Brit Bitches

practising the art of bitchary Brit style

Car jump! May 17, 2010

My hubby leaves for work at 3 am

Being the dutiful wife that I am, I always wave off my husband.

Bollocks, my car is in the way of his.

So off I trundle, in my dodgy stripey pj’s- man, I am looking mighty fine this morning.

I start the car, and………………….nothing. Just clicking.

Come on you bastard, please stART……………….

3 more attempts, and nothing.

Bloody bitch car, If you were a person, I’d bitch slap you with a giant foam hand.

You just don’t need this shit a 3 am in the morning, for fuck sake I wanted to go back to sleep, I’m tired! Oh yer, and the hubby needs to get to work.

Mr Smith jumps out of his car. I brace myself- clearly this is going to be my fault.

Hubby: “So what did you leave on?”

Oh so tired wife: “Nothing”, and I wasn’t even lying, there was nothing on in the car. Even I can’t lie that quickly at 3 am.

Hubby: “Must just have been having the doors open when you cleaned it yesterday”.

Ungrateful, slut of a car. I finely clean out the sess pool, which is your insides, and that’s how you repay me!

Fuck it.

Mental note: Keep the fucking car dirty, at least it might actually fucking work. Allowing me to get some fucking sleep.

Hubby: ” I’ll push, you steer”

Wife: ” Ok” I decide to do as I’m told, so far he has controlled himself, but one wrong move, or a slip of the tongue, might just push him over the edge.

I must be tired, normally pushing him over the edge, would be some kinda sport for me.

Anyway, he jumps starts the car.

It works -Hurrah!

Shit, no petrol to leave it running.

Will this be the moment that finely does him in.

Hubby: ” Right I’ll go ”

Woohoo! No petrol stop in the morning.

I really am a first class bitch.

Hubby returns. ” leave it running for 20 minutes, if it won’t start after that, the batteries fucked” Normally at this point, I would say something along the lines of No shit Sherlock or Do ya think???

I decide to keep it to a simple ‘ok, thank you’

Hubby drives off into the sunset, having dealt with the car situation in a reasonable manner!

My car is sick and obviously needs medical attention is this a good enough reason to chuck a sicky?

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Gay car. May 10, 2010

My boss thinks he’s a real ladies man.

He the head of a primary school.

He employs mainly thin blondes with pert boobs ( I must have slipped through the net ).

Well it gives him something to look at during meetings.

You think this is a joke, but trust me, throughout my whole interview, I don’t think he looked at my face once.

To be fair he might not be meaning to look at the breast department, but it must be hard to avoid that area when you’re a balding midget, as he is.

He seriously thinks himself a little bit of a ladies man, with his swarve (creepy), masterful (little man syndrome )presence.

Oh…how mistaken he is.

He is only one up, from a poison dwarf.

Everything about him oozes creepy perve.

You enter his lair (office ) at your own risk, a wondering hand could accidently grab a wedge of your arse at any moment.

There really is nothing about this man that would turn on a normal human being.

Unless of course you like purvey, midgets who drive  bright urine yellow Suzuki’s.

I mean, what the fuck was he thinking.

You might think you look like a hunk in tunks in you bright urine yellow 4×4, but everyone else thinks you look like a massive cock.

Mind you, it does kinda suit him. Cockhead man, cockhead car.

The gay car also suits some of his weirdo mannerisms, and it certainly complements some of his twatish sayings.

Which is mainly what comes out of his shit filled mouth.

 

The Spirit of the Punto! April 9, 2010

Having just picked up my darling children from school, I was sitting at the traffic lights, patiently awaiting the green light. When suddenly in the corner of my eye, i see two lads in there souped up Astra, goading me from behind the steering wheel.

For fuck sake, I’m on the school run in my Punto!

The sub banging, their foot balancing above the accelerator.

Obviously, I’m way to Mumsy to get involved. So I just keep staring at the lights.

The light changes to green.

The race is on.

Or so i thought, if of course he hadn’t stolled at the lights!

My 1.2 Punto with one middle age owner reins victorious!

 

Pot noodle rage!

A weapon of mass distruction!

I saw the funniest thing the other day whilst driving through Bromley. 

A bloke in an Audi convertable was having a war of words with a bloke in a lorry, when suddenly ‘long distance Clara’ launched a pot noodle out of the window.

 Mr convertible didn’t look quite so cool with  chicken and mushroom noodles dripping down his ‘just for men’!

 

Never Accept Lifts from Strange Old Men April 4, 2010

Deck chairs belong on the beach freak...they are not car passenger seats!

My cars been out of action for a week now! It is most un-fucking-convenient. So when the eccentric neighbor two doors away offers me a lift I take him up on it. OK so the car is old and a bit dirty. At this point I shall abstain from a cheap pun about: “So is his wife” Although I hasten to add that she is.

So I open door to old and dirty vehicle and my nostrils are instantly raped by the stench of bleach and well, to put it bluntly (cos course is my middle name) PISS! My eyes quickly scan the cars interior and I am struck by the fact that the passenger seat is missing! Where the fuck am I gonna sit?

Eccentric Neighbour: “I know what your thinking”

I bet you fucking don’t!?

Eccentric Neighbour: “Your wondering where your gonna perch your rear”

Ok…so he reads mind, as well pissing in his car!

Where am I gonna sit? Er…It had crossed my mind. I’ve seen old, dirty bitch wife get into this piss bucket. Is she fucking kneeling? Come to think of it, I’ve only ever seen her in this car, perhaps she’s a dwarf. A vertically challenged woman, to match her mentally challenged husband.

