Originally Posted by TROLLEY

I have today and tomorrow off as I am Best Man for my mate's wedding on Saturday. The missus also has today off and decided to come to the city with me for a 10:30am final fitting and pick up of the suit.

I wanted to get into the city at 9am in order to purchase some new shoes and grab some work clothes while Myer has their tightarse specials on. She decides she wants to cook bacon, sausages, eggs, tomatoes and toast. No, I don't want it. Breakfast rarely agrees with my stomach and it's 8:30am. I want to leave. Doesn't listen, cooks breakfast, I eat, feel sick, farting like a trooper, eggs are going straight through me and I feel the need to drop a Mr Whippy textured shit within 20 minutes. FFS.

Get into town just before 10am, I now have 30 minutes shopping time. Thanks a bunch kitchen bitch. I'm pissed off, unwell, not concentrating, combined with stupidly fucking high box curbs in tight multi-storey carparks I manage to scrape 3, yes 3 of my rims. Now I'm really raging internally.

Oh, I need to shit again. Awesome. Find toilet in David Jones, waste more precious time playing upside down volcano. Then go to Tony Barlow to pick up my suit. Oh, you can't find it? ARRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!$@$~@!$!@ (manager ends up finding it after 10 minutes and a fucking heart attack from the groom and myself).

Already stressed as hell just having to write a fucking speech with the expectation of being "funny". The only thing is I'm not allowed to be a cunt. Or use stereotypes. Or say racist jokes (he's Anglo-Iindian). Or anything sexist. YOU'VE TAKEN AWAY ALL MY MATERIAL YOU PRICK!

Today can eat a bag of moist cocks.