Pigeons having a crap on my balcony
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The Inbred man-child that is my boss who continues to pick his arse like he is searching for gold....Dirty manky
Bagheads calling me boss and asking for some spare change to afford their train home every time I'm in the Wirral.
Those wretched self service checkouts, which are both a customer service disaster and operate with the assumption built in, that you're on the rob.
I'd like to be able to buy a bottle of wine without waiting for some miserable half arsed staff member to stroll over, when she's quite finished chatting to her mate on the end checkout, to type in some overly long pin code to verify I'm an auld git.
I yell at them like some mad man with Tourette's.
Sorry about the website mate.Has he not got a nose? The dirty get.
The dog turd which I've just stepped in.
My humble apologies