It wasn’t cake.

Some people are so f*cking SKIN CRINGINGLY awful it makes me want to cheerfully sick up my last meal and fashion it into the shape of a cock.

When you are in a busy social situation there is a RULE LAW that all humans need to f*cking well make themselves properly aware of in order to avoid looking like an over-eager c*ntbottle.

It’s the three times rule for any excited story telling.

If and when you attempt to f*ckBURST into an already running conversation like an eager toddler, then you run the risk of doing that thing where your words simply drop out into the collective airspace like a particularly unwelcome sh!t, leaving you looking and sounding like a vaginal hammer as the conversation rolls over your wet face and continues on it’s way.

The rule is: that you can drop out a maximum of THREE of these stinking unwelcome sh!ts… but if you so much as attempt a fourth you are an utter, utter, f*cking c*nt and you should die.

Today I witnessed a high-pitched, headwrong terminally dull woman break this rule by attempting to begin a sh!t story that nobody wanted to hear….. SEVEN f*ckING TIMES.

Seven times.

It was literally like watching a bull elephant violently rape a car crash right in front of my f*cking tender ears.

She kept leaning forward into the group – who were already talking about something else – and just blindly firing off the first few lines of her mule’s dirty COCK of a story trying to ease her way in like some kind of slippery reverse tw@tsnake trying to f*ck it’s way into a tight anus.

It was horrific, because NOBODY wanted to listen and NOBODY gave a sh!t about her floundering face.

It was like watching a fat child sh!t into it’s own hands desperately hoping it would still be cake.

It wasn’t cake.

I had to leave the table on the cusp of the sixth repeat and I heard the seventh as I left the room, there could even have been more… for all I know she is STILL sat there now like some kind of echo-voiced spacehopper made of purest HATE.

f*ck ME I hate some people.