Rucksack & Squeak

Just my luck, the most annoying, squeaky moose in Manchester has just sat next to me and started squawking into her phone. Good God, do I really deserve this after such a hard day at work? Riled I could quite easily say: 'shut up please' or, 'your sparkly rucksack is on my knee' or, 'please stop scratching the seat in front with your bank card' or dare I say; 'sit somewhere else you irritating b*st*rd' but I haven't. I've acted like a gentleman and quietly ignored her; probably to my own detriment.

As the uncomfortable train journey continued her incessant squeaking had begun to give me a headache. Get your f*cking bag off my knee! I can't cope, I've had enough. To quote Van Helsing: "she was clearly of child-brain" as her every other word was 'n'stuff' and 'n'like' followed by a monotonous 'oh yes... no'. Irritated to the point of self-harm, I was on the verge of getting off the train (or chopping her head off) when luck saved me, she got off at the next stop.

If I wasn't so tolerant I'd have put a gun in her mouth and blown her head off but not before screaming: "Squeak on this m*th*r f*ck*r! Arghhh!'