Counting the Days 'Til Roland Duchatelet Sells Charlton Athletic

N01R4M said:

Do I detect signs that the endless repetition is getting to you, @3blokes ?

Keep up the good work!

It’s another Saturday morning and as Mrs B.O. arrives with his coffee, she finds the B.O staring angrily out of the shed window.

“ WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT BASTARD!!??” He rages. He turns to Mrs B.O. and looks at her sternly.“ You did tell him he was sacked, didn’t you?”

“ Yes, of course, dear,” says Mrs B.O, putting his heavily medicated coffee on the bench.

“ Well, why is that useless bastard, Dr Fuckoff, still writing his name on my fence eh?” fumes the B.O. “Look at it out there! Everywhere you turn you are confronted with his name in great big green letters!  FUCKOFF! FUCKOFF! FUCKOFF! Look at it! What on Earth is he playing at?”

Mrs B.O. lets out a small sigh.

“ I’ve no idea, darling,” she says rather quietly.

“ I mean, is he trying to advertise his services or something?” continues the B.O., puzzled. “Does the stupid idiot know I am the only person who can see all this? And I already know about the hopeless  twat!”

He turns finally and goes and sits at his bench and sips his coffee.

“ The only thing that makes it slightly less tiresome is that the fellow seems to have picked the same paint colour I chose for our hallway. You know, that green you said you hated! Well, at least old Fuckoff has some taste in paint, if nothing else! “ says the B.O with a chuckle.

Mrs B.O stares at him rather coldly for a moment, then turns to leave. The B.O watches her go then notices something.

“My dear!” He says, his voice making her halt at the door. “Why, there seems to be a little splash of that green paint on the bottom of your dress. Have you leaned on the fence or something?”

Mrs. B.O looks down at her dress thoughtfully.

“ Oh. So there is,” she says wryly. “ How DID that get there?”

“ Well, be careful on the way back down the path, try not to do it again, you clumsy old dollop!” says the B.O, with a chuckle, as he pulls a box of garden nails towards him.

Mrs B.O. gazes at him for a moment, then leaves without saying a word.

Well, let’s leave them to it, though it IS a bit of a mystery about that paint on Mrs. B.O. dress, isn’t it? How DID it get there? Still, things don’t always make sense round here, do they? 

He’s still here.

Ohforcryingoutloud....

Day 2054 and 2055

It is another Saturday morning and today, the B.O. is in a studio and just about to go on a radio talk show.

He is sitting quietly muttering to himself.

“ I am not a wankpuffin. I am not a wankpuffin. I am not a wankpuffin.”

The red light comes on, and the radio host starts to introduce the B.O.

“Now, we’re joined this morning by —-“

“ I AM A WANKPUFFIN!!” yells the B.O, making everyone jump. “Oh dammit!”

It all goes quiet for a moment.

“ Sorry.....sorry.” says the B.O, awkwardly, “ A bit of pilchard went down the wrong way.”

“ Er....righto....“ says the host uncertainly, glancing at the producer, ”Ok, anyway, we are joined this morning by——“

“ Can you edit that bit out?” says the B.O.

The host stops.

“What?” he says.

“ That bit about me being a vank...I mean WANKpuffin. Can you get rid of it later?” asks the B.O.

The host looks at him in amazement.

“ This interview is going out live!” he replies.

The B.O. glares back at him.

“ Dont be awkward you utter bastard! No one ever watches or listens to a live feed! I should know! Just wipe that bit.” yells the B.O.

“ I can’t, you pillock! We’re live on air!” retorts the host.

“ Look, “ hisses the B.O, “I came on this show to blame somebody else for all the money I’m losing with this shitty shit kloob! I certainly didn’t come on here to be a called a Wankpuffin by some know nothing idiot!”

“ Whaat?” says the host. “ But it was YOU who said it!”

“ Said what?”

“ You’re a wankpuffin!” says the host, shrugging his shoulders and looking round in disbelief.

“ OH!! NOW YOU’RE CALLING ME ONE, ARE YOU!!” screams the B.O, before launching himself at the host, and grabbing him warmly by the throat.

There is the sound of scuffling on air and then someone shouts “Get off me you wank...Ow! FUCK OFF!”

“ He can’t help you! I sacked him!” yells a voice. 

Well, let’s leave the B.O to another successful radio interview, where he manages to blame someone else for something he’s done, and let’s hope we all have a decent weekend.

He’s still here.

Oh forcryingoutloud.