15 Seconds
Yesterday I was enjoying a cigarette outside work in my usual spot on Buchanan St when I was accosted by a TV crew and a cleavage flashing presenter. They began asking me lots of sexually related questions I didn't really want to answer, and didn't even tell me what for. It became obvious that the questions were designed to elicit saucy answers, but safe enough to be broadcast on TV. Anyway, like a greedy fool bowing to the almighty god of television I answered them.
Whenever I see people being interviewed on TV I always think I would give a far more verbose and eloquent answer, languidly delivered in a disarmingly charming fashion. Unfortunately this proved not to be the case. As soon as the camera was thrust in my face I turned into a gibbering wreck, became extremely nervous, and mumbled ill thought out ripostes. Later, dreading the inevitable embarrassment awaiting me and cursing both myself and the impertinent TV folk, I thought about the answers I should have given. So, for the entertainment of my dear reader, I present you with the questions, the answers I actually gave and finally the answers I should have given to eliminate any chance of my mawkish visage ever appearing on television (none of which are true of course). Here we go:
Question: What's the last thing you do at night?
Answer: Check my alarm clock.
Hindsight answer: Masturbate. Prolifically, and preferably in my own filth.
Question: What are you good at in the bedroom?
Answer: Mumbled something about hanging wallpaper.
Hindsight answer: Eating pussy. Tie me to your headboard and let me wear you like a feedbag. (Thanks Bill)
Question: Have you ever refused to do anything in the bedroom?
Answer: Mumbled probably not.
Hindsight answer: Only violent buggery from a crunchy peanut butter covered strap-on. Or even better (and much more sinister) "stopping when she said no".
Ah, what I'd give for a rapier wit. Anyway, it turned out to be for something called Streetmate, and thankfully I probably won't be on it at all - the last question she asked was if I was single, and on learning I wasn't flounced off to harass some other poor fool. So if you see a nervous looking idiot talking nonsense on the telly in a few weeks time, it may well be me.
Whenever I see people being interviewed on TV I always think I would give a far more verbose and eloquent answer, languidly delivered in a disarmingly charming fashion. Unfortunately this proved not to be the case. As soon as the camera was thrust in my face I turned into a gibbering wreck, became extremely nervous, and mumbled ill thought out ripostes. Later, dreading the inevitable embarrassment awaiting me and cursing both myself and the impertinent TV folk, I thought about the answers I should have given. So, for the entertainment of my dear reader, I present you with the questions, the answers I actually gave and finally the answers I should have given to eliminate any chance of my mawkish visage ever appearing on television (none of which are true of course). Here we go:
Question: What's the last thing you do at night?
Answer: Check my alarm clock.
Hindsight answer: Masturbate. Prolifically, and preferably in my own filth.
Question: What are you good at in the bedroom?
Answer: Mumbled something about hanging wallpaper.
Hindsight answer: Eating pussy. Tie me to your headboard and let me wear you like a feedbag. (Thanks Bill)
Question: Have you ever refused to do anything in the bedroom?
Answer: Mumbled probably not.
Hindsight answer: Only violent buggery from a crunchy peanut butter covered strap-on. Or even better (and much more sinister) "stopping when she said no".
Ah, what I'd give for a rapier wit. Anyway, it turned out to be for something called Streetmate, and thankfully I probably won't be on it at all - the last question she asked was if I was single, and on learning I wasn't flounced off to harass some other poor fool. So if you see a nervous looking idiot talking nonsense on the telly in a few weeks time, it may well be me.
Labels: idiot, saucy, streetmate, television, tv
posted by Richie at 12:10 pm
4 Comments:
I'm telling yer maw!
streetcunt, eh? i hate that show. i doubt you were sporting an asymmetrical haircut, shit-eating grin & a pair of gap cargo pants so they wouldn't have picked you anyway, mate.
Tell me about it. At least it wasn't Davina McCall. Then I'd have blood on my hands.
Yeah, but you'd have gotten away with it in a court of law, unless she was pregnant of course. Then it'd have been a double murder and you'd be screwed. Still, a plea of culpable homicide would have seen you right.
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