Photo Set


K. Thor Jensen is a writer and cartoonist and the author of the graphic novels Red Eye, Black Eye and the upcoming Cloud Stories. Follow @kthorjensen on Twitter.

Source: garfbertcomic

A lady in her mid thirties sits by a bar and looks into the glass of wine she’s just bought for herself. It looks the same as the last time she looked at it, not two moments before. It was one moment before. Anyway, she’s looking at her glass of wine, wondering why she ever even ordered it. She’s not really a big fan of wine, but all those famous people she sees on TV sit around drinking wine all the time. She can’t really see the big deal. Maybe its a rich thing, maybe you have to be a rich person to understand the mysteries of wine. Maybe you have to own a Land Rover but never drive it anywhere except for the school run and to Tescos to get the deep meaning behind wine. Who knows?

The seat beside her at the bar is empty, as its nearly closing time. A man stumbles into the bar, using the walls to hold himself up, and he wobbles over to her. His attention is mainly focused on the bar itself, to be fair, that is his main destination point. Once he makes it there, then he can observe his surroundings in full, or in as full a way as a man who is incredibly drunk could possibly observe anything. He slaps his elbows down on the counter and uses his hands to hold his face up as he barks an order towards the man standing behind the bar.

Drunk: Yo! One beer, pour favour, meester.

Bartender: Are you drunk?

The drunk man looks around him in a wildly over exaggerated manner.

Drunk: Err… Why I suppose I am! Aren’t I in a fucking pub? Gimmie a beer.

Bartender: You got money?

The drunk man reaches into his jacket pocket and drops some scrunched up paper money and a handful of coins onto the counter of the bar.

Bartender: You promise you won’t make a scene or piss anybody else off?

Drunk: I’ll promise you whatever you want, darling. Gimmie a beer.

The bartender sighs and pours the man another pint of beer, as the drunk watches the pouring process carefully. He slides the finished pint over to the drunk and starts to root around the change on the counter, looking for the correct change. He decides to take a few coins for himself, as a little tip for having to deal with this drunk. The drunk doesn’t notice, he’s too busy worshipping the little glass of death right in front of him. He eagerly grabs it and chugs down a few gulps. The woman sipping at her wine beside him looks disgusted. Disgusted in the man for being so revolting. Disgusted in the bartender for taking his own little tip. Disgusted in herself for sitting there in the first place. She really should be at home. The drunk gulps down some more beer before he turns and looks at the woman. His eyes adjust to the shape in front of him, and he soon realises that he’s sitting beside a girl.

Drunk: … Hey gorgeous, what’s your name?

Woman: Cindy.

Her name isn’t Cindy.

Drunk: Cindy? That sure is a stupid name. I think that name would look better on my floor, heheheh, know what I mean?

Woman: No.

Drunk: Ha, don’t be such a proooooode, I’m just trying to talk to you.

Woman: Well you’re actually being a little irritating.

Drunk: Those are some nice tits you’ve got there. So how about you and me get out of here and find some bushes we could fuck in?

Woman: Eww.

Drunk: I get the vibe that you don’t wanna talk to me, huh?

Woman: Whatever gave you that idea?

She immediately regrets having said this, since this guy is probably too drunk to understand or appreciate sarcasm.

Drunk: Listen, I can’t remember what we were just talking about. Hey, so what say me and you find a bathroom stall or something? My house is really nearby, only like 14 miles away, we can get a taxi or whatever.

Woman: Listen, I don’t mean to sound rude, but obviously you don’t mind so I’ll just go ahead and sound rude anyway. You have to leave me alone, I just want to sit here in peace.

Drunk: Aww, whats a lovely girl like you doin’ drinking by your own anyway? Wouldn’t you rather be drinking with somebody? Somebody like meeeee?

He elongates words randomly, and that just gives her more of a chance to smell his rancid breath. She turns to him sternly.

Woman: Listen. I’m a woman, and as a woman I’m entitled to be able to sit here miserably and drink an alcoholic drink by myself without having to be annoyed by male chauvinists, alright?

