August 5th, 2011 at 4:36 pm by Stupid Rubbish

Hello.

Don’t you just f*cking HATE it when you end up having to talk to someone who had those amazing boggled eyes that randomly point in entirely different directions?

Yes. Of course you do, you’re almost normal.

A few days ago I was checking into a hotel – actually I was checking into a COMPLETELY f*ckING WRONG hotel but that’s not the point – and the bloke behind the counter had MAGIC WOBBLE EYES that pointed in entirely different directions like little wobbling face tw@ts.

I noticed instantly, of course, but didn’t say anything, of course.

The thing that made it all the more difficult was that I was trying to talk to him seriously about the fact that I wasn’t showing up on their system. I wanted to sort stuff out but my mind was utterly distracted by the universal conundrum we all face when in the position of talking to the wrong-eyed:

Which f*cking eye do I look at -which one WORKS?

Honestly, this bloke was so f*cking badly affected that NEITHER of his f*cking eyes were EVER looking at me. In the end I gave up leaning from side to side trying to catch one of them for a second and I just spoke to his f*cking nose.

I spoke to his f*cking nose.

He was like a strange and lumpy French chameleon wearing an impressively ugly tie. And I wasn’t on his system despite my brave attempts to step sideways into one of his many fields of vision.

I don’t know what the usual etiquette is in these situations but by the POWER OF f*ck I was tempted to just straight-up ask him which eye he would like me to point my f*cking conversation at.

I mean why not – he must KNOW he his face is malfunctioning right?

Unless his eyes are so f*cking BLOOTERED that he can’t see himself in a mirror unless he stands with his back to it and has therefore never even REALISED that his eyes point totally different ways?

Anyway…

Instead, I rode it out, like a slightly irritated and sweaty hero, weaving about like an angry cobra with a heavy rucksack and playing safe with the direct nose stare aimed purposefully at the dead-centre of his bizarre French face.

Firstly, I can’t believe I booked the wrong motherf*cking hotel.

Secondly, I can’t believe the hotel that I irrelevantly decided to try and check into had a receptionist that looked like a human space-hopper with two snow globes duct taped hopefully to it in lieu of an actual WORKING FACE.

f*cksake.

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