My good friend Star sent me a text message recently of a conversation she overheard on a bus in Plymouth. I thought it was amusing enough to share with the rest of you motley miscreants.

Star was riding the bus past a takeaway joint in Plymouth called Fat Mama’s Burger Bar. There happened to be a young boy and his father sat on the seat in front of her. As the bus passed the takeaway, the little boy pointed to it and innocently commented to his father ‘Daddy, if Mummy wasn’t going to Slimming World, she’d go there.’

From the mouths of babes, eh? You couldn’t make it up.

If anyone has any similar stories of eavesdropped conversations please feel free to leave a comment here.

Firstly let me apologise for my lack of communication. Unfortunately Life, the inconsiderate bastard, likes to get in the way right when I have plans. Pestilence also decided to raise his distorted melon of a head last week: I was unfortunately caught in the throes of food poisoning. I am now in complete sympathy with all dysentery-ridden pirates and laxative-taking supermodels everywhere.

So with no further ado, I shall get on with things in my usual lackadaisical manner.

I went to Plymouth for the weekend recently and spent some time in an all-you-can-eat buffet. In my humble opinion a place of this calibre is possibly one of the best gathering places for all the freakish specimens of the human race to congregate. It was much like a Serengeti watering-hole but with more blubber and less intelligence.

[For those of you that don’t know much about Plymouth, it is a moderately-sized city in the south-west of England notorious for brawling with [and beating] the Spanish Armada in the 16^th century, and brawling with [and beating] one another from as long as I can remember. A naval-turned-university city, it is awash with drunken yobs, criminals and teenage mums as well as sailors, students and hippies. Its achievements include being voted the Worst-Dressed City and having one of the ugliest buildings in Britain . It is also rather too close to Cornwall, which as we all know is positioned at the rather thin end of the stick when it comes to genetic diversity.]

Not pictured: genetic diversity

As I grazed my merry way through several succulent Chinese dishes [little did I know the havoc this meal would later cause to my digestive system], I made a list of observations about the rest of the clientele over an approximate half-hour period, and here is what I discovered [reproduced almost verbatim]:

’19:04 – Man in queue with face too small for skull. Overly curly hair and double-chin. Slight resemblance to a retarded Leo Sayer.’

’19:05 – A disturbing amount of what can only be described as female whales in here, all massing around the buffet selection. Best get Greenpeace here quick: the poor things need saving before the Japanese spot them and try to claim them for ‘research purposes’.’

’19:05 – I shit you not there is a proper slack-jawed hillbilly type in here. It’s like a scene from Deliverance. And it’s putting me off my food.’

’19:12 – A young girl that looks rather unfortunately for her, like Martin Clunes. I believe this is something known as foetal alcohol syndrome.’

’19:15 – A Ross Kemp lookalike has just shambled in. He looks rather confused. Maybe he’s only just realised he’s not in Eastenders any more.’

’19:19 – Oh. My. God. A ‘woman’ [I use the term loosely] whose blubbery belly hangs below her fucking pelvis. I’m feeling rather nauseous now. Thank god I didn’t choose the pork.’

’19:20 – A gaggle of orange-skinned female youths whose skin tones are much the same as the fish eggs that adorn the outside of the California roll I’m just about to pop in my mouth. I think I’ll leave that one for later, eh?’

’19:21 – There is actually a girl wearing a swimming costume with her jeans. She looks furtive: she’s obviously hoping nobody’ll notice. In all honesty most of the half-blind fuckwits in here wouldn’t but I’m rather more blessed in the chromosome department I feel.  National Geographic would have a field day.’

’19:22 – A man, mid-50s, with hair exactly like James May from Top Gear, but uglier. This is something that never fails to amuse me.’

’19:24 – A double-whammy of misshapenness! A gentleman with a bottom lip fatter than Jamie Oliver’s AND an impressive underbite”

’19:24 – As if to counteract the underbite we now have a man with NO CHIN in the queue. Where the Jesus titty-fucking Christ are all these freaks coming from? I blame it on the weather. And Plymouth being too close to Cornwall.’

’19:25 – A woman with arms rather too short for her body. If not just a disproportioned woman, she is definitely the world’s tallest dwarf.’

These were her eHarmony matches

’19:29 – Somebody please shoot me. Another blubbery cowpat of a being with a belly that covers her pelvis.’

’19:30 – What can only be described as a group of cabbages wearing condoms has just lumbered into view through the front doors. All female. Sadly my positioning is such that I get ghastly great eyefuls of the clientele whether I like it or not.’

Even the waiters feel the need to protect themselves from possible contamination with these freaks of nature

’19:33 – Woman with posh hair-do. Doesn’t detract from the fact that her eyes are way too far apart. She looks like a cow with a chignon.’

’19:41 – I pray that I’m going to be struck with sudden blindness. A young girl dressed completely in neon orange and shoes several sizes too big has clattered into view. Please remove your vile person from my sight, you are giving me a migraine. (Amusingly there is a man right behind her with what looks like a ballbag on the back of his ox-like neck).’

’19:46 – There is a man in here that looks exactly like one of those artists’ impressions of a Neanderthal: he has a receding forehead, very prominent brows and a thick set neck. Is also wearing the customary scowl and appears not to be able to use cutlery with any modicum of success…’

At this point I suffered a complete and irreversible breakdown. Even now as I write I am surrounded by burly nurses and being strapped firmly to a potty chair. They only let me have this laptop because I promised to blow one of them later.

A word of warning: don’t go to any all-you-can-eat buffets in Plymouth, lest you want to suffer like I did. Actually, best not to go to Plymouth at all. Unless of course you’re returning to the mother-is-also-your-sister-and-your-wifeland.

I came across this amusing pic today, and thought it linked in rather nicely with my previous post.

Enjoy

It would be exactly like this.

When I was asked to be a contributor to this site I was surprised and mildly amused. ‘What are they letting themselves in for here at 3nglish?’ I mused to myself. ‘I am incoherent at the worst of times, vitriolic at best. And I suffer from terrible flatulence.’ Fortunately they need never experience that last bit so this is something I shouldn’t concern myself with when pondering whether or not I am suitable enough to be let loose into the community (let alone the internet).

(Incidentally, they need not know about my lack of potty-training or my inability to stay fully clothed for longer than a morning either, so we’ll leave that bit out too.)

(Should I also omit the fact that I wear a small wristband with the words ‘Please return wearer to hospital’ written on it?)

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Okay did I just write that last bit or just think it? Either way it’s out there now for all to see, like Janet Jackson’s nipple.

Like this, but with less JT and more faeces. Same amount of titty though.

Right before I actually get on with earning my keep I just wanted to say that I like to rant. A lot. In fact my real life rants are a spectacle to behold, and I would forgive you for thinking that I actually do live in a mental hospital and enjoy hiding my own turds in plant-pots. Be that as it may, the main structure of my articles (if there is one) will be caustic abusive stream-of-consciousness affairs, with several compound swear-words [this is subject to change]. If you don’t know what a compound swear-word is, you will do by the time you’ve finished reading any of my articles (except, I might add, this one).

I make no apologies for not being funny either. Like male erectile dysfunction, it happens.

You have been warned.