What did I do, mm? What was it that I did to the designer of this hand dryer, eh? Did I smack him in the chops? Hm? Did I find his mother and tell her she was as rough as puke in a sock? Did I? Did I threaten to paint a red mark on his front door and tell his neighbours that he had AIDs? Did I put my flannel in his mouth as a joke? Did I send him a bottle of rare 1787 Chateau Lafite Bordeaux wine, knowing full well that he would have been happy with a £5 bottle of Blossom Hill? Did I sit opposite him on the Tube, intentionally staring at his groin with a smile on my face? Did I go into Waterstones, find a copy of Margeret Thatcher's biography and replace each occurence of the word 'Conservative' with the name of his first born child? Did I visit his house dressed as a doctor and tell him that he would die in a matter of hours because I'd discovered that his DNA was made primarily of plasticene? Did I impregnate his pet chinchilla with some toothpaste I found on the bus? Did I cough in his fucking eye?NO I FUCKING DIDN'T, SO WHY THE FUCK DID HE FEEL AS THOUGH HE COULD RUIN MY FUCKING DAY WITH HIS SHIT HAND DRYER?
Can be found: London Gate, 72 Dyke Road Drive, Brighton
Auto: Yes
Rating: MINUS-SIX POINTS ON THE SCHLEB SCALE
