. 

So we had a pint and a natter and talked about the football and that.  Five mins later he remembers something from sausage-gate and says "aw here and I'll tell yae something else,  nothing worse when you've just knocked yer pan in doing a 12 hour shift and yer son comes bursting into the living room in tears saying the kids at school are all singing" your da's a sausage snatcher"

Na I just lost it. Burst out laughing. It's funnier when the two words start with the same letter. Kids are great at that. Link Lifter. Pork Pincher etc

I just got up and left my pint and the pub.  

Fuck sake man. It was only sausages. Get a fucking grip everycunt and lighten up. 

Ibrox Shoebox of Horrors

Yesterdays blog about me violating a pensioners arse via Instagram brought to mind another occasion I tormented the elderly. Today's a bank holiday so let's relax and enjoy this disgusting true story of utter filth.

The year was 1997. I was a joiner running my own wee double glazing firm making and fitting timber windows.

On the day in question I was fitting 3 windows on the third floor of a tenement  flat in Ibrox for some guy that buys flats in ill repair, refurbishes them then rents them out. The flat I was working in was just a shell.

I'd been out on the swally the night before and as I was working away I realised I needed a crap. Not just any old crap, a 17 pints and a donner kebab the night before crap. One of those ones that rush up on you from nowhere, stomach craps, the lot.

Anyway, I bolted to the toilet my trousers at my knees before I opened the door and couldn't believe my eyes -The toilet hadn't been fitted yet!!! Not even a fucking sink !!

All sorts of crazy thoughts flashed through my head and I actually did think of crapping out the back window with my arse out the window but at the corner of my eye I seen something that saved the day -A shoebox!

Ya dancer !!

A wee portable lavvy

Without wanting to be overly graphic I very quickly emptied my liquid mess into the shoebox.

The plan now was to take the shoebox down to the binsheds round the back, walk up to the Clachan Bar and gie myself a wee wash. I got to the back door but the bastarding thing was locked. I was like "ach fuck it, I'll just place it somewhere discreet on my way up the street and let some junkie thinking they've found new shoes get a wee treat" but as if by magic a wee wummin appeared holding the back door key aloft in one hand and  a polly bag full of empty sweetie wrappers and was like "Oh here son, wait i'll take that to the bins for yae"

Aw naw man

Pure panicking I said  "Oh no no no I'll take that to the bins for you" but she was a no nonsense wee wummin and said I was to "get back tae ma graft" and she placed her hands on the shoebox of horrors. I held it over like a woman who'd changed her mind about adopting handing over her baby. Pure reluctant as fuck but knowing I was now committed.

I told her not to look inside it as my shoes were smelly and she just smiled at me all comforting like a woman that had smelt it aw.

I bolted up the stairs, into the flat and ran to the back windae to see if she'd have a wee peek.

Couldnae see her

Where was she?

Just then from the binsheds out she popped. She was rubbing her clearly watering eyes. I assume she'd just been sick. She never had that same wee bounce in her step that she had as I watched her embark on her journey to the binshed.

I got back to work. Fuck it man. Wasnae my fault was it man?

15 minutes later a car pulls up, youngish guy driving. It parked dead angrily. I could tell by the way he pulled up the handbrake he wasnae best pleased. I just hit the deck and lay there. The car door slammed and I heard voices in the close.

The voices moved to the street. I picked myself up and peeked out. Angry son looking up to the houses looking for me and joined by a neighbour with the auld maw looking totally distraught.

I went back to the floor till the car went away. Just lying there for a full 37 minutes in pure limbo.

What the fuck did she call her son for?

Did she tell him "Son come round, a mans just gave me a box of shite"? Was her son driving to hers furious saying out loud "A box of shite? My maw? A box of fucking shite?"

ffs man she's seen wars and everything.

I think she took that right out of all proportion.

Granny Snapper

Yesterday morning I had an hour to kill.

I was in my home scheme of Carnwadric visiting a friend but they were taking ages to get ready so I decided, seeing as the sun was out, to go a walk up the Rouken Glen park.

The 'Roukie' is always a fun* place because of where it's situated. It's right on the border of Glasgow and upper class spam valley East Renfrewshire. It's where Jezza Kyle meets To the Manor Born. On a busy day in the park the typical sounds you'll hear is nedspeak and the sound of posh folk tutting in unison at the neds behaviour. After a while the posh tutting start to sound like crickets chirping.


                    

 Anyway, on my way to the Roukie I passed by this old fat pensioner woman in her front garden hanging up washing. It was a great opportunity for a shitty Instagram pic. Her garden was mostly in the shade because of the big fuck off trees surrounding her house but shafts of light were poking through the trees and it looked like baby Jesus or his auld man were shining light onto her from the heavens above, this old crow with her blue rinse, bad back and lavender smelling cardigan.

So I whipped my phone out and tried to capture a good angle for the pic from afar.

Just then this cunt faced smarmy wee prick  pulls up in his car and says "Excuse me, what the hell do you think you're doing? That's an old woman!!"

I knew right away this was one of those do-gooder types out to save the community from those horrid Glaswegians so treated him like a fanny and told him to fuck off. He stated giving it the "Do you want to see my warrant card?" and kept threatening to go into his pocket to bring out some shitty bus pass type thing that lets everyone know he's a cheese encrusted helmet.

I started to get a little bit irrational and actually panicked. I was like "Aw naw man, what's the opposite of a paedo? A geriatro? An auld biddy-o? A fucking Grannyo?". Whatever the fuck it is I actually started thinking I had done something pure out of order and walked away as he called the coppers.

40 mins later on my way back to my mates I walk past the house again but play it safe and walk on the other side of the road and there's a couple of younger guys in the garden. nothing got said and I walked on.

5 minutes later one of them came running up to me. he looked like a pure redneck. Like John boy from the Waltons only with an ISA and a trust fund. He introduced himself as the old crow's son and in one of those arsehole accents that only East Renfrewshire folk have started saying "Hey, the cops are looking for you. you better hand yourself in fellow"


Hahahaha




I start telling the guy I like taking pics of utter shite (anyone on my facebook can testify to this) but just then a fucking cop car goes past and he flags it down!!

I was like "Aw fucking naw man"

The son started telling the coppers "This is the guy you're looking for" and the coppers are like "Eh?". We both get a chance to tell our sides to the story, the son going first. He describes how his old mother may have been violated and actually said "Well you know, this guy may be totally innocent but she was hanging washing up, she has to bend over to pick it up out the basket"

!??!!!??!!!!!!???????!?!?!?

Dear reader, she was a wee fat wummin. She was 70 odds. She looked like a cross between  Roy Croppers maw and Pat Butcher. I didnae know whether to laugh or greet. he actually thought I was gonny wank over the thought of his pensioner maws fat arse? He consciously thinks his maw's pure sexy and if it wasnae for the senile dementia she'd  know it.

Fucking madness

Anyway to cut a long story short the coppers were a little confused. I mean after all it's not a criminal offence to take a pic from a public highway so they sent me on my way with a "gonny ask the wummins permission if yer gonny take her pic next time mate?". I could have argued that I legally don't need to but I could tell they had a sort of "ffs mate let's aw go catch some rays and get this daft cunt tae fuck" look on his face.

The son tried to apologise but I wasnae having it. I told him I didn't like his tone and he was patronising. It pure hurt him, ruined his entire summer.

He walked away a broken man. You just know he's away out today to buy his maw a less sexier cardigan.

Swear to fuck man, these East Renfrewshire folk are living on another planet.

* Not fun