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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Letter to the two fat men on the tube this evening:

To the first fat man: Thank you so much for not breathing in at any point during the journey between Chancery Lane and St Pauls stations. This meant, since you were facing me and I was up against the doors, that I was forced to stand for the entire duration of that journey pressed right up against you. Thank you so much for spending all of that journey breathing directly down across my face, which meant I got to smell the special stink of your intimate breath, an experience I'm sure I only share with the girls you definitely kidnap and kill on a regular basis. Thank you also for using every single movement of the train as an excuse to press your crotch up against me. I am very grateful there is sufficient bleach and disinfectant in our house to wash off that particular memory, although I think I will now have to burn my trousers. Thank you particularly for miraculously finding room to step back when we got to St Pauls in order to let those two other men get on to the carriage, which meant that, for the journey between St Pauls and Bank station I got to be in the middle of a delightful fat-man sandwich, with both of you pressing up against me in what I can only imagine is the most fun you've both had in months, or even years.

To the second short fat man: Thank you, too, for your participation in the man-sandwich. Thank you for deciding that, despite the fact that there definitely wasn't room in our carriage, you were arrogant enough to think that your journey of two stops was so important that you (a) couldn't possibly wait for the next train or (b) consider walking the short distance to get rid of some of your flab. Thank you too for using your time standing directly behind me to cough into my neck and onto my back. You made this experience all the more enjoyable by raising your hand in such a ridiculously slow manner that you managed to both bash me in the small of the back each time you did it and not actually reach your mouth in time to cover the spray of spit and phlegm that kept hitting my neck and the collar of my shirt. I am definitely going to have to burn that shirt, and I have already immersed my entire head and neck in a vat of bleach.

I hate the tube.

In an effort to cheer myself up this evening, I accidentally started watching a stream of New Kids On The Block videos on YouTube.

Oh my god, y'all. I'd forgotten how GREAT the video for The Right Stuff is. Please bear witness to the genius:

- The side to side kicking dance that looks totally brilliant.
- The hilarious underage driving pranks.
- The picking up girls on the side of the road and then playing hide and seek in a graveyard.
- In. A. Graveyard.
- The fact that, at that stage, they had only mastered three of the five dance moves that followed them through their career, and so the editor of the video had to keep looping the same lame dance steps.

Also, peeps? Confession time. Watching that over again just now, I have to say that I TOTALLY fancy little Joey McIntyre. Who, I seem to remember, was fourteen tiny years of age when that was filmed. Does that make me a paedo? Please don't tell the tabloids.

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