nt: Living Room
A young man is talking to his parents
Son: Come on mum, sit down. I've got something to tell you.
Mum: But why not have a cup of tea first?
Son: Mum, please, just sit down. This is important.
Dad: What is it son?
Son: (on the verge of tears) Dad (beat) Mum. I think I'm Welsh.
Mum: Oh Darl..
Dad: You think or you know?
Son: (beat) I know
Dad: Since when?
Son: Since always I think. I believe I was born Welsh.
Dad: You were born in Bracknell. Unless... (turning to Mum accusingly)
Mum: (To Dad) Don't be silly dear. I'd never go with a Welshman. (Turning to son) No offence son. (Beat)
It's because I listened to Men of Harlech when you were a baby isn't it? And those trips to Aberystwyth when you were small?
Son: Don't blame yourself Mum. There's nothing to be blamed for. I'm fine!
Mum: I knew it all along you know. All that time spent moping around as a teenager.
Son: Yes! It was really my national dourness and pessimism!
Mum: It explains so much
Son: Anyway, I'd best away. Me and some of the lads are going to speak
Welsh around some english people for no other reason than to make them
feel uncomfortable..(beat) Ah, I feel so much better.
Dad: Now, we've got that out of the way might you be settling down with a nice girlfriend any time soon?
Son: Oh that? I like cock Dad, didn't you know? Anyway, Hwyl!
Showing posts with label adolescence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adolescence. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Based on a true story
Int House: Hallway
A middle aged man, Bob, is pushing buttons on a fax machine. A young man, his son, Dave, walks up to him.
DAVE: Are you still using the fax machine. Why don't you send an email?
BOB: Son, I like faxes. You know where you are with a fax machine.
(The fax machine gets a ring tone and dials)
Voice From out of the fax machine: Hello? Hello? HELLLLOOOO?! Hello? FOr god's sake
BOB: FAX! It's a FAX! FAX!!
DAVE: Dad, she can't hear you. It's a fax machine. It hasn't got a microphone
Voice: Hello???
BOB: FAX!
(Fax machine hangs up)
DAVE: You've dialled a phone number, not a fax number. I bet that's what you've done.
BOB: Why doesn't she switch it over?
DAVE: Because it's not a fax number and she can't. She might be nothing to do with whoever you're sending a fax to.
BOB: Are you sure it's got ink in it
DAVE: Ink? The sending and receiving of faxes has got nothing to do with ink dad, we've been through this before.
BOB: Go check on your grandad
DAVE: Just cancel and redial
(BOB starts to open the fax machine to check for ink)
DAVE: It's nothing to do with...
BOB: Go check on grandad
INT Sitting room
Grandad is asleep in the armchair in front of the TV with his feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The dog, a labrador, comes in and starts to heave and then promptly throws up on grandad's feet.
We see Dave start to open his mouth and then stop again.
BOB: (From out in the hallway) FAX! FAX! FAX!
Dave sits down and places his head in his hands...
We hear the dog start to eat his own sick...
DAVE: (quietly) Good dog. Good dog
As said, this is based on a true story. It's actually a combination of two stories and is probably a waste of both. My father has an unhealthy relationship with the fax machine combined with a shockingly poor grasp of the technology behind it. This leads him to misdial regularly and then shout 'FAX!' at the fax machine. It was funny the first time. After the hundredth time it can get a little tedious, particularly after having explained the situation every time. He genuinely believes sending a fax requires ink and, of course, that shouting 'FAX!' will somehow make the person at the other end know what to do with it.
The other part, i used to babysit my grandad. When my grandad was living with us it seemed like my folks were always out every evening. This was a bummer because it meant i was in charge of grandad but also a good thing because i could sneak out the back and smoke a spliff. (This is also the reason i'd volunteer to walk grandad home, so i could smoke a jay on the way back). So, grandad is asleep. I'm buzzin out my tiny teenage mind, in walks the dog and throws up all over his feet. I sit there thinking "did that really just happen?" and eventually manage to snap out of it. I go to get a cloth and some water. While i'm doing that the dog's thinking "Hey, what's this? Food!" so the dog gets most of it up. Luckily, grandad is wearing patent leather slippers so it's fairly easy to wipe his feet clean. I'm trying to be as quiet as possible. He opens one eye at one point but goes back to sleep. Think i rewarded myself with another zoot.
Cool story bro etc...
A middle aged man, Bob, is pushing buttons on a fax machine. A young man, his son, Dave, walks up to him.
DAVE: Are you still using the fax machine. Why don't you send an email?
BOB: Son, I like faxes. You know where you are with a fax machine.
