Queue Goblins II

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I know, I know, I've banged on about these beasts before but, Jesus, they don't know when to stop, do they? No, literally, they don't. I'm talking about the idiot shoppers who walk through the doors of a shop before stopping dead to gaze about the place as if it were the Sistine Chapel. Sod the poor bastards who have slammed into the back of them and are now piling up like motorway slush. Same goes for escalators. These goblins have all of 20 seconds to get carried from one floor to t'other - so it's safe to assume they know they are on a moving stairs in a shop - before stumbling off and coming to a dead halt at the top. Behind them there's carnage on the conveyor belt of humans, hair snagging, limbs tangling and infants disappearing into the greasy workings below.
Please, someone tell me what it is like to be so utterly bewildered that, even when you're entering a shop so rammed that you need to breathe in, you actually forget that you are in the company of other human beans? That welding yourself to the spot in the very doorway of the store makes a stunning amount of sense? Don't these people fret about the amount of snot that's being smeared on their coats by the poor bastards behind them?
And it's not that I'm an advocate of rushing about the place like a Broadmoor escapee. It's just that neither am I a fan of having intimate lurchings with whoever the frig has ground to a halt in front of me either. Look, if I want to find the hot cross fucking buns in Asda I'll make an educated bet that they're in the bread aisle and keep walking towards it. I won't set up camp in the foyer and rummage in my bag for my bloody radar equipment. 
Shopping is enough of a pain in the arse as it is. This idiocy really isn't helping is it, my little store-struck friends. Just put your brain in before you get your purse out and, to revert to the technical jargon, shift your frigging arse. 
I've said it once and I'll say it again. Goblins. 

Phone Goblins

Just. Shut. Up.

Another prime example of how mobile phones have destroyed humanity. Yesterday I was sitting in a small group of people, all of us discussing some shit or other, when one of the group got out her phone. You know what she did? Dialled a number and started a conversation with whoever the fuck she called, barking so loudly that the rest of us were unable to carry on our conversation.
What, in the barren land of bollocks, was that all about? It was so rude on so many levels that I've actually lost count of them. In fact, I was embarrassed for her, seeing as she was acting like a wanker who'd snorted a record weight of wank. 
Couldn't she have left the conversation for later (I don't recall it starting with "Run! Run for your life!")? Couldn't she have left the group to make it in private? Or couldn't she have conducted it at a level of decibels that wouldn't have resembled a Metallica gig?
Worse, said group member wasn't some acne-riddled, hoody-wearing oik with the manners of a truffle-snuffling boar. It was, in fact, a 50-something woman who sure as shit should have known better.
I know, I know, I sound like a Daily Mail reader. If it's any consolation, I hate myself for it. But spare me the glaring rudeness will you? And said rudeness must be rude if this F-bombing kraken is arsed over it. 
Bloody phone goblin.

Calling All Car Goblins

Not quite close enough...

Just a short letter to the guy who parked next to me in Tesco's car park yesterday...


Dear Sir
It was lovely to meet with you yesterday. You have no idea how overjoyed I was when I found that you'd parked so close to my car that I was unable to get into it via the driver's door. In fact I was hardly able to reach the handle of said door so congratulations to you for splitting the atom with your battered shit heap of an Astra.
I have no doubt that your lack of thought for fellow car park users was entirely down to you being so deep in thought about the East African food crisis. Was that why you were in Tesco perchance? To stock up on cheese strings for the starving? In that case, forgive me! Indeed from now on feel free to scrape your way into any pifling space you can find, ideally removing the paint from cars on either side before evacuating your vehicle via the sunroof. It's the least we can do for someone so noble and thoughtful.
If I fail to see you again before Christmas, please do have a wonderful time shoving baubles into thimbles and stuffing your turkey with a goose. After all, your goodwill knows no bounds!
Yours 
The Kraken
P.S. You'll find this funny but for one moment I actually mistook you for a selfish, fat-handed twat who is so far up his arse that he's formed his own black hole. Oh, how I'll laughed over this at the bodywork garage when I'm getting my paintwork fixed. Merry Christmas!