Wednesday, 26 March 2008
My Jacket
Naresh said he thought my jacket was an old rag! What he doesn't understand is that a cab drivers jacket is not only his uniform but it's also his badge. Are you following me? What I'm trying to say is my jacket is a map of my time as a cab driver. I know where every (love) stain has come from. Every bit of curry and kebab sauce that's been spilt has happened because I haven't wanted (through sheer responsibility) to take my eyes off of the road. Some of the blood and sweat is mine and some of it is other peoples. Now it's all lost! Gone for ever.
Hang on I've just had an idea.
I'll cut a hole in my jacket and replace it with some material from the carpet in Naresh's office.
See how he likes it!
See you later.
Mick
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Green Dog Shit

Fuck me look at this! Green Dog Shit!
What the hell have they been feeding this dog!
Pea soup and leaves and green paint.
Has anybody got any pictures of different coloured dog shit?
Together I'm sure we can make a rainbow of shit.
Come on everyone lets do this.
Mick
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Mick's cafe
I'm thinking of opening up my own cafe.
Take a look at the menu...
Finger licking good stuff eh?
Monday, 14 January 2008
theyve cut my FUCKING GAS OFF.
Anyway this has to happen at the coldest fucking week of the year so I'm freezing my nuts off any time I'm not in the car. Or the kebab shop. Or the cab office. Or the Exchange. Basicaly any where in Ilford is warmer than my fucking shithole of a flat.
The electricity is still working thanks to a hookup that Amal did me, and I'm learning to survive like that fat bloke off the telly who goes into the forest and eats his own shit. I'm not doing that, don't get me wrong, I'm never going to eat shit... not unless someone paid me loads of money, like 500 quid. Anyway I'm talking about survival here, and I don't know how I got sidetracked into talking about eating shit.
I have no cooker, cos it's gas, but I do have a sandwich toaster and i found out that if you leave it open you can fry eggs in it. They come out triangular but they're OK. You can get a couple of sausages in there as well. Also, I prised the gas fire away from the wall and found a real fireplace behind it, so I've been burning a chopped up door for the last few days and when that's done there's a pile of broken pallets in the back yard that will go up nicely.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Kung Fu
Did a pickup at a Kung Fu club today. I tell you it takes a special kind of cunt to go to a kung Fu club. Now I know a fair few Marshal Arts myself but you better believe I didn’t learn them off some senile old fucker whose dick gets hard when people call him Master Sensi. My skills I learned through years of street fighting, cab fighting (that’s where you twist your upper body round, duck between the front seats and punch someone in the head or balls before they can get out of the cab) and watching Fist of Fury about 500 times. So I got the eye of the tiger and the world’s best teacher (Bruce Lee) and it adds up to a lethal combo. That’s why I had to go to the police and register my hands as lethal weapons (and provide my insurance documents, but I had to do that anyway ‘cos some tosser got himself caught up in my wing mirror on
Anyway, long story short, I picked up the cunt at the Kung Fu club and drove him up to Leytonstone and I had to put the window open because the bastard smelled so much. I wanted to say something like what kind of Kung Fu do you do, Pong Like Bum? But it came out wrong and I said do you like men’s bums and the cunt didn’t talk to me after that. Didn’t fucking tip neither so I tried to drive over his foot as I left, the smelly fucker. Cunt Fu, they should call it.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Almost rich today.
So back I go and wouldn't you believe it... What I thought was a huge pile of money turns out to be about 1000 rotting playing cards with ARP SCANDINAVIA written on the back. When I got back to the cab Cunt asked us about the cat and I told him it was going to be 20 quid extra for cleaning and shit.
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
SAT NAV
Picked up a Sat-nav at the Redbridge Community centre car boot sale yesterday. I wanted to see what all the fuss is about with these things, but far as I can tell sat-nav is a piece of shit. What it does is wherever you are in the world it picks up x-rays from Mars or something and gives you two fuck-off long numbers which are your longertude and lattertude map coordinates. Then you got to get out a map like fucking Captain Cook and make a cross where the two lines meet and that’s where you are. ‘Course by the time you’ve made the cross you’ve driven past that bit so you got to start again. Sat-nav… Shit-nav more like. The cunt I had riding in back kept yelling at me to put the map and the pencils down and look out the windscreen. Said he knew the way anyway, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in 20 years of minicabbing it’s the passengers don’t know fuck about how to get where they want to go unless they want to go to cunt land which is where they’re from anyway. Then the Sat nav (which weighs a fucking ton) slid across my dashboard when I made a right turn and the wire came out and now I think it’s fucked. Worst two quid I ever spent.
