Then came the weekend and I was glad of it. I’d been given a challenging assignment by my editor and would now have to get quick with the research and go and actually interview somebody. Somebody who could fill in the gaping holes of ignorance I’d not had time to furnish yet. Well, there I was, rocking up to a nice cafe in North Fitzroy. I parked my trusty old rust collecting push bike alongside some thoroughbred models and plonked my arse on a hip stool on the pavement.
I was there along with my interviewee and just getting down to business when some shiny legged pompous ass in cycling shorts made for his stallion. ‘Ah excuse me, let me move my bike for you,’ I proffered only to be rebuffed with ‘I hope my bike isn’t scratched,’ and a snotty sneer from his weasel like face. My interviewee was taken aback by such a show of bullshittedness that he started grinning with disgust, I slowly let the words sink in and was tempted to say many things but I know that such a velocunt will get his comeuppance on the lethal roads of Melbourne sooner or later, it’s inevitable.
Now, the interview has started and things are going nearly as well as Vlad Putin’s macho PR campaign but there wasn’t a dead bear or salmon or Chechen in sight. That’s when the disgusting piece of animated turd came along and sat right beside my coffee partner. I’d not seen this vile, wrinkled excuse of a scrotum for a few years and I was happy about the status quo.
I’d reported this walking fecal anomaly to the police for stalking and harassment and was only instances away from getting a restraining order when he miraculously stopped thinking that his world revolved around my every movement. Now he was barely three feet away and desperately trying to make eye contact. Desperately trying to worm his maggoty self into my consciousness.
I should state for the record that I in no way encouraged this scutty anus of a creature in his obsession but that is the way with delusional stalkers.
The interview went on swimmingly and I managed to keep my gaze averted from the miasma emitting sewer of his presence. My interviewee was totally unaware of this situation as he filled my microphone with stories, names and all sorts of priceless data that I could not do without, yet right beside him was somebody who shouldn’t be permitted to get out of the gutter. Harsh words maybe but when somebody crosses my line of tolerance they are surplus to the human race in my world and t’would be an unforgivable loss of face to even acknowledge their presence.
This charade went on for an hour and a half. The meeting was over, bill paid and as I gathered my bits and bobs and made to mount my bike I could see him sneakily trying to catch my eye. He failed like a politician trying to honestly fill out their expense report.
Well fuck you miserable man. You lose.