ranting. Not even drunken ranting, either

So I went to the supermarket, complete with list, to buy foods. Specific foods. For recipes. Of course, the supermarket was out of stock of most of it. And I mean MOST. I hate, absolutely hate, supermarkets when they’re out of stock. I will actually have to go to another supermarket to get a lemon, risoni pasta, flat leafed parsley, coriander, fennel, baby spinach, Vogels bread, prawns and a motherfucking razor. Things got no better once I paid and got out. The travelator was not working, forcing me to take the trolley into the scary back goods lift to get to the carpark. Every time this happens (and it happens regularly) I SWEAR TO GOD I am never going back to Malvern Central, you broken down piece of shit of a shopping centre. The only reason I go there is a) it’s close, b) I know my way around the supermarket, and c) nobody else ever goes there, probably because they already got fed up with the out of stocks and the shitty breaking down travelators. God damn you all to hell.

And for the next part, I had only myself to blame. Even with ice cream in the car, and a clear run of crap going my way, I insisted on stopping to get diesel. I don’t know what I was thinking. There is only one diesel bowser at this particular servo, which means there’s only two… handles? pump nozzles? you know what I mean I’m sure. One of which was being used by a ute which had clearly just pulled up, and the other one was taken by the most incompetent piece of human kind ever to drive a car. Even though there were cars lined up for Africa, and he had already filled up and paid, he proceeded to get the watering can full of water and open the bonnet of his car. Which he could not do. For an ETERNITY, he fidgeted around under the popped bonnet for the little release lever that lives under there, which allows the bonnet to unlock completely. Only I could see him (the extra height of a 4WD) and I may have called him a motherfucking cocksucker, but you had better believe that everyone else would have done the same could they see him. He was STILL fucking around under there as the ute left, I pulled in, filled my car (which took forever as I was running on fumes), paid and left again. Still. There. That, my friends, is the definition of a motherfucking cocksucker. You car drivers with your fancy petrol cannot properly feel my pain, as there are multiple bowsers for petrol. But usually, there is only one for diesel and LPG, and this ratfucking bastard was blocking one side, filling up his fuck-knuckled windscreen water reservoir, oblivious to all his surroundings and the cars spilling out onto the street. There is a special place in hell for him, I am sure. I will personally call Satan and reserve it. I’ll make sure there is a broken travelator too, just to fuck him sideways.

3 comments to ranting. Not even drunken ranting, either

  • Rantastic. I have an invitation for you on me blog. Go visit. No broken travelators at my place.

  • 1. Approach Satan’s love child as silently as possible to appear undetected at his right shoulder
    2.Say in finest simpering tones – ‘Oh you OBVIOUSLY need help with this.”
    3. Push past, release bonnet catch & lift forcefully, ensuring you slam it into the underneath of his jaw.
    4.Bend over his prostate form and simper “Oh silly me”
    5.Drive off very very slowly unsuccessfully avoiding the temptation to run over him several times.

  • Well ranted! [stands and applauds] Sometimes its better to just steam in silence and move away, rather than open your mouth and give the fool ammunition to answer back! heh heh
    Mal :)

"Make a remark," said the Red Queen: "Its ridiculous to leave all conversation to the pudding!"




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