The drunk man looks confused, and only partly because he’s drunk.

Drunk: Chavva-wha-wha? What’d you just call me?

Woman: A chauvinist.

Drunk: … Chevrolet?

Woman: No! I called you a chauvinist.

The drunk man continues to look confused.

Drunk: What’s that then, some kind of sandwich?

Woman: What? No. It means that you have a disparaging view of me simply because I’m a woman, that you believe you can treat other women whatever way you want and talk to them however you want simply because you’re a man and you think you’re better than me.

Drunk: Whu..? Ok hold on now, first of all you said some things really fast there. Second of all, can I have another beer?


The bartender inserts his head into this scene.

Bartender: I think you’ve had enough to drink.

The drunk man continues talking to the woman as if she were the bartender, not at all surprised about how she has apparently changed her voice.

Drunk: I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, meester!

Woman: …How drunk are you?

Drunk: What? Ok what is going on here?

The bartender shakes his head and removes himself from the scene once again.

Woman: I think you drink too much, and thats what brings on some of these chauvinistic thoughts you have. I’m sure when you’re sober you’re perfectly normal and rational, but you also have to understand that you can’t talk down to women like that, drunk or otherwise. We’re all the same people here, right? Being chauvinistic is like being racist, and by that I mean it’s unacceptable. We live in the 21st century, we have advanced so much, humanity has come so far and done so much, and yet we can’t even learn how to be respectable to each other.

The drunk pauses, mulling this all over. For once the words seem to have gone in one ear and then lodged themselves in the brain, unable to escape through the other ear. The man sits thoughtfully, clutching his pint as if his life depended on it.

Drunk: Well I guess I can be a little belligerent when I’ve been drinking… I mean I didn’t mean to offend anyone…

Woman: You should have heard yourself earlier, you sounded quite horrific. You wanted to find some bushes we could… ‘fuck’ in.

A smile creeps across the drunks face, as if to say ‘heh, thats right, I DID say that, classic me!’ but then it disappears once he realises the woman is glaring at him.

Drunk: I’m sorry… that’s just the way I do things, y’know? Just how I was brought up…

Woman: Well that is a lame excuse. You’re a grown man, for Gods sake! How can an adult like yourself have gotten this far in life thinking thats its ok to talk to people like that, simply because thats how things worked when you were younger? Can’t you empathise with your fellow man at all? Are you incapable of understanding that other people have feelings too, and that the way you conduct yourself around people directly impacts those feelings?

The drunk man loosens his grip on his pint significantly, his fingers barely wrapped around it now.

Drunk: I just… nobody said it was a bad thing… see I saw women and they liked it…

Woman: Well that’s a lie. Nobody likes being spoken to as if they are insignificant and worthless.

The drunk man sits quietly and thinks about all this silently. The women has another sip of her disgusting wine. All she wanted to do was get drunk in a place that wasn’t her own house, now she’s starting to think that it would have been easier to just stay at home with that bottle of gin. Ah well, there’s always tomorrow.

Drunk: … Was I really  that far out of line?

Woman: Yes. You were making me incredibly uncomfortable, and making it seem like I was unable to do some of the most basic things around. Imagine if somebody went around spoiling your trips to the bar, making you feel uncomfortable and vulnerable every time you had a drink.

Drunk: … That’d really suck.

Woman: Yah huh it would suck. So y’know, maybe next time you feel like being obnoxious and lecherous around women, you’ll take a step back and think it through.

Drunk: Yeah… yeah, you know what? That makes sense, maybe I have been a bit of a pig. That’d explain why I’m so miserably single.

Woman: Being single doesn’t have to be a miserable thing, just so you know.

Drunk: Well you know what? I’m going to try all that, y’know? Maybe I should drink less, be a bit less obconcious or whatever it was you just said.

Woman: Yes, definitely be a little less… obconcious. People will like you more.

The drunk sits there for a little longer. He looks at his almost finished pint of beer, and he pushes it away from himself. He stands up from his chair and adjusts his hat (crap, did I mention he was wearing a hat earlier? Shoot. Well he’s wearing a hat, as evident by the manner in which he happens to be adjusting it at this present moment and time) and nods solemnly at the lady.