(The fax machine gets a ring tone and dials)
Voice From out of the fax machine: Hello? Hello? HELLLLOOOO?! Hello? FOr god's sake
BOB: FAX! It's a FAX! FAX!!
DAVE: Dad, she can't hear you. It's a fax machine. It hasn't got a microphone
Voice: Hello???
BOB: FAX!
(Fax machine hangs up)
DAVE: You've dialled a phone number, not a fax number. I bet that's what you've done.
BOB: Why doesn't she switch it over?
DAVE: Because it's not a fax number and she can't. She might be nothing to do with whoever you're sending a fax to.
BOB: Are you sure it's got ink in it
DAVE: Ink? The sending and receiving of faxes has got nothing to do with ink dad, we've been through this before.
BOB: Go check on your grandad
DAVE: Just cancel and redial
(BOB starts to open the fax machine to check for ink)
DAVE: It's nothing to do with...
BOB: Go check on grandad
INT Sitting room
Grandad is asleep in the armchair in front of the TV with his feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The dog, a labrador, comes in and starts to heave and then promptly throws up on grandad's feet.
We see Dave start to open his mouth and then stop again.
BOB: (From out in the hallway) FAX! FAX! FAX!
Dave sits down and places his head in his hands...
We hear the dog start to eat his own sick...
DAVE: (quietly) Good dog. Good dog
As said, this is based on a true story. It's actually a combination of two stories and is probably a waste of both. My father has an unhealthy relationship with the fax machine combined with a shockingly poor grasp of the technology behind it. This leads him to misdial regularly and then shout 'FAX!' at the fax machine. It was funny the first time. After the hundredth time it can get a little tedious, particularly after having explained the situation every time. He genuinely believes sending a fax requires ink and, of course, that shouting 'FAX!' will somehow make the person at the other end know what to do with it.
The other part, i used to babysit my grandad. When my grandad was living with us it seemed like my folks were always out every evening. This was a bummer because it meant i was in charge of grandad but also a good thing because i could sneak out the back and smoke a spliff. (This is also the reason i'd volunteer to walk grandad home, so i could smoke a jay on the way back). So, grandad is asleep. I'm buzzin out my tiny teenage mind, in walks the dog and throws up all over his feet. I sit there thinking "did that really just happen?" and eventually manage to snap out of it. I go to get a cloth and some water. While i'm doing that the dog's thinking "Hey, what's this? Food!" so the dog gets most of it up. Luckily, grandad is wearing patent leather slippers so it's fairly easy to wipe his feet clean. I'm trying to be as quiet as possible. He opens one eye at one point but goes back to sleep. Think i rewarded myself with another zoot.
Cool story bro etc...
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Childhood memories
Gonna try and scribble this down for a laugh merely because i was talking to someone the other day and it triggered a memory of adolescence and that the idea has been bopping around the old noggin ever since.
If you're under 18 maybe you should stop reading now, although having said that, maybe you need to know this more than anyone.
You're 13-14 and you're getting onto the bus home from school after another hard day. The bus is quite full and the only seat available is a double edged sword. Oh my, it's the seat over the wheel. On the one hand this is a good thing, the extra vibration provides a cheap thrill and you start to review the day; how Mrs C was wearing quite a low cut top and she's not bad for an older bird; how pretty Lucy was looking in double english. Let's not beat about the bush here ("no, let's" it says), you've got a stonker on the bus home and frankly it's helping to pass the time pleasantly except here comes that other edge to the double edged sword; you've got to get off the bus in two minutes.
So, ok, think fast. Think about Grandma naked, eugh. But nothing's happening. Count backwards, that won't work. School dinners, dead pets, nothing is working. You're gonna have to stand up on a crowded bus in a second and you've got a trouser tent going on. So, ok the last roll of the dice is just to go for it and hope that the situation filters down to the little fella, that he decides to chill his boots, at least until you're off the bus and in your own home. You risk it.
Dunno about you, but i grew up on a fast moving road. This means that the bus is going about sixty mph which in turn means that the driver needs plenty of warning before your stop. In a modern version of the Cry Wolf story, the bus drivers know not to trust the ding ding of the bell at this time of day. Too many times have cheeky school pupils thought it funny to get the driver to stop by playing with the bell. No, if you want off you've got to ding the bell and move to get off. You've got to make sure the driver sees you in his mirror. This off course means you've got to be on your feet on a bus going 60 miles per hour, which can be difficult. Add in that you've got a heavy bag of books over your shoulder. Add also that you've got one hand in your pocket, trying to give off the impression of sauntering but really to push out the fabric of your trousers so the bulge is less noticeable.
