Poo Face & Toblerone

I was laying there in bed last night, Dr Balls balm out of reach, listening to the rain pounding down on top of my solar panels. The gentle hum of my cheap Chinese diesel heater signifying the fact that its going to suck every millilitre of moisture from my body, the frigging annoying click from its fuel pump click clicking away under the bed, somehow all entwined in a vain attempt at unified chorus whilst joining in with the wind. Click, click, drip, drip huuuummmmm, wobble wobble (repeat until you go fucking nuts).

I start to gently nod off, my eyes get heavy, my breathing shallows, my leg pops out of the quilt. No idea why I do this, bit weird if you ask me. When all of a sudden my guts do that grumbling gurgle that sounds like Jabba The Hut squeezing a huge fart from his nostrils. Oh for god's sake! My stomach thinks my mouth is on strike and screams for food relentlessly! If my belly had a brain it'd think that anyway. It didn't give up so I thought I'd teach it a lesson by stuffing my face with Toblerone. Not any old Toblerone but the giant one! If you've been following, you'll know what chocolate often does to me. It. Ain't. Pretty.Anyhoo, I shovel the chocolate down, and then throw in a couple of extra triangles of nougaty goodness in case I get hungry later. "I'll suffer for that" I thought as I finally drifted off into the land of dreams where im molested by Catwoman and Britney Spears. (don't ask...)

Morning comes, I'll skip the routine, y'all know that by now, and I head off to pick the boys up for a bonus midweek stopover! I head into the petrol station, the same one as yesterday's debacle, don my mask (the now most hated form of protection, way in front of rubber johnnies) that I retrieved from the van kitchen shelf and proceeded to strut up to the coffee machine."Good night last night mate" said the guy ahead of me at the Costa machine. "Erm yeah, not bad thanks" I replied but he wasn't listening. He was chuckling away to himself, shaking his head. Odd man, I thought. Coffee in hand, I'm bowling up to the pasty fridge when a lady stops dead in front of me, takes one look and heaves before walking off. What the fudge is going on here?Now I'm at the till, very conscious that the entire queue is staring at me. Surely I'm not that famous already? James (name changed to protect my embarrassment) the young money taker and till depositor calmly and quite loudly said "You're supposed to take the mask off before you eat arse. Four ninety please sir."I tap my card and walk past the now giggling queue and catch a sight of my reflection in the window. A little bit of wee dribbles out and down my leg. Are you fucking kidding me? Hoooooly shit.There I was, walking around with the confidence of James Bond in a thong sitting on the edge of Miss Moneypenny's bed, with a face covered in shit. Well, my mask was anyway. Only it wasn't actual shit because it looked kind of nougaty. And chocolaty.I still don't know how my Toblerone made its way onto my mask, nor how I didn't notice it before I put it on. I'll also never go into that garage again. Ever.

I'm off now to change my hair style, facial features, burn my eyeballs out and swap identities with someone. Anyone. This life is ruined now. I don't need it anymore...Have a photo of me listening to the weather. I'll spare you the image of a shit covered mask...

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