Drunk: Hey, I’m sorry I was such a dick earlier. I really didn’t mean to scare you or annoy you or nothing.

Woman: S’alright.

Drunk: Maybe you’re right. Maybe everybody should just take a step back and understand that life revolves around more than one person, that we should be a little bit more respectful to those that we share this planet with. For if we were on this planet by ourselves, it’d be a terribly boring existence.

Woman: Exactly.

Drunk: Well then I shall bid you good day, m’lady. I apologise once again for my deplorable behaviour, and now I shall take my leave, by exiting through that door right over there.

The drunk points to the doors that lead to the toilets. She goes to correct him but finds its more fun to watch him stumble into the bathroom, then to stumble out again and eventually stumble through the correct door, the door that leads to the outside of the pub. She smiles to herself, maybe she was actually able to reach this man. It seems unlikely, since he was pretty drunk, but she feels good, good that she might have done a little bit of good in the world. And the man, from that day on he decided to turn over a new leaf, to be less of a horrible person. He decided from then on that he would do his best to be respectful to everybody. And then a piano fell on him.


When I was younger my friend came up to me and he was all ‘Dude, I’ve seen the funniest film ever, you have to see it. You’ll love it’ and I was obviously dubious. The funniest film ever, huh? Pretty lofty expectations there. I’d love it, would I? I’m notoriously empty of love, for something to make my black little heart beat with joy would be quite a thing, something to cherish forever. I highly doubted there was such a thing, something that could alleviate my unhappy teenage heart. But the boy insisted and I felt like I should at least watch the film, just to see what it was like.

Let me make clear that back then, and since then, I have been told about the best film ever, or the funniest film ever, or the bestest ever whatever. Almost every time I’ve been disappointed with the build up. No film could live up to the extreme hype that we give to stuff. Like we feel the best way to persuade someone into enjoying something you also enjoy isn’t to just say ‘Hey I like this thing, maybe you’ll like it too’, we have to be all ‘oh DUDE! Its the best thing ever, its like the best film you’ve ever seen TIMES A MILLION! Its so good, its like ice cream and pizza and being rich all had a baby and the baby was a film, and the baby film grew into adulthood and turns out it was a woman film with big ol’ boobies, THATS how good this film is!’. Which is just pointless.

The problem I find with comedy films is that comedy as a subject is incredibly broad, it can reach everybody, but comedy films are always very focused as if they can be categorized. Comedy films for kids, and for teenagers, and for adults, gross out comedies and romantic comedies and dark comedies, which meant all the jokes were specific jokes, y’know? There was no zaniness or slapstick or anything else that everybody could understand and enjoy, there was no real imagination or out-of-the-box kinda jokes (since I guess they don’t sell tickets, or whatever) and they always had subplots or other complications that took away from the comedy. I wanted wall to wall laughs of just the weirdest, most imaginative comedy ever. FIlms like that are notoriously difficult to find, so my expectations for this one were very low.

Anyway, so I go round to his house after school one day, and he has the film on this old VHS, his dad had taped the film off the TV years ago. Already I was dubious, but we went ahead. The film started as he told me the name of the film, Mr Jolly Lives Next Door (part of the Comic Strip Presents…, a series of films made by some madly funny comedians in the 80s and 90s, but I had no knowledge of this when I was watching it. None of that meant anything to me at the time) and still wasn’t swayed. That was a strange name for a film, right? So I’m sitting there with my arms folded in a vaguely huffy manner, waiting for this train wreck of a film to be over.

