I’ve Got A New one For You, I’m Still Having Doubts


I was in a shop the other day and as I was leaving I saw a man in the queue, patiently waiting to pay for his purchases and he had a birth mark on the left side of his face. A horrendous birthmark on the side of his face. It covered his entire left hand side of his face an was three shades of purple, really dark almost black purple, a bright Barney the Dinosaur purple and some light purple. I have seen people with birthmarks on their faces before but this was terrible.

Imagine if you were a woman and you met this guy at a nightclub or a pub.

‘Hello,’ he would say.

‘Ahhhhhhh,’ she would scream. ‘Why have you got a tattoo on your face?’

‘It’s a birthmark,’ he would say and years of sadness, bullying, rejection and humiliation would creep into his eyes as he blinked back the tears.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she would reply, ‘What made you get a tattoo of  a birthmark on your face?’

Or she could ask him how long he had it.

That would be funny awful.

If there is anything worse than a birthmark it has to be people who are inflicted with the condition that makes them want to juggle things like brightly coloured balls or apples. They  do it. Then they look at you expecting you to be impressed. I’m not four years old. Unless you can blow smoke-rings out of your vagina while bending over backwards I am not even remotely entertained by your antics. Besides I have these wonderful things in my shithole house called shelves, so when I am in the mood to keep three or four things in the air simultaneously, I use them instead.


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