Monday, 13 June 2011

The Big Legge.

I really wanted to write another blog about my train unjourney on Thursday night but the news stole my thunder. It was the top story for most of Friday: "Non-Fictional Humans Lack Camaraderie - Shocker!" It turns out that what the staff of Southwest Trains "don't know" is that thieves stole a load of electrical cables from the train tracks, which is incredibly dangerous and funny. Commuters got so fed up waiting (and who isn't in a rush to get to Woking?) that they forced their way out of the train and walked along the tracks to the next station. That was the cause for at least another hour of our delayed journey. "Sorry for the delay. Wrong kind of lunks on the tracks". The electrical cables were replaced but couldn't be switched on until they were sure there were no people still walking on the line because it would have been incredibly dangerous and funny.

But that was all on the news so I have nothing to write about. Nothing except the one positive thing that happened while sitting there for hours beside a bush near Woking. You must remember this because I'm about to teach you how to look cool and sexy. You know how pathetic and hunched and wretched you are in real life? Well, there's a sure-fire cure. There's a time and place for everyone and I found mine on Thursday night on a broken down train beside a bush near Woking. I can only hope that you find your useless train one day because you will be transformed from the grey shame of excess flesh that you are into a beautiful, resplendent, rare and alluring butterfly. With a massive penis and a sports car.

Before I got on the train I needed to go to the toilet but I thought I'd wait. I just didn't think I'd be waiting that long. I don't like using the toilet on the train because I've never been keen on standing inside a tiny, pungent box that shoves me from side to side and insists my urine is expelled on to my leg. After three hours of sitting on a hot, airless, angry train beside a bush near Woking, I could hold it in no longer. I had to go. This meant taking all my stuff with me (I had stuff with me) and risking losing my seat to one of the unscrupulous standing commuters. I had just made my decision to get up and walk up the crowded train to the loo when this announcement came over the tannoy: "If there is a doctor or any medical professionals on board could they make their way to carriage D to assist a passenger. Any doctor or medical professional, especially if you have any insulin".

I got up and walked towards the toilet which just happened to be in carriage D.

Women turned their heads and stared at me. Men's eyes widened as I passed them. Every female mentally undressing me with their eyes and drooling lips with every male's bodies surged with jealousy, admiration, respect and, yes, lust. Women wanted to get with me, men wanted to be me. I could feel them all over me as I walked past every single one of them. My shirt slowly unbuttoning by itself and my smooth, firm, delicious pecs revealing themselves to the onboard hungry, wanton and entranced. Proceeding up the aisle with men patting me longer and slower than they should as I passed, while the long nails of beautiful, writhing, commuting women found themselves clawing at my thighs and back, my fingertips somehow finding their way into open, wet mouths.

I knew that the second I stepped over the shaking, insulinless woman and pressed open on the toilet door that this magnetism, this control I held, would end. But I was bursting.

All good things must come to an end but for about 48 seconds I had a good job, I was intelligent and respected and everyone wanted to sleep with me. When an onboard toilet door opens and the stench of urine looks you in the eye and says "wake up" you must always remember that you at least had that moment. Through all the heavy days and all the nights that won't stop picking on you, at least you had that moment. Beside a bush near Woking.

By the way, I wrote to Southwest Trains on Friday and asked for a refund. I've yet to hear from them.

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