I went out Hop Tun Naaing last night with the kids. What really got up my nose were the bastards that wouldn’t answer the fucking door.
You know they are in as the TV’s on and you can see them changing channel or walking around. But will they answer the door, will they buggery.
Try explaining to a 2 year old why the misery fucker behind the closed door hasn’t got the decency to spend £2 on some sweets to give to the children. Fuckers.
They spent weeks waiting for this, hours dressing up and learning the Songs, and some smug bastard sits on the sofa listening to the little cherubs singing there hearts out, and thinks he’s got one over them by not handing out 50p worth of confectionary.
Fuckers.
You could hear the little tykes hearts breaking as we had to walk away from another house empty handed. If it was so fucking cold last night I would have stayed there with my finger on the door bell till they came out.
Next year, we are going prepared and tooling up with
Fucking Fuckers. Fuck em.
2 comments:
Songs? There are songs? I have to say that whilst I did spend £2 on some sweeties for the kiddies, I only did so because I'm not particularly keen on fuckers with Stanley knives slashing my car tyres because I won't give their begging bastards some sweeties.
LOL Carol!!
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