I overheard a conversation on a train the other day with a group of youths which was peppered so frequently with swear words that it made Azealia Banks 212 sound like Obama’s inaugural address.
Still I suppose if you’re going to turn the air around you so blue that the other train passengers have to swim up to the doors then you may as well do it shamelessly, and with the sort of cockiness only your teenage years possess. I even turned down the music I was listening to (2LiveCrew’s As Nasty As They Wanna Be) in order for me to get even more shocked at the FILTH OF DEM YOOT.
I only heard fifteen minutes of the conversation – jaunty, vile and unhealthily obsessed with minge as it was – but I was fortunate enough for those fifteen minutes to coincide with one young lad’s moment of ETERNAL INNER CRINGE.
We’ve all had them. All of us. Every. Last. One. Of. Us. Even you, if you really thought about it. I know a surprising amount of women for instance, who have the same terrifying tale of cunnilingus which always ends with the words,
“And when he looked up he had blood all over his face.”
You’d be surprised how many of your friends have lost control of their bowels at a Full Moon Party in Thailand or who once accidentally raised an arm and rubbed their lip in a gesture which might have been mistaken for a nazi salute in front of a bus of Jewish schoolchildren. These are your ETERNAL CRINGES, moments you would like to erase from your memories or at least gloss over, with some sort of brain Tippex.
I didn’t see any of these lads on my train, as I had my back to their seats but I spent an unhealthy amount of time trying to picture them judged by voice and lewdness alone.
So there was Marlon who once got three fingers inside a girl who might once have been an extra on Hollyoaks. He probably wore a t-shirt with Too Funk To Druck’ written on it and a gold chain. Then there was Piddles, who had put one up the mate of Kim From Next Door – Nikes, Topman, Halitosis. Badger – acne, gelled hair and a four hour spray of Lynx Africa before leaving the house and then there was Titbit – Justin Timberlake in a funhouse mirror.
It wasn’t long before the conversation moved onto bodily functions. This was Titbit’s downfall. His Waterloo. His last stand.
Marlon: “Don’t you hate it right, when you go for a piss and some bloke is staring at your cock LIKE A GAY.”
All: “Yeah, yeah. Dum Dur Dum. Hurrr Hurr”
Titbit “Don’t you hate it right when you take a piss and it smells like a gone-off pineapple? You ever get that? Yeah?”
No. No Titbit, they haven’t. There is never a good reason why your urine smells so foul you are reminded of decaying fruit. Never.
It put me in mind of a girl I once worked with in a shop in Covent Garden so exclusive and cutting edge it was forced to close because the only people cool enough to shop there were too cool to deign to come into it. I don’t know – it’s like a cool wormhole out there kids. It was called ‘Hope’ or something but it may as well have been ‘Headfuck’.
Anyway, I worked there with this drop-dead gorgeous Swedish girl who was so hot we had to put the air conditioning on. Partly because of her hotness and partly because I SEETHED in her company because she reminded me of everything I wasn’t – photogenic, blessed with cheekbones which would cut your hand open, blonde, wafer thin and unaware of any of it.
THAT FUCKING BITCH.
I’m kidding, she was JUST GREAT.
That day a discussion was taking place between the two of us and the one annual customer about teenage drinking.
“Do you remember,” the customer asked us both “drinking when you were on antibiotics because you thought it would get you drunk quicker?”
We all laughed.
“Do you remember,” I said, “Drinking Thunderbird through a straw and trying to stand up afterward?”
We all laughed.
“Do you remember,” Olga said, “Soaking a tampon in vodka and then putting it up your ass?”
No. No, Olga, we don’t. Pretty sure that’s some fairly specialised stuff you’re doing right there.
I have never swiped a credit card and hustled someone out of a shop so fast. It was like witchcraft. Olga was surprised, and completely nonplussed.
“You should try it.” she told me. “You are missing out.”
Well thanks for that Olga, now I’m getting through a box of twenty tampons and a bottle of Value Vodka a day.