Eccentric Neighbour: “Ta da!” Suddenly and to my amazement he pulls out a deck chair from the boot. My mouth gapes open in astonishment as he positions it where the missing passenger seat should be.

Eccentric Neighbour: “You didn’t think that I’d let you sit on the floor did you?”

No of course not! I laugh a little nervously.

Forgive me, but I actually…foolishy thought that I might sit on a chair. One that was attached to a fucking seat belt!

I’m thinking surely this can’t be real…somebody must be filming me for some fucked up episode of Civillian PUNK’D.

Think of an excuse you dumb bitch! Why don’t you need the lift anymore? I can’t come up with anything, I don’t know if it’s the smell, or the whole bizareness of the situation, but my mind is just a complete blank. Come on! Shit, your usually so good at lying. WTF is wrong with you?

Eccentric Neighbour: “The floors reserved for the dog”

“Ahhh” I reply and nod. Thinking how much worse this would be, if he had just said it was reserved for dogging!

Eccentric Neighbour: “Well get in then”

In the absence of a good excuse and with my British trait of not wanting to be rude firmly embedded I decide to get in! I know…WTF was I thinking? I put my designer clad UGG foot into the car and am just detecting the first signs of a little squelchy dampness, when my Eccentric Neighbour continues his ramblings:

“Yeah we have to put old Lara on the floor, she’s incontinent see, pisses all over the place. Problems with her back passage…it’s like bloody Niagra falls”

Retract foot quicky and announce: “OMG you have just reminded me that my mother is coming today”

Eccentric Neighbour: “Ahh! And she’s got bladder problems as well has she?”

No she fucking hasn’t you strange, strange little man. Thanks for the offer, but I’m not ready to hurtle to my death in the piss-mobile just yet.

Moral of this story: Never, ever, ever, except lifts from stange old men! Well apart from my Dad, as he has recently given up pissing in his car!

 

Little Miss Petty Bitch Meltdown April 3, 2010

Little Miss Petty Bitch Secret Weekend Hangout!

I have the misfortune of working with the pettiest bitch that I’ve ever met. If you touch her glue stick it’s a hanging offence. Borrow her stapler and she’ll cut your tit’s off.

Sure she looks middle aged, respectable and harmless, but trust me there is something very angry about this bitch and yesterday my thoughts were confirmed.

‘Little Miss Petty Bitch’ has a major meltdown in the staff car park. Some upstart has made the fatal mistake of parking in her space.

Don’t they know who she fucking is?

Now instead of getting out of her car, going to the office and getting this other arse hole to move Little Miss Petty Bitch hits the accelerator and wheel spins off…nearly hitting my car in the process!

Do I honk my horn? No.

Do I verbally abuse her? No (should of done…normally would have done) but it’s early and I’m late and I can’t be arsed.

But friggin Little Miss Petty Bitch starts hurling a barrage of “fucking this and fucking that” in my direction. I can see from the way her arms are flapping and the speed that her head is spinning around that she is in a bad, bad place. Passive aggressive does not even begin to sum her up.

Amused I sit back in my heated leather seat and watch the freak show unfold!

Little Miss Petty Bitch does not disappoint. …next it is the steering wheels turn, she digs her nails in, takes a hold then frantically rocks backwards and forwards. The usually respectable hair disappears as this crazy fucker starts moshing…she’s really rocking out!

Perhaps she’s listening to Def Leopard? I always had her down as a ‘Steps’ kind of girl. That will teach me to judge a book by it’s cover!

More swearing…Wow, she’s fucking worse than me! This is some serious closet nutter.

All of this comes the day after she saw fit to bore the crap out of me telling me how everything she does she approaches as a Christian, cos her faith is central to who she is.

Yeah…looks like it bitch!

Well just remember this…Jesus sees you bitch, he knows you, the real you, the one that boils little furry creatures alive and makes voodoo dolls!

FREAK!


 

In the car wash, in the car wash…. March 27, 2010

The car was looking a bit dirty, I say a bit, we’re talking, parked behind a bunch of cows on a night out at an ‘all you can eat’ Indian buffet, kinda dirty!

So off we went to the car wash.

The husband decided he should drive, clearly I couldn’t point and aim (his words) the car through the machine.

On the moving conveyabelt we go.

At the end of the wash there is a clear sign, stating ” Drive straight ahead, slowly”.

However, it seems my husband took this as ‘ veer  hard left as fast as possible’.

So, out the car wash we speed.

Only to come to an abrupt halt, see-sawing over a foot high wall!

How the fuck did he manage that, we’re in a poxy arse Punto!

Anyway, balancing on the wall, He starts shouting at me. Well clearly it was my fault. why didn’t I point out the giant red sign in front of the drivers window. Telling him not to speed left!

He then starts shouting, ” right, lets swap places”. Picture this: 6 foot 4 male trying to climb over 5 foot 4 woman in Punto.

Swap places we do.

Out of the passenger door he gets, he walks over to the Polish car wash attendants. They all look over, the laughing begins.

Obviously, that fucker of a husband of mine had been cracking the ‘ bloody women driver’ jokes.

Bearing in mind, me and the kids are still dangling, on a main road, over a wall.

Over the 5 men come and start rocking the car to bump it back off the wall!

Down we come, minus a bumper.

The cheaky fucker, opens the driver’s door, and jokes to his newly found Polish friends, ” I’ll take it from here lads”.

What the Fuck man! It’s your knob jockey maneuvers that got us here in the first place.

Trust me, that’s the last thing he’ll be balancing on for some time!

Mental note: Kick husband neatly in the crutch if he ever blames his bad arse driving on me again!