June 17th, 2011 at 8:30 pm by Stupid Rubbish

I saw a man do a good fall down today in the middle of the street.

Possibly a classic.

It was one of those weird moments when I don’t quite know how to feel sorry for someone I don’t know at all doing something that makes me want to practically sh!t myself laughing.

It’s tough.

I mean deep down I could see this guy was a normal random chap with a Kangol mac and middle-aged-combats. He had the kind of silvery black hair that utter tw@ts call salt and pepper. He was very much a normaller.

An inoffensive normaller.

Problem is he did that thing – you know – that thing when you catch the very front of your shoe (or in this case cross training boot) on the slightly raised lip of a flagstone or drain cover.

We’ve all done it.

And at sometime in our lives some of us have no doubt done that other thing whereby your stupid brainhead suddenly decides, at the exact point of trippage, that a REALLY GOOD f*ckING PLOY to save face would be to simply disguise the little trip by making it the start of a short run or trot.


A short run or trot.

So you trip, take a quick step… then automatically start running.


Problem is, now you are trotting down the street and you f*cking instantly realise that you have NO WAY of stopping without getting the overwhelming feeling that EVERY SINGLE PERSON in the street knows that your run was too short to be real and you are, in fact, a c*nt.

As if anyone is even AWARE that you exist.

Nevertheless, you assume that if you stop, even up to 50 yards up the street – some of the SAME PEOPLE from the other end of the street will now know your run was a f*cking LIE! A cheap stupid lie because now they can ALL see that you were just FALLING OVER…. SPASTIC! YOU f*ckING SPASTIC!

So you run on.

I have a friend who did this once and accidentally ran 2 miles home because he was that scared of stopping.


Our hero did this thing too, he tried the trotting ploy – he tried to disguise the initial trip into a little energetic and wholesome trotf*ck to try and save face, but here’s the thing.

If you ever do this – firstly DON’T but if you do anyway, at least look the f*ck where you are going. Seriously DO look the f*ck where you are going.

Plan the trot.

That way you will avoid tripping over a flagstone and then immediately and irrelevantly running directly into a sultry and cougar-like female nurse pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair.

Also you will not have to limply hurdle the old man, failing miserably, like a sh!t, white Kriss Akabusi, bizarrely pressing your genital region into the elderly man’s surprised old face as you bellow f*ckSORRY! and knock him OUT of his chair and onto the floor.

Equally you won’t have to dither about like a red faced c*ntBOBBIN whilst you vaguely assist us in putting the little old fella BACK in his chair whilst we all admire the nurse, or Nurse Lindsey, for those of us who didn’t have to leave immediately like frightened animal perverts.

It’s not f*cking rocket science is it?



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