Man, I’ve never been so happy to be wrong. Hell, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be that happy ever again. That film nailed everything I found funny. It was as if somebody had taken all the ideas I’d have put into my perfect comedy film, and then made it 20 years earlier. It really, legitimately, was the greatest thing I had ever seen. After years of having watched comedy films with weak comedy and crappy plot points just for a crappy smushy feel-good ending, I got a good hour of full on jokes, slapped into your face as quick as you can process them. Admittedly not all of them were good, but still the fact that this film was going out of its way to make you laugh was a plus point. I didn’t get characters people could identify with, or likeable protagonists or a heartwarming ending, it went against everything what makes a successfully selling comedy film from Hollywood, and it was the bestest thing ever. I was so happy. It kind of felt like they’d made it just for me and my friend, we knew about this little film while the rest of the world had no idea. The rest of the world had American Pie and we had Mr Jolly Lives Next Door, and we were winning. 

Anyway, in case you didn’t know, one of the lead actors and writers in that amazing piece of film was called Rik Mayall, and he died today. And so this post is all about why that totally sucks. Go watch Mr Jolly Lives Next Door, you might not find it funny, but you gotta admire the way they feed you jokes. They want you to laugh, whereas Hollywood comedies these days expect you to laugh. I dunno, I’m too sad to type stuff.


What happens when you get an undercover cop that needs to go back to primary school to pull some kind of weird, contrived, awkwardly put together undercover plans that involves going undercover in an undercover-y kind of way. Because when you’re an undercover cop, there’s only one kind of cover you understand, and its under. Its Primary-Cop Undercover Madness, the new summer blockbuster starring some douchebag! Here’s a clip.

The undercover cop is sitting in the middle of a class room full of primary school children. He’s wearing an ill fitting school uniform from the 1920s, complete with stupid little hat. He’s also wearing a leather jacket with his police badge on it over the top. He’s sat behind a desk that is definitely too small for him, sitting on a chair that is also definitely too small for him. He jostles uncomfortably in his seat as the teacher draws something on the blackboard (or African American board for the politically correct people who lurk amongst us) for the class.

Teacher: Ok children, who can tell me what shape THIS is?

She points at a triangle she has drawn on the board. All of the children really start to think hard about this, scratching their chins in an overexaggerated manner because children can’t fucking act. The undercover cop shifts uncomfortably in his seat again, waiting patiently for one of these little idiots to answer the question. Nobody does, so eventually he slaps his fists down onto the table in anger.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Its a goddamn triangle you stupid pricks!

Teacher: Dirk! You aren’t allowed to use naughty language in this classroom, how dare you! You have to go sit in the naughty corner.

All the children whoop appropriately as they get to watch one of their fellow classmates be punished. Dirk Cop does not look amused.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: I ain’t sitting nowhere! Hurry up and tell us all what a fucking rectangle is already!

Teacher: Go to the naughty corner or there’ll be no chocolate milk for anybody later!

All the children groan and start throwing balled up pieces of paper at the undercover cop.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Alright, alright! I’ll sit in the fucking naughty corner already!

Teacher: Dirk! That’s a double punishment for using so much bad language!

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: What? DOUBLE punishment? Oh goddamn it!

Teacher: Triple punishment!

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop:

Dirk stands up and kicks his desk over, then angrily goes to sit in the punishment area, throwing crayons all over the floor as he sits down and puts his feet up on the little desk.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: I fucking hate the naughty corner…

One of the kids seated close to Dirk raises his hand urgently.

Timmy: Miss, miss! Dirk just said another naughty word!

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Oh, you little prick! I’m gonna kill your family for that one..

Teacher: Dirk Cop, how many times must I tell you to watch your mouth?! I am trying to teach a class here!

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Well you’re not trying very fucking hard, are you?

Timmy: Stop being mean to teacher!

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Shut your face, you fucking snitch! Oh I’ve had it up to here with you!

Dirk Cop pulls out his gun and points it point blank at Timmys head.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: I’ve had enough of this shit, alright? Stop fucking me around all the goddamn time! Look, I’ll sit in the fucking naughty spot or whatever right now, ok? But at lunchtime, I’m having chocolate milk with everybody else, and at playtime I’M getting first dibs on the slide! Ok?

Everybody remains silent as Dirk continues to point a gun at Timmy.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: OK?!?

The class all murmer that its ok.

Teacher: Fine. Just sit down and put the gun away.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Heh… thats what ALL the ladies say to me!

