This is a story about a bus stop, in the Netherlands – which is neither eth nor ands let alone erl – which weighs people whilst they’re waiting for the bloody bus. (It’s always ‘the bloody’ bus. Sometimes ‘the fucking bloody’ bus. Sometimes ‘the cunts! They get paid £500 plus overtime a week, all they have to do is push a pedal and sometimes go left, maybe right, you’d think they can a) turn up on time and b) actually have some freakin’ manners whilst they go about it’ bus.) And the idea is, fatties sit thereon, see that they weigh the size of a brick shit house – maybe even a fucking cunting shit brick house – and do something about it. Ideally sign their lives away to Fitness First, a popular chain of gymgaysiums.
Obviously, if Aretha Franklin/Oprah Winfrey/Lisa ‘The gays love me, they do’ Riley/Rick ‘end of the species’ Waller/Paul ‘your teeth may be sorted, but you’re still a pig’ Potts/Half Ton Mum/Half Ton Son/Half Ton Second Cousin Twice Removed/Gok Wan’s ego/Myleene Klass’s delusion and or hair/your house, were to sit on this, it’d blow. And not in a nice way, either.