Warning, OUTRAGEOUS is a series of filth, swearing, insanity and gross images. The easily offended (and not so easily) and anyone under about 35 should stop reading right now!
I was thinking about doing a charity walk to Brighton and back. Then it occurred to me that it might be a bit too ambitious. I’m not the fittest person around, what with all the laying about in bed and constant boozing. Not to mention the chips, cakes, kebabs, marijuana and toffee. The porn and obsessive masturbating leaves the old legs a bit wobbly, too.
Anyway, I decided a walk across all the Thames’ bridges in London might be a bit more manageable. Decision made, I had another beer and smoked a joint and set about planning the route. Cross over, walk along, cross back, walk along, cross over – I’d almost plotted very nearly five bridges in my A to Z, three actually, when I got to thinking about how tiring it would be. Not only that, but there was the wear and tear on my shoes to consider and being London, there would always be the chance of a light drizzle, or of it being just a bit too warm.
My bridge walk was starting to look a bridge too far, especially considering the bad name I would end up with for taking a cut from the sponsorship proceeds to cover necessary expenditure on dope, burgers and sweets – plus the shoe wear and tear thing, of course. It’s not as though I can afford to sue anyone for defamation of character, so they could call me all the thieving lowlife cunts under the sun and get away with it.
I suppose I could have done the walk and just kept all the money. Selflessly walking over all those bridges would be bloody hard work, after all, particularly if it did turn out just a bit too warm, and surely deserved some kind of reward? It’s not as if I actually know any skint cripples who need the dosh. They all get more benefits than I do anyway and they don’t even pay rent in those homes.
If I had gone down the route of trousering the cash, I realise I would have had to keep quiet about pocketing it, but figured I could avoid possible prosecution by saying that had been the plan all along in really tiny small print at the bottom of the sponsorship form. You know, a bit like the sort insurance companies use to get out of ever honouring any claims. It’s ok for them to take the piss, but I help myself to a few measly pounds meant for mongoloids and general bib-dribblers and suddenly I’m the bad guy!
I haven’t even got many friends, so probably couldn’t have raised more than about thirty quid and that wouldn’t exactly give sight to the blind, or tongues to those talking-difficulties types who grunt and wave their hands about a lot. Just as well I gave the idea up as a bad job. My shoes have already got holes in them anyway and it would have only made them worse.
And there was that possible light drizzle to take into account as well. If that didn’t hold off, I bet I would have been condemned even for buying an umbrella, or for sitting in the pub all day drinking the money away until it stopped spitting outside. These charity donators are always tight fuckers like that. Don’t see them doing a bridge walk when it’s drizzling, or a bit too warm. Arseholes.
Fuck it. I think I’ll smoke another joint and eat some toffee instead. Don’t suppose any of you fancy sponsoring a toffee-thon? No?