Dirk elbows Timmy in the ribs to try and get him to appreciate the funny joke he just told, but Timmy is scared from the gun and starts crying and stuff.

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: Heh, what a prick. You wouldn’t last five minutes on the street, man. I’ve SEEN things. Scary things. 

Dirk pulls out a cigar and starts to light it up. The teacher looks angry, and slaps a meter ruler down on her desk to demand attention.

Teacher: No cigars!

Dirk Cop, Undercover Cop: What, seriously? Man, going to school is hard…

Dirk throws the cigar out a nearby open window, but it turns out the window wasn’t actually open, so the cigar bounces off the window and lands on little Timmy, burning him to death. End of clip. Its the feelgood film of the summer, show it to your grandparents. They’ll LOVE it. 


So I’m just sitting on my stoop outside my house, drinking a beer and smoking a joint. Real casual like. I’m a casual person, its just how I do things. So I’m drinking away or whatever, and suddenly this guy in a suit and shitty looking sunglasses walks up to me carrying a briefcase and looking all shifty like. I mean, I’m a guy drinking a beer and smoking a joint on my stoop, I know what shifty looks like. It looks like me, and right now this guy is out shifty-ing me by a mile and a half. 

Are you the Jackal? He asks in a shifty and terribly written manner.

Er.. Yeah, sure, I’m the Jackal. I’m totally the Jackal! I respond, with an odd amount of enthusiasm. 

The man looks at me carefully, up and down. Whats the codeword?

Er… The codeword. Lets see now… the… codeword, you say? Well, if that’s what you want, then let me assure you I can hook you up, buddy! What was it you wanted again, the codeword? Ok, let me just rattle the old skull here, the codeword… hmm… The codeword… is… er…. Bicycle.

The man looks me up and down again, and a nervous little smile cracks over his face, as if he now realises he has to kill a man in broad daylight, and while this thought excites him terribly, he’s also not well versed in the delicate art of disposing of a dead body in the middle of daylight. They don’t teach ‘em anything in the civil service. Or whatever the fuck kind of service he is involved with. 

That isn’t the codeword. He shakes his head slightly and derisively at me. And man, do I hate getting a head shaked slightly and derisively at me. Man I was angry. 

That bloody is the codeword! See, they changed the codeword while you weren’t around cause they knew you couldn’t be trusted. 

The man looks kind of nervous now, he didn’t expect such backchat. How do you know?

I’m the goddamn Jackal, bitch. I know shit. I know your mothers name is Gladys. I didn’t know his mothers name is Gladys, I don’t even know why I said that. The adrenaline was getting to me. 

Fortunately for me the man backs off a little. Wow, you really are the Jackal. He knows things. Man, what a shot in the dark that one was! Who knows anybody called Gladys, now really? What a hundred to one shot that was. I fucking SHOULD be the Jackal, I’m way better at his job than he is.

Alright Jackal, fair enough. Tell me what I want to hear and the briefcase is yours.


… Tell you what you want to hear. Tell YOU what you want to hear, yeah? Just getting things clear. Ok. So, you… er… you want to hear… you… er… So, you want to hear things, do you? Ok, wrap your hearing devices around this little chestnut. Ok, so… erm… Ok. You,.. want to hear… that… You want to hear information about who will win the Isle of Man TT motorbike racing?

What? The man seems a little nervous.

Ha, never mind about that, that was just a joke, obviously. Erm… you really want to hear all about my last trip to Dublin Zoo?

The man looks confused now. Is this a joke?

… Yeah. Yeah, you know me, my crazy sense of humour! Ha ha! Ah. I’m such a crazy jokester. But enough jokes! You want to hear… the sound… of… music…?

I’m not playing around here, Jackal. You know the drill. You want the briefcase, then you tell us what we need to hear. Otherwise, we throw this briefcase away and arrest you for conspiracy against the state, major people trafficking, kidnapping, kicking a dog, smoking a joint on the street, and a fuck ton of other stuff that I can think of between now and the ride back to headquarters. We’ve had enough of you jerking us around with your cryptic answers and messing around! The man is getting quite agitated, and is ironically making quite a scene for such a secret agent.

