Which One Is The Wig?

Who is who?

Well, it's obvious to those of us with beady eyes. Forhorn's on the left, Fielding's on the right. Equally clueless, equally disgusting.

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!'