Fat Bird, AGAIN!

Bitch, fuking cow, WHORE, die you festering cunt.

....And that introduction was brought to you by my Tourettes Syndrome. What had brought it on was Fat Bird.

I had some friends round to visit this afternoon. Just your usual convivial chat sort of thing, mostly about work. Into the middle of it wades Fat Bird.

If you're a regular reader you may know that I loath the bitch [She loathes me too]. She's not met either of these poor sods before

Conversation instantly halted. Not that we didn't want to include her, well, I didn't, but it's just that she only ever wants to talk about either work [she's just finished her law degree and is working for some poxy company or other] or food.

Straight away, she launched into a lecture about whatever she's working on and how much it's going to cost / how big a case it is and how they have breakfast video conferences with the office in Manchester. In one fell swoop she's covered both of her favorite topics and boasted too. It fell a bit flat because Manchester is not exactly a fine and fancy metropolis, more of an open sore on the face of the earth.

When she'd finished, our conversation resumed.

When it became obvious that nobody gave a toss / was remotely impressed by what she said, she hefted herself out of the chair and stormed off.

Not until her room [sty / byer] door close did anybody laugh.

[but when we did, we made fukin' sure she heard it!]