Alright, alright! I was getting impatient now, I wanted to know what the fuck was in that briefcase. I had forgotten all about me smoking and drinking til that guy reminded me about it, so just for some added theatrics I took another puff while drinking my beer, Kramer style. Anyone who gets that reference is all right by me.  Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.

The man lets out a sigh of relief and straightens his suit a little. Apparently this Jackal guy is a bit of a dick, just like me. Man, being an informant to the government must be such a sweet job, you get to piss off a bunch of pricks and then those pricks give you a suitcase full of crap. Brilliant. 

Ok, I’ll tell you what I know, EVERYTHING I know. Basically… erm… Stay on the right path. You guys are getting close. That instinct you have? It’s 100% right, stick with it. You guys are close, and you know it. 

The guy looks me up and down again. From what I’ve been able to decipher from this conversation, this Jackal guy talks in riddles and is a dick, so I just played that up. I stare deep into this guys eyes, determined not to break character. The guy stares back, but eventually he shrugs and hands me the briefcase. Sweet. We just needed this kind of inside information to be able to go forward from here, now we’re all set.

You sure are. I grab at the briefcase in a very untactful manner. Gimmie gimmie, mine mine mine! Hehehe…

Alright Jackal, you take it easy. And hey, remember! If all this info you gave us was wrong, we’re going to put a bullet through the head of every member of your family!

Not if I get there first… I mumble under my breath, but fortunately this mug has gone before he could have heard that. Anyway, I fumble with the briefcase, trying to get it open. Finally I smash it off one of the steps on my stoop, and bingo! It pops open, and I take a look inside.

Inside the briefcase is a signed copy of All That Matters by Michael Bolton. And nothing else. I throw the CD out of the briefcase and search it inside and out, but there’s nothing else in the case. What a fucking waste of time, Michael Bolton? Who makes a deal with the fucking FBI or whatever just to get a signed copy of a shitty album by Michael Bolton? Although Go The Distance was a pretty bad ass song, but still. 

I lean back against my stoop, taking another long sip of beer. Hey, at least I got a free briefcase out of the whole thing, right? And a free coaster, I guess. Also I learned that its really easy to bullshit people. I could be one of those bullshit psychics who goes around telling people that all their dead friends and relatives still feel pain in the afterlife. What a pack of wankers they are. That is what this post is really about, how despicable those psychics are. Pack of cunts. Go Broncos. 


Super Nintendo and Famicom.

A couple are sitting outside a coffee shop, sipping some chocowhockoteenos underneath a big umbrella or whatever. The guy leans back in his chair,a big foamy moustache upon his upper lip. He wipes away some of the coffee foam with his forearm lazily.

Guy: So there’s this show, right? It’s incredible, its like a pawnbroker shop, yeah? Its so fuckin’ good.

The lady sips from her unusually tall glass gently, with none of the foam lingering on her lips. She is a lady, after all, much classier than the ne’er-do-well who sits opposite to her. Why she finds herself shackled to this man is a mystery, one she occasionally ponders over. One supposes the fear of dying alone trumps everything. 

Girl: That doesn’t sound interesting.

Guy: It is, its so fuckin’ good. You gotta watch it, seriously. 

The guy crumples up the napkins he was given whenever he received his coffee, and starts to rip them up absentmindedly, scattering the pieces all over the table in a terribly irritating manner, a manner that irritates the girl. She puts up with it. He may be an insufferable douchebag, but at least he doesn’t murder people. Right?

Guy: Its fuckin’ incredible. These guys own their own pawnbroker shop in like, Miami or Florida or Vegas or somefink, I dunno, some fuckin’ place. So they own this pawn shop, and people keep coming in to pawn off all their shit.

Girl: I still don’t understand.

She takes another sip of her coffee concoction.

Girl: Pretty sure I asked for cinnamon sprinkles on this.

Guy: Fuck your sprinkles, I’m trying to tell about this thing! So these guys work in this pawn shop, right? And all these other dicks come in and hand over their valuable crap, and the pawnbroker guys pay their money to these guys. You know how pawnbroking works, right?

