Mr predictable

Mr predictable is opposite me on the tube today. Next jeans, burtons bag, white polo shirt, watch from Argos/littlewoods/another catalogue. He’s got that cubicle look about him, something that says insurance, or emarketing, the ‘my office walls are cardboard’ look. Oh and he’s listening to eye of the tiger. Oh brilliant. I bet he’s really building up for an important meeting with another burtons cookie cutter fella. To drink  vending machine coffee and make decisions that affect nobody, that you have been trained to make, by other Burtons/next frequenters. And I bet he supports Man United, drinks Carling, loves Top Gear, and makes other glaringly obvious life choices.

Oh now green day, American Idiot. Fancies himself as a bit of a punk under those hideous American touristesqe sunglasses. Appreciate the middle of the road political message? You crazy rocker you. I was wondering why your polo shirts collar was turned up. Yeah, that’s it turn it up louder, you want us all to know how anarchic and alternative you are.

Okay. You’re pushing it with the Bon Jovi. It’s like he can hear me and is choosing to further meet his heart-breakingly simple stereotype. Dear god, if you start nodding your mediocre head along I’m actually going to cry with despair. Stay single ladies, stay single, anything is better than this.




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