(If anyone finds this to be offensive - I am delighted! That was the plan!)
Chapter Two -
Mi 5 or 6 HQ – yeah.
What a bunch of tossers. Still, with time on my hands whilst they
converted the Lotus and being now 50k lighter, I went shopping. Well,
that is what girls do, right?
First stop was at a pharmacy, known in German as an Apotheke. As I speak the ex Third Reich language (along with about 6 more – I mean, what else do you do all day at home? Sit on Facebook and send pictures of cats to a load of brain deads?), and I needed some bullshit.
As usual I made a bee line to the obvious dyke behind the counter. I needed stuff for a bit of minor sugary and after some crap about a small wound in my cute little pooch's leg that I wanted to sew up myself as I am a highly qualified nurse and can't afford the vet etc etc – I got what I needed. And her phone number – which was promptly binned.
Next – I have class and there was no way I am going to some filthy bog hole where junkies shoot up – nah. 5 star hotel for me. Two nights.
'Do you have a credit card?' asked the bloke is a very Syrian sounding attempt of German, at the Hilton front desk. (Well, it wasn't exactly going to be the back desk – that is the tradesman’s entrance.) 'We need one and also your passport, before we give you a room.'
I need this shit like a bullet hole I would put through his head. I looked about. Okay – CCTV. Plan 'B'.
'See this oh skint Arab fucker, 5k in cash. Your alternative is I take you outside and snap your neck, hack your body into bits and feed it to my pet guinea pigs.'
First stop was at a pharmacy, known in German as an Apotheke. As I speak the ex Third Reich language (along with about 6 more – I mean, what else do you do all day at home? Sit on Facebook and send pictures of cats to a load of brain deads?), and I needed some bullshit.
As usual I made a bee line to the obvious dyke behind the counter. I needed stuff for a bit of minor sugary and after some crap about a small wound in my cute little pooch's leg that I wanted to sew up myself as I am a highly qualified nurse and can't afford the vet etc etc – I got what I needed. And her phone number – which was promptly binned.
Next – I have class and there was no way I am going to some filthy bog hole where junkies shoot up – nah. 5 star hotel for me. Two nights.
'Do you have a credit card?' asked the bloke is a very Syrian sounding attempt of German, at the Hilton front desk. (Well, it wasn't exactly going to be the back desk – that is the tradesman’s entrance.) 'We need one and also your passport, before we give you a room.'
I need this shit like a bullet hole I would put through his head. I looked about. Okay – CCTV. Plan 'B'.
'See this oh skint Arab fucker, 5k in cash. Your alternative is I take you outside and snap your neck, hack your body into bits and feed it to my pet guinea pigs.'
He got the message and
I was soon ushered into a rather fancy room. Nice indeed. But I had
to do a little operation on myself.
Shoving your left elbow
into micro wave oven after cancelling all the safety rubbish is all
well and good but leaves the skin a bit crispy. I sorted that out but
just to be on the safe side I decided to dig the GPS chip out. No big
deal. Pissed a bit of blood but sewed that up and then had a look in
the mini-bar.
Ahh – now booze and me is a big problem. Last time I got wasted, and I mean seriously wasted, was a couple of years ago...
Some bloke had chatted me up at Tescos checkout. Nice enough, looked like a bit of David Beckham mixed with that Rico bloke from 'Star Troopers'. He was quite amusing. Invites me to a pub – blah- blah. A few glasses of wine and I am not thinking straight.
Well, next thing he is humping and pumping, cooing and moaning away between my legs and I am thinking the ceiling needs painting.
'Oh, excuse me,' between his shouts of adoration, 'can we have break. I need a fag.'
I opened the window. Lit a smoke and called him over – still with his little man at attention.
'Look at that skyline. Is it not wonderful?'
'Yes' he replied, shortly followed by a scream. Ahh no big deal. It was only one floor and there was a rose bush to break his fall.
The cops just took him away. I was untouchable. But back to where I am -
Ahh – now booze and me is a big problem. Last time I got wasted, and I mean seriously wasted, was a couple of years ago...
Some bloke had chatted me up at Tescos checkout. Nice enough, looked like a bit of David Beckham mixed with that Rico bloke from 'Star Troopers'. He was quite amusing. Invites me to a pub – blah- blah. A few glasses of wine and I am not thinking straight.
Well, next thing he is humping and pumping, cooing and moaning away between my legs and I am thinking the ceiling needs painting.
'Oh, excuse me,' between his shouts of adoration, 'can we have break. I need a fag.'
I opened the window. Lit a smoke and called him over – still with his little man at attention.
'Look at that skyline. Is it not wonderful?'
'Yes' he replied, shortly followed by a scream. Ahh no big deal. It was only one floor and there was a rose bush to break his fall.
The cops just took him away. I was untouchable. But back to where I am -
Hmm – I was not in
the mood to go on the piss. Just a quick flick of fingers soon dismantled the daft
security on the windows of the hotel room. Unplugging the fridge, I
threw it out. Drinks and all from the 27th floor. Much
to my delight it ploughed into the top of an arriving Taxi to
reception. I hoped they liked their drinks shaken but not
stirred.
Yeah. a lot of panic broke out. I just leaned out the window and watched the peasants run around like ants with their pants on fire. And talking about fire – I was already bored and wondered if torching the place would cheer me up?
Yeah. a lot of panic broke out. I just leaned out the window and watched the peasants run around like ants with their pants on fire. And talking about fire – I was already bored and wondered if torching the place would cheer me up?
Gwad German TV is so
boring. Flick about. Some news report about a fridge landing on a
taxi. Flick – the rise and fall Adolf Hitler , big fucking deal,
flick, ahh BBC, a documentary about mad dog Gahdafffi, flick –
ahh, that is better, some whales getting blown up by the slitty eyes
as research- bored – flick. Porn. Oh please. Flick and wow this is
so cool.
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