I'd like to express my complete displeasure with a person whose identity shall remain secret to protect him from (further) persecution by an association whose title we'll call ASCB for now. I also write this as a lesson to others who know my (ex) friend, who I shall call Mr. Knocker for the purpose of complete anonymity.
After a weekend packed full of activity (read: drinking and playing large amounts of soccer in a very condensed amount of time) I was so very, very rudely awaken (awoken?) by a thunderous knee to the kidney's by my missus. At 5: fcucking 20 am my phone began beeping to alert me that I had received a message sometime after I passed out watching Nemo (for the 400th time) with the wee'n and the early morning Chuck Norris thunder knee to the small of my back. At 5: fcuking 20 am I was forced to hobble my burnt, hung-over and absolute shattered body, not to mention newly bruised kidney's to the list down what seemed like 200 flights of stairs to confirm I had in fact been dumb enough to leave my damn phone on last night. At approximately. 5: 25 when I finally got my internal bleeding stopped and I finagled myself down the Sears tower worth of stairs and was forced to rummage through a kit bag full of nasty sweaty funky socks, shorts, T-shirts and shinnies looking for my beeping nemesis.
At 5:30 am when I finally found my phone and flipped it open to find out why indeed the fluking thing was beeping and doing such nasty things to me and my body this early in the day. As it turned out I received a few (dozen) calls from a now ex-mate "Mr. Knocker" at around 1:30am. I promptly fired my brand new Motorola off the office wall while calling Knocks (as his friend call him) a string of nasty names most ending in cnut.
Let this serve as a reminder and a little lesson for those who own a cell phone and who think they know who Mr. Knocker is. Make sure you either erase your name and number from his speed dial or be sure to turn off your mobile. He's ruthless in his attempt to make people miserable.
To finish my moan let me say that I hate you Mr. Knocker. My burnt face and shattered kidney's hate you too. You're an ass hole of the highest fcuking order, Knocks and you now owe me a new mobile.
After a weekend packed full of activity (read: drinking and playing large amounts of soccer in a very condensed amount of time) I was so very, very rudely awaken (awoken?) by a thunderous knee to the kidney's by my missus. At 5: fcucking 20 am my phone began beeping to alert me that I had received a message sometime after I passed out watching Nemo (for the 400th time) with the wee'n and the early morning Chuck Norris thunder knee to the small of my back. At 5: fcuking 20 am I was forced to hobble my burnt, hung-over and absolute shattered body, not to mention newly bruised kidney's to the list down what seemed like 200 flights of stairs to confirm I had in fact been dumb enough to leave my damn phone on last night. At approximately. 5: 25 when I finally got my internal bleeding stopped and I finagled myself down the Sears tower worth of stairs and was forced to rummage through a kit bag full of nasty sweaty funky socks, shorts, T-shirts and shinnies looking for my beeping nemesis.
At 5:30 am when I finally found my phone and flipped it open to find out why indeed the fluking thing was beeping and doing such nasty things to me and my body this early in the day. As it turned out I received a few (dozen) calls from a now ex-mate "Mr. Knocker" at around 1:30am. I promptly fired my brand new Motorola off the office wall while calling Knocks (as his friend call him) a string of nasty names most ending in cnut.
Let this serve as a reminder and a little lesson for those who own a cell phone and who think they know who Mr. Knocker is. Make sure you either erase your name and number from his speed dial or be sure to turn off your mobile. He's ruthless in his attempt to make people miserable.
To finish my moan let me say that I hate you Mr. Knocker. My burnt face and shattered kidney's hate you too. You're an ass hole of the highest fcuking order, Knocks and you now owe me a new mobile.