Thursday, July 03, 2003

The Return of the Battleaxe

Ruddy young 'ooligans t'day make me sick ('scuse me Paki)! Always in such a rush t' get somewhere where they shouldn't be, doin' something what they no doubt shouldn't be doin'! They 'ave no respect an' no time f'r their elders no more!
I 'ad one be'ind me in Iceland last week.
"Madam!" 'ee says, all stuck up an' 'aughty like. "You've bin standin' in front o' the black puddin' counter f'r three quarters of an 'our now an' nobody can get past!"
"What's y'r 'urry?" replies I all witty an' knowledgable like. "Your longjohns on fire?"
"I'm ninety-eight an' I fought in two world wars, y' know!" 'ee says as though it was worth sommet.
So I kicked his Zimmer out from under 'im and said, "So w'at!? I'm an 'undred and nintey two and I 'ad t' defend me 'onour against the nig nogs durin' the Boar war!"
Course then a fight broke out an' 'is false teeth ended up in the cooked meats cabinet.
Two bobbies were called in from where they was shoppin' in Woolies and we were both arrested an' locked up f'r the night by the fascist bastards ('scuse me Nipples)!
Now I'm pregnant an' it's all 'is fault.
If my 'Enry was alive 'ee'd 'ave a fit. But that's because 'ee was epicentic.