Here you come to two more possibilities. The first is that you're the only person getting off the bus. This can be good as it means you can get right to front and make a quick getaway. It's also bad because when you get to the front, with a full bus behind you, some 40-50 people are staring in your direction. Be careful how you stand, profile is your enemy here. Try to stand with your back to everyone, with your hand in one pocket, holding on with the other for deal life.
The other possibility is that you aren't the only person getting off, in fact there is a queue. Again this can be good; there is safety in numbers. It can also be bad. You're standing halfway up the aisle, holding onto one of those flimsy handles, hand in pocket, heavy bag swaying you about. To your left is an old lady, her head just about cock height (this is a technical term). To your right is a half man, half beast, skinheaded, tattoed, armour plated killing machine. Do you stand square onto them, facing forwards down the aisle? If either looks sideways they are going to see trouser tent. Do you stand facing old lady? I'll save you the choice, you don't stand facing the nutcase guy. You probably opt for old lady, ok you'll probably go to hell but still, it's the safer option. But beware. As you may know, when buses brake and change gear there's a jolt. There is a very real danger that this sweet, old, blue rinsed lady is going to get hit across the face by your erection. This is not good. That means time to go, even if it is one handrail further down the aisle, just go and don't look back.
So, whatever, you make it out at the bus stop and off you go on your way.
I'm off outside to give my car a hug and thank god i'm no longer a teenager.
If you're under 18 maybe you should stop reading now, although having said that, maybe you need to know this more than anyone.
You're 13-14 and you're getting onto the bus home from school after another hard day. The bus is quite full and the only seat available is a double edged sword. Oh my, it's the seat over the wheel. On the one hand this is a good thing, the extra vibration provides a cheap thrill and you start to review the day; how Mrs C was wearing quite a low cut top and she's not bad for an older bird; how pretty Lucy was looking in double english. Let's not beat about the bush here ("no, let's" it says), you've got a stonker on the bus home and frankly it's helping to pass the time pleasantly except here comes that other edge to the double edged sword; you've got to get off the bus in two minutes.
So, ok, think fast. Think about Grandma naked, eugh. But nothing's happening. Count backwards, that won't work. School dinners, dead pets, nothing is working. You're gonna have to stand up on a crowded bus in a second and you've got a trouser tent going on. So, ok the last roll of the dice is just to go for it and hope that the situation filters down to the little fella, that he decides to chill his boots, at least until you're off the bus and in your own home. You risk it.
Dunno about you, but i grew up on a fast moving road. This means that the bus is going about sixty mph which in turn means that the driver needs plenty of warning before your stop. In a modern version of the Cry Wolf story, the bus drivers know not to trust the ding ding of the bell at this time of day. Too many times have cheeky school pupils thought it funny to get the driver to stop by playing with the bell. No, if you want off you've got to ding the bell and move to get off. You've got to make sure the driver sees you in his mirror. This off course means you've got to be on your feet on a bus going 60 miles per hour, which can be difficult. Add in that you've got a heavy bag of books over your shoulder. Add also that you've got one hand in your pocket, trying to give off the impression of sauntering but really to push out the fabric of your trousers so the bulge is less noticeable.
Here you come to two more possibilities. The first is that you're the only person getting off the bus. This can be good as it means you can get right to front and make a quick getaway. It's also bad because when you get to the front, with a full bus behind you, some 40-50 people are staring in your direction. Be careful how you stand, profile is your enemy here. Try to stand with your back to everyone, with your hand in one pocket, holding on with the other for deal life.
The other possibility is that you aren't the only person getting off, in fact there is a queue. Again this can be good; there is safety in numbers. It can also be bad. You're standing halfway up the aisle, holding onto one of those flimsy handles, hand in pocket, heavy bag swaying you about. To your left is an old lady, her head just about cock height (this is a technical term). To your right is a half man, half beast, skinheaded, tattoed, armour plated killing machine. Do you stand square onto them, facing forwards down the aisle? If either looks sideways they are going to see trouser tent. Do you stand facing old lady? I'll save you the choice, you don't stand facing the nutcase guy. You probably opt for old lady, ok you'll probably go to hell but still, it's the safer option. But beware. As you may know, when buses brake and change gear there's a jolt. There is a very real danger that this sweet, old, blue rinsed lady is going to get hit across the face by your erection. This is not good. That means time to go, even if it is one handrail further down the aisle, just go and don't look back.
So, whatever, you make it out at the bus stop and off you go on your way.
I'm off outside to give my car a hug and thank god i'm no longer a teenager.
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