Calm Down Dearest – London Calling

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This week young Eddie has been on a journey of self discovery. I went to that there London at the weekend where it turns out every street isn’t paved with gold but instead soiled needles and a new breed of youth that feel the need to say ‘blap’ a lot. Interestingly, I’ve researched this term and found it can mean two things. Either the youths were gesturing to me that they did indeed like my overly tight jeans and bouffant type hair through shaping their hand like a gun and ‘blapping’ towards my general direction… or that the ‘blap’ itself represents the sound that a penis makes when it hits your face.

‘Blap’.

Better still, one definition of it indicated that if I did indeed get ‘blapped’ and was metaphorically hit on my face with a penis, I would (and I quote) ‘become their property’. Amazing. So, if you see someone you’d rather like to own, simply walk across and ‘blap’ them. It’s as simple as that. I now belong to a set of N-Dub-esq youths with jaunty hats and go faster eyebrows.

Having been royally humiliated by a teenager’s floppy cock, I then managed to enjoy a thoroughly beer fuelled night where I got rather insanely drunk. I was so drunk in fact, that I nearly started an argument with a poor foreign man serving me at the takeaway shop for not understanding my order. I must have repeated my order to him about seven times as he clearly didn’t understand what I’d said thus causing me some annoyance. I hate having to repeat myself and never more so when I think it’s because someone can’t comprehend basic English. I was looking at him like he’d come into my house on Christmas day and shat on my turkey dinner. He on the other hand, was looking at me like I’d pillaged the insides of his children with a spork. The hatred between us built up over a number of minutes and I clearly remember thinking that because the male didn’t understand my perfect English he must therefore be an ignorant, pig headed forei… (It was at this point that a friend, clearly seeing my frustration, interrupted my thought process and said) ‘Eddie, what have you just ordered?’ I quite calmly stated that the little foreign male didn’t fully understand my order and that all I simply wanted was a…

‘Chicken Pounder’

(Which can I clarify, is neither a quarter pounder nor a chicken burger. It is actually a completely fictional food that because it is so imaginary, can only be found in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry). No wonder he was looking at me like I was an idiot. I was one. If he wanted to, he would have had every right to get his penis out and ‘blap’ it on my forehead… Or even worse, in my eye. It’s what I deserved.