My mum will never shout at me in public. Ever. No matter how badly I may be showing off at the time.
But that's not to say she won't tell me off. It's just that when she does, she uses her special 'telling me off in public' voice, that only I can hear.
It's like a pistol with the silencer on; still just as effective, but way, way more discreet.
The lips barely move. Which possibly explains why I've had a lifelong fear of ventriloquism.
There's a special kind of whininess you only hear when someone's playing videogames. It's called 'Nerd Rage' -- also known as 'The Gamer's Tears' -- and it comes in phases, like so:
Phase 1: Anger.
Phase 2: Self-pity.
Phase 3: The Cry for Help.
Phase 4: Resignation.
Phase 5: Fuck this, I'm taking this game back and getting a refund. In fact, I'm turning it off RIGHT NOW and putting the game by the front door so I don't forget.
Or, to give a practical example:
And that's just if you're lucky. Because when you've got 'Nerd Rage' real bad, the results can be horrible.
I feel your pain kiddo.
Fucking mutes. They always seem to be witnessing something. A murder, a robbery, a rape. It's like they've always got to be sticking their big silent beaks in where they're not wanted.
Oi mutes -- how about you just get on with your own lives for once?
I don't take kindly to being over-encouraged to "tuck in."
MY DAD: There you go kid. Tuck in!
ME: Thanks.
MY DAD: Go on my son. Just dig in!
ME: Yep, will do.
MY DAD: We don't stand around on ceremony in this house. Eat!
ME: Uh-huh.
MY DAD: There's no point just sitting there looking at it!
ME: Well I wasn't, so.
MY DAD: Go on kiddo. Really get amongst it!
ME: OK, got it.
MY DAD: Grab a knife, grab a fork and just...
ME: DAD I'VE ALREADY STARTED EATING.
LONG SILENCE
ME: Sorry for shouting.
I'm referring specifically to the kind of little girl who drags her mum around Waterstone's shouting, "Oh mummy, I just can't understand why all children my age don't read more. Think of what they're missing!"
Now I'm not saying we shouldn't teach little girls to read. But we should definitely think about taking their books away if they're going to start getting all gay about it.
Anyway, they need to learn to enjoy books like an adult. Which means: A) only reading books because they think they're supposed to; and B) exclusively reading books that are much too brainy for them just because they've got a nice front cover, then having to spend the duration constantly referring to the little synopsis on the back just to double check what's going on.
You know, like a grown-up.
I'm guessing anyone still using this metaphor hasn't actually been to a holiday since the 1950s. Because the last time I took a look inside Butlins it was exactly how I imagined a really horrible prison to be.
Tiny little rooms, crappy food, rubbish entertainment... frankly, the threat of doing ten years hard time banged up inside Pontins is enough to put me off raping anyone for, like, ages.
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