BLOKES ARE SO RUDE TO EACHOTHER

I was at the races with the lads from Hornswood (being the sexy little suburbs from Hornsby to Chatswood). We were having a great time on the piss and the punt and the plan was to catch up with all our wives for dinner that night to spend some of our winnings.

McSloth (his poker call-sign), one of the blokes I was with who I hadn’t seen for about half an hour, sent me a text.

McSloth – “CUTN. Winning?

WHY ARE BLOKES SO RUDE?

Obviously, he was in fact calling me the “c” word and had just swapped the last two letters around. It was out of the blue, but that is very much how McSloth and I talk to each other. Assuming he was standing behind me and was showing off about picking the last few winners, I looked around but couldn’t see him.

I replied.

Me – “YOU’RE A F#CK-WIT, but yes, I’m winning.

I didn’t wish to lower myself to his level and use “that” word. I wasn’t actually winning, but he didn’t need to know that in this situation.

He sent me back another text.

McSloth – “Excuse me?

Not sure what game he was playing, I went on the front foot.

Me – “Not only are you a f#ck-wit, you have always been a f#ck-wit for as long as I have known you. And I hazard a guess, that you will indeed continue to be a f#ck-wit forever.”

McSloth – “Why so rude?

Me – “BECAUSE YOU ARE A TRUE F#CK-WIT AND THAT’S GENERALLY HOW I SPEAK TO F#CK-WITS.

Once I caught up with McSloth about ten minutes later, with a smirk and a nod, we both pretended the little stoush never actually took place.

It wasn’t until we had arrived at the dinner with the wives later that night, that I disappointingly discovered I had not actually been swapping texts with McSloth . I was in fact exchanging them WITH HIS WIFE.

Mrs McSloth was… unhappy.

Apparently “CUTN. Winning?“, actually stands for “See You Tonight. Winning?

PLEASE USE THE BUTTONS BELOW TO SHARE FAR AND WIDE.

Thanks for reading. I write blogs oftentimes just to claim at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact… a writer. I write stuff for a few small businesses but I need to one day be a famous contributor to the noble art of blogging. And check out my the brilliant new craft-beer home delivery business I set up with a few North Shore mates (gettincrafty.com.au) Cheers

FIVE DADS IN A SPA

Four of my Hornswood (the sexy little suburbs between Hornsby and Chatswood) mates and I were sitting in an indoor spa, drinking afternoon beers. Yes, yes I know it’s always a risk drinking ales while sitting with blokes in a relatively small volume of moving water, but the toilet was right there so I was confident it was ok.

We were all staying at a golf resort for the weekend with our wives. “Hatchet”, one of our mates actually owns a house there and is the sort of guy who never likes to break any rules. Because of this, it took a long time to convince him to join us in pointedly ignoring the NO EATING OR DRINKING IN THE POOL AREA sign that was clearly posted. Eventually, since there was nobody else around and he knew we were going to do it anyway, he just went with the flow.

We could see through the glass wall to the gym where Hatchet’s twenty-one-year-old son was pushing weights and doing an insane workout.

Now this kid is a beast! He’s a monster. Strong as an ox, plays Rugby in the front row in France. Massive barrel chest and shoulders, huge arms, you get the picture.

I stepped out of the spa and moved towards our strategically hidden Esky, the contents of which were rapidly diminishing. As I did so, considering the comment I was about to make I did my best to suck in my expansive gut. But alas, as we had consumed so many beverages it just wasn’t going anywhere. Damn it.

Double point

Me (pointing towards Hatchet’s Greek God-built son) – “You know lads, Hatchet’s kid over there actually models his physique on mine!” With a smile I pointed to the man-mountain pumping iron.

Quick as a flash my mate Danger replied with a smirk – “He’s not doing a very good job then!

Another mate – “I don’t think he’s eating enough carbs!

Yet another – “He’s gotta cut out the cardio too!

And one more – “His core work needs to stop!

They all laughed. Loudly! For a long time. Insensitive bastards.

Thanks for reading. I write blogs oftentimes just to claim at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact… a writer. If you could Share far and wide via the buttons below, that would be amazing. I write stuff for a few small businesses but I need to one day be a famous contributor to the noble art of blogging. And check out my the brilliant new craft-beer home delivery business I set up with a few North Shore mates (gettincrafty.com.au) Cheers