it is early morning in milton keynes, barry the pool boy awakes, ready for another day delivering asda groceries. he was lucky his dad, a shelf stacker at the asda, got him a job. the pool cleaning gig at the leisure center was getting hard, mainly because barry has paranoid schizophrenia and thinks the pakistani manager is out to get him. he pulled his wrinkled shirt out of the laundry basket, sprayed a bit of lynx africa on it and headed out the door. he sat in his vxr and sighed, if only he had not failed uni then maybe life would be better and he wouldn't be a virgin living in his parents house pushing 30. barry blames taking lsd once for him failing, and not the fact he is a moronic sperg with the emotional stability of a middleaged jewish woman on adderal, and the social skills of a bag of gypsum. he pulled out onto one of mk's many roundabouts and looked forwards to the end of his shift. "think i might drink 4 fruit kopperberg when i get home, get mumberg to make me a pizza, and then put pictures of my cock on the internet for my severely alcoholic and equally mentally ill and homosexually inclined mates to look at, then seethe at anons that i think are somebody else out of the frustration of being a failure to launch spastic". as he pulled into the asda and parked up, he fantasised about being a twitch streamer, he also had a flashback about the time a scottish teenager sparked him out in one punch in an inverness tesco, where he was living in the hotel airing cupboard as pool boy, and fighting over scraps from the buffet with migrants. he collapsed in a rage of aspergers induced tantrum. "mumberg, save me from the bad man" he yelled as he pounded the tarmac with his fists. after 25 mins he composed himself and clocked in, then sorted out his crates of veg and sundries, ready for another busy day as asda's best ever delivery boy.
United Kingdom