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Memoires of a London Cabbie
Memoires of a London Cabbie
Good morrow tossers all - its ole Ungry again
I was driving round looking for a fare the other day when one of my favourite passengers of all time came dashing out of her mansion block and hailed me.
Tracey Emin. How are you Tracey i says, and she says get me to the Royal Academy in 1o minutes and there'll be something in it for you. I over-slept, I've not even had time to make my bed.
What if I send my brother Avery round with his van - then we can sell it for a fortune I says, and she says piss off. So I says you seem a bit under the weather and I would hazard that's gin I can smell on your breath, here have some chewing gum, which she accepted.
Now she's sitting in the back seat wearing a denim mini skirt - one of them with button flies down the front. And what should I catch a glimpse of but ole Tracey's minge. More than a glimpse, it was bloody growing through the mini skirt, through the fabric not through the flies. So I says, have you forgot something Tracey or are you planning to do a Sharon Stone at the R & A ?
Oh, no she says. What shall I do ? I syas well Tracey there is a little known clause in the cabbie's code that says always carry a spare pair of ladies drawers in caseof accidents happenning, and i dug int he glove caaomartment and gave her a nice pair of Marks knockers.
You're a gem Mr Ungry, she says and e get to the RA in double quick time and she jumps out pays me off and gives me a whopping tip. I says there's no need for that Tracey, you're a pretentious opportunistic tart with a twisted face that's gong to scare the children when your older but there will always be a place in my heart for you, you are my top lady and always will be. I hope to have you in the back of my cab many times again.
And she says, you haven't had me
And I says, yet, and she giggles and dashes off.
Now thinking of her twat bush for which you could have organised coach tours to see rare and unsusual flora and fauna reminded me of one of my strangest adventures.
A few years back I signed up for Master Brain thing on the telly, the one with Magnus whatever. And my first round was to be held at the Great Hall of the University of Scunthorpe. And so I turn up.
We all get briefed and get some test questions from a warm-up man to settle us in. The others were retired Colonel from the Ghurka Light Infantry and two academic women, I think one was called Eliza because my mental image is of a bag of fertilizer. The other one must have been Mrs Pratt. That old memory technique was developed by cabbies and past down over the years; in the old days only in direct blood lienage, then direct family and now with so many divorces and mixed-race kids to extended families. We are not supposed to reveal these secrets for gain. Now I once had this slight balding guy in the back and he could remeember nothing, so I thought I'd help him out and told him about our special technique. Fuck me if I don't see him on the telly selling this big within two years, Paul something if I remember correctly.
Anyway, ole Magnus appears and introduces himself; Welcome to Scunthorpe, the Great Hall was formerly a theatre he says. The Gaiety, he says tipping me a little wink. Getting little or no reposnse he says, and what's more we have taken care that none of tonight's contestants are called Shorpe or even Sharpe. The other contestants don't see this joke, but I says while your here there will always be a cunt in Scunthorpe.
So off we go to our dressing rooms which are very nice with hair driers and heated hair straighteners and mirrors and all. And I'm sittingthere and Magnus comes in wearing a long dressing gown and a cravat to hide his old turkey neck. Care for a nobbing he says bold as brass revealing himself to me. Now I have to think bloody quick, so although I am no Crisp Snacker, I syas don't mind if I do but its me nobbing you and definitely not vice versa.
Right he syas bending over and now displaying his Khyber. SO I snuggles up behind him and puts one arm round him and grabs his todger so he can't escape. With the other hand I grab the heated hair straighteners (which were hot incidentally) and stuck them right up his jacksie. Now old Magnus screams with pain and at the same time ejaculates.
Now the wierd thing was that I ejaculated too. Which was worrying, very worrying, but more of that another day.
Magnus says, now you have no chance.
So here we go, General Knowledge and not one of the other three get more than one right answer, I get nine right. Specialist subject - Mr Magnus re-introduces me Wright Ungry, London cabbie answering questions on his specialist subject "Fashions in female pubic hair, Fox Talbot to the present day". And I get nine right again and I have walked away with the show.
So I'm back in the dressing room and Tristam the producer comes in - I'm sorry he says, but we're cancelling the show.
Gerraway I says, you can't do that. We can he says, you signed a contract which says if the Producer agrees and three or more of the four contestants wish to have the show cancelled, then it can be cancelled. None of the others contestants want the public to see them whitwashed by the likes of you, and as far as I'm concerned there was insufficient competition and you did not provide the ethnic background we expected from a London cabbie.
You telling me, I says, that I'm out because I'm not a fucking Totenham Hotspur supporter ? That's about it, he says.
I was gutted by getting fucked out and even more disturbed by what I found out about myself when I stuck them straighteners up ole Magnus's arsehole. So I left grumpily and I've never met any of them aver again, except ole Tracey Emin who we will meet again before long.