Thursday, April 27, 2006


This post is dedicated to the snivelling cowards who occupied the fourth carriage of the WAGN service between Old Street and Finsbury Park at 5.10pm yesterday evening. On said carriage, a WASP entered through the window and begun zig-zagging around like a drunken eejit. Now, I happened to be standing opposite a very concerned looking man in a suit, and a woman who was pretending she hadn't seen it. I'd estimate that 50-60% of the seated passengers had newspapers. Everyone was aware of the wasp's presence, as it was really fucking dive-bombing its way up and down the carriage by this point.

And yet, not ONE of these twits rolled up their copy of the 'Evening Standard' and twatted the insect. Why? Newspapers and wasps go together like bangers and mash. Is this what my once-mighty London's been reduced to? A wasp intimidating a whole carriage of punters? Oh, I could see the fear in their eyes, the weak attempts at denial - this can't really be happening to me - sitting like a bunch of autistic wimps, the first traces of the 'sweat moustache' of unease forming on their upper lips!!!

Right, I've got news for you newspaper readers, you owe it to the world and to yourself to swat wasps in tube and train carriages. But hang on, just a minute - let's be all impartial and 'democratic' and hear some of the feeble arguments against my rocksteady case :

1) If we attack the wasp, it might become irritated, and make the whole situation ten times worse!

Rubbish! If you attack the wasp properly, it will die. Sorry to impose my brutish humanity on the wonderful world of nature, but the wasp is irritating me. Wasps have shit for brains, they couldn't find their ways back out of a train carriage if a bomb went off and ripped a gaping hole in the side. The only solution is death. So what's the next excuse?

2) BTi, I fear that if I lunge towards the wasp, but fail to kill it, my fellow passengers will laugh at me and mock my hamfisted attempt! Including that really pretty girl I've been eyeing up for the past 3 weeks, but am too scared to talk to!

This is more like it, an honest approach I can deal with. OK, here goes : only 1% of the population ever "pull"on public transport. The occult masterminds who run London Transport and First Capital Connect have used powerful magickal rituals to curtail the realisation of a truly human community on their trains - their agenda is the processing of the maximum amount of paying passengers, on the smallest amount of paid manpower. And until you all start coming up with weird sigils and fucking around with the tube's aura, man, that pretty girl will never talk to you anyway, so zip it (( DISCLAIMER - before attempting any 'magick', talk to someone who knows what the fuck it's about)).

But just imagine -imagine you strike the wasp and you kill it. What message does that send to the pretty girl? That you are a WARRIOR. You will remove obstacles that make her feel uncomfortable. You will protect her from danger and sources of annoyance. She'll notice you a shitload more if you THWACK a wasp to a mangled, splattered stain on the window, with a hearty "GOTCHA!", than she ever will if you motion to her to remove her iPod earphones and then stammer, "UH..I..I S-SAY...DO Y-YOU GET THIS TR-TRAIN OFTEN?"

And if you do miss, and the wasp starts going mental - ah, relish a fucking challenge will you!

You can't go wrong. The only problem you'll have, Mr Sweating-Inta-My-Burton's-Suit, is that once you've killed a few wasps and have girls throwing themselves at you, you'll suddenly see a load of ugly sad drips running around every tube carriage between Edgware and Morden, swatting at imaginary wasps in a desperate attempt to score, before spending all morning at work emailing each other with updated "kill rates".

Look, there was this thinker called Jean-Jacques Rousseau who came up with an idea called "the social contract". The basic, 'idiot's guide' gist of this idea is that if I come round your flat and break one of your windows, I should be held financially accountable for the repair of said window. This is because if we let individual will supercede general will, we'll end up in some "Mad Max 2"-style state of complete disorder and alienation.

Similarly, in Rwanda, if a woman screams a certain distress call which signifies " Rape!", everybody in the vicinity is obliged to stop what they're doing and wade in to help her. If a man in the area doesn't answer her call, odds on he'll be arrested and imprisoned, as an accomplice of the attacker.

And so, if you have a newspaper, you are socially obliged to scrunch it up and batter any wasps that enter train carriages, instead of peering at them in terror from the corner of your eye, while struggling to maintain control of your facial muscles every time it hovers towards your mush. And if you don't, well, you're a coward and you should be pushed up against a bus shelter and shot.

I mean, yeah, I could have flicked the bastard with my fingers, but why should I do all the work all the time?
What's the worst that could happen? The wasp could sting one or two of the 6.5 billion humans on earth? Wasps have their own sort of intelligence.
My story of Wasp Terror:
At the age of 13, I was at a football game. It was a warm day so I was wearing a tank top. Suddenly I felt a terrible burning sensation in my armpit. Slowly I raised my arm and there was a wasp that had crawled into my pit! I slapped at the bastard but only managed to pull off a leg.
Which leads me to wonder--are wasps attracted to the smell of human sweat? Damn perverts!
Indeed - try telling UK rail commuters that, they're actually more scared of wasps than terrorism. Cheese - I don't know, but bees are attracted to pollen so if a BEE nestles in any crevice of your body, it probably means you smell nice. If anyone else has a 'stung by a wasp' story, please feel free to narrate it here. One stabbed me on the back once, just above my arse, it was sore but wasn't THAT bad
Back in the dawn of time when I was still at school, we did a biology the project. I can't remeber the point of it, but it involved digging on a patch of wasteland. Being at that sort of school, naturally the biggest member of the First Fifteen (or 'rugger buggars' as we tended to refer to them) had to have the spade and prove his manhood by Digging Very Hard. Unhappily for him he struck a wasps's nest and had to fling the spade away and run away like a Girly Weed. This in itself would have been funny but, just as he had stopped to catch his breath, his face suddenly took on a quizical expression. Then, with a cry of "Oh fucking hell!" he started to tear off his trousers whereupon half a dozen wasps exited. I swear I luaghed so hard that I actually fell over.
Just found a wasp's nest in our garden shed about an hour ago. One of the fuckers came at me, so I sent him to Valhalla w/ a child's plastic tennis-racquet. May Hela take his soul!

Ha! Not for me the Straw Death!
kek, you might've mis-calculated your pitch there...

according to the rules of deathgodess Hel, you will be sent to Valhall if you *die in battle*, and to Helheim ONLY if you die of illness or old age...
which means, if the wasp actually FOUGHT BACK with anger in its last death-convulsions, it'll propel up to the longboards of Valhall and bathe in the free-flowing mjød drinks for all eternity!

Right, enough of the wasp anecdotes, those cunts don't deserve the publicity
You might have a point there, X.

They'd really go for the sweet, meady drinks available in Thor's local. I bet they like Bass Charington barley-wine, lager-top and Colt-45 too...wasps, I mean, not Asgardians.
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