Tommy vs Samuel Gordon Stewart II - The Chicken Wars

Now don't get me wrong, while my blog's readership has certainly grown over the last year or so (especially when I write about Big Brother), I realise I'm not exactly writing for the masses here. It's a small sub-culture of my mates who I guilt into reading the blog by always mentioning it, people who find it accidentally by clicking 'Next Blog', Mitch, and the lovely people redirected from Grods. And maybe Happy Healthy Harold. I don't know.

Part of the reason for my small-like-tom-cruise audience is because, aside from following a link at Grods or a Google search for 'thong kicking faggot', it's pretty tricky to find my blog on the cyberwebnet. And, I don't exactly write about topics of general interest. Well, aside from the Boobs blogs at least.

did somebody say gratuitous

And I'm pretty cool with that. I could get more hits by getting more links, but that's a bit of effort and.... no.

I've gotta be honest with you though, it does hurt to see someone like SamuelGordonStewart get a few hundred hits a day, while I'm stuck writing for chronic masturbaters and the unemployed. Don't want to toot my own horn, but I'd like to think I'm writing more interesting stuff than this. It's Samuel's latest blog, a fascinating story about ordering fast food and looking at people creepily.

Here is he describing some 'loonies' near the public phones...

On my way I passed a phone booth which was occupied by two teenage girls, one of them was standing right in front of the phone, whilst the other one was standing next to her talking on her mobile phone…neither of them were using the payphone!

/double take

LOITERING!@ How dare they hang around public pay phones. I mean, if this was 1996 and every person in Australia over the age of 7 didn't own a mobile phone, they might be getting in someone's way! What if someone didn't have to make an important phone call?! They have to be locked up. Zero tolerance. Strike three, phone hogging bitches.

After running out of excuses to stare at the girls near the phone, Sambo decides to get himself some lunch. He takes a number at Kingsley Chicken, and excitement ensues...

When I arrived at Kingsley’s Chicken I got ticket number “01″ from the machine...

Ooo, tell me more.

I waited as 98 and 99 went past, and then they reached “00″…the girl who was serving at the time called out in a rather thick accent something which sounded like “num-bo”…I’m sure she meant “number oh”, although why she couldn’t be clear about it and call out “zero” is beyond me.

Gosh, I know whenever anybody speaks to me in a thick accent, I dash home to the blog. Today, some bitch had the hide to tell me 'her 'ouse' was on fira'. lol. Dumb bitch.

Then came my turn, a young bloke, possibly Inidian, called out my number

POSSIBLY Indian! He may also have been plausibly Sri Lankan. Even conceivably Pakistani. This entire blog might even be ostensibly shit.

Hello to you to today sir I am calling from ANZ Bank

Me: “Could I get six chicken croquets and a jumbo chips please?”
Him: “Six crockets and the jumbo chips?”
I should point out that, being roughly based on a dutch food of the same name, the correct pronounciation of “croquets” is “crow-kays”, not “crockets” as the people at Kingsley’s seem to call them.

Yes, you should point that out. Why don't you write a blog about the Dutch pronounciation of 'insipidly boring'? And more to the point - what the fuck is a croquet?

After battling with the server over whether or not he wanted gravy, Sam finally pays up.

Finally it sunk in, and he informed me of the total price, I gave him some money, and he gave me the correct change…but it wasn’t over

Wow, you certainly don't write any more words than you have to, Tommy said, writing in each letter consecutively after the other on his keyboard, ensuring to hit space after each new word. I can't believe you made half a paragraph out of 'I paid for my freaky Dutch chicken.'

It got worse…he then turned around, got a cup, poured out a drink and put it on the bench in front of me…

Dear god.

Him: “Here is a free drink” (or something to that effect…he was mumbling…he didn’t tell me what drink it was though…would have been too bad if I had accepted it and been allergic to it, they might need a lawyer then)
Me: “I DON’T WANT…(mumbling)”

Geez Sam, what with all these hypothetically Indian people and thick accents, you don't know what could be in that cup. It might be Anthrax, or some kind of artificially sweetened soda beverage. Seriously, Sambo is the only person in the world who could suck the fun out of receiving a free drink.

I had already explicitly declined a drink twice, so why he thought I would want one is beyond me. A few minutes later one of the cooking people brought my order over, I thanked her for it and left…leaving the drink right there on the counter.

FUCKIN' FIGHT THE POWER MAN

The rest of my journey was sensible, and when I checked the radio, Glenn Wheeler on 2CC was asking people about commonly misspelled and mispronounced words, one of my personal hobby horses.

Wow, what an excellent way to end an action-packed day. You know, I've got a few hobby horses of my own. One of them is not acting like a 60-year old woman and using words like 'sensible' and 'hobby horses'.

It looks like this will be the first blog post I’ve sent by mail to anyone in a while…I wonder if Kingsley’s Civic Manager will reply?

Oh for sure man. The chicken shop manager will drop everything to attend to the customer bitching about pronounciation and receiving free stuff. He might even possibly fire the Indian who dared soil your chicken with his Eastern black magic.




I'm not bitter.