A Positive Type Cunt – Authored by Bernard Thomas Hughes – Part 1: Payment

Gary Gunn swaggered down the footpath sneering. His muscles burnt warm and geeks were everywhere. Fresh outta boxin’ training and now just fucken walking it off with his prize pitty, Masterboss. The midsummer sun had a heinous bite. His balls were snug in the footy shorts with weird looking cunts peppered everywhere. Gary would’ve just started swingin’, but the fucken jacks were brutal. He was already on contract to that anger management shit. It made him really fucken angry, having to sit through those classes. One day he’d just up and punch that dorky teacher cunt Tony, square on the jaw. Jab and a hook. Uppercut would feel alright. Fucken cunts. Gary goosed Masterboss along past the telegraph pole he was scenting, the mutt responding with a low growl, dripping with violent promise.

Weird looking cunts were everywhere. Gary spied ‘em, geeks and nerds, Asians and students, all weirdos and stringbeans with John Butler tea cosies on their fucken heads, was that the crocheted doily off his Nan’s fucken toilet paper on one head, probably head lice which then meant crabs? Gary was sorely tempted to sick Masterboss onto one particularly tragic case, all adam’s apple and anaemia, how the mono-browed skidmark