Girl: I guess. Its not really an area that I tend to pay attention to, y’know? I think this is the first time anyone has ever asked me if I know how pawnbroking works, it doesn’t come up in my life too often. Like, how often does someone ask you if you know how bin lorries work? Not often, right? Because thats a stupid thing to inquire about, and its a stupid thing to make a TV show about. So why would I care about a show about pawn brokers?

Guy: You don’t know what you’re talking about, this show fuckin’ rocks. You watch shows about women who collect shoes, and you watch shows about people sitting around gabbing about other television shows, you don’t know a fuckin’ thing. So anyway, this show, right? The pawnbrokers take all this valuable expensive stuff from these guys, and they pay ‘em a certain amount of money for it. But here’s the hook, the pawnbrokers are all so fuckin’ clumsy!

The guy pauses, waiting for some kind of reaction from his girlfriend. She doesn’t make one, staring into her coffee lazily, gently stirring it with one of those stupid wooden sticks they give you in Starbucks or wherever.

Guy: Thats the hook! They’re all so fuckin’ terrible at their jobs!

He pauses again, waiting for a reaction; the girl signs quietly.

Girl: That doesn’t sound interesting.

Guy: It fuckin’ is! Like this one time, they had this really fuckin’ expensive car, and the pawn guy forked over like, fuckin’ loads of cash for this car, and as soon as they got the car they like, reversed it into the wall of their yard! Bunch of fuckin’ idiots! This other time, they were inspecting a necklace, really expensive piece of kid, you get me? And then this fuckin’ idiot drops the necklace and accidentally steps on it, ends up owing the person a crap ton of money and they don’t even get to sell it on themselves!

The girl rests her chin against her hands, and her elbow against the table, as she looks out into the street and wonders what her life might have been like if she actually followed her dreams, if she actually got an education. If she didn’t spend all day watching bullshit TV programs with her idiot boyfriend.

Girl: I still don’t see the big deal.

Guy: Because they’re so shit at their jobs! They are the worst pawnbrokers ever! Possibly the worst PEOPLE ever! Its so fuckin’ good. One time they got these honest to God Roman coins, and they accidentally handed them out as change in their own shop! Bunch of fuckin’ idiots. I could run a better pawnshop.

Girl: … Thats it? Thats the whole story?

The guy leans back in his chair, confident that he has just relayed a perfect anecdote.

Guy: Fuck yeah. What a bunch of idiots. You gotta see this show, seriously.

The girl sits there, breathing out and in again as humans tend to do, and she wonders if this is what the rest of her life is destined to be. Hanging out with the dumbest man in the universe, watching stupid television shows, and punctuating the watching of shows with the occasional trip to an expensive and shitty branded coffee shop to discuss said television shows.

Girl: Maybe we can watch it when we get home then.

Guy: Fuck yeah, I’ve got them all ripped on the internet, we’re gonna watch them all when we get home! Seriously, you’ll fuckin’ love it.

Girl: Ok…

She sips the rest of her coffee slowly. The guy knocks his cup off the table and leans further back in his chair; he doesn’t care. What’s he got to care about? He’s sitting there with a relatively hot girl who listens to everything he has to say, and she fuckin’ loves it. All he has to do is buy her coffee every once in a while, and listen to her talking about her boring problems or family or whatever. The two of them eventually walk away, away from their seats outside in the mild sunshine. They walk away to their own home, where they can drink cheaper coffee as they watch some kind of terrible television show, and they both mutually and silently agree that they kind of hate each other, but are better off being together, because it makes them so much better than single people. Cause all single people do all day is sit around drinking coffee and watching shitty TV shows.

I ain’ta scared of nothing, not when I have my Hello Kitty plasters

I ain’ta scared of nothing, not when I have my Hello Kitty plasters

Makin’ some bootleg Figurehead CDs. Who wants one? 

Makin’ some bootleg Figurehead CDs. Who wants one? 


I love this so so much. It makes me happy.