Last night I went to Mr. White’s house, or as I have now re-branded it “Mr. White’s Concentration Camp”.
The plan was to go for a quiet, relaxing evening and a few beers, White however seemed to find it necessary to cause me a considerable amount of stress.
Firstly, while we were sitting outside in the garden he thought it would be funny to give me a soaking with the garden hose whist watering his plants. Not funny White, not funny.
Later on that evening we were all sitting around the garden table when I noticed that a large amount of runny bird diarrhoea which had been commented on earlier was missing. White then tried to trick my brain that it had been flicked onto me. After checking my clothes, hair and every other nook and cranny I realised that the shit was not on me. Still, not funny White, not funny.
As the evening drew to a close we were sitting inside watching Lost on E4. White the Concentration Camp Sergeant and I have already seen all of Season 2 on our frequent trips to the US (and NOT torrent downloads) and caused annoyance for the others watching it by revealing plot lines from future episodes.
White then thought it would be funny to terrorise me even more by punching, or as he called it “tickling” me in the ribs. Again, another trait of a Concentration Camp Sergeant – “This isn’t a whip I am hitting you with, it is a sponge and I am massaging you”.
I was tired and wanted to rest peacefully on the sofa, yet every time I begun to relax, White’s long and bony fingers were dug into my body. He probably wanted to steal my heart and had he had any ratchets would have tied me down reached for my chest shouting “Gallima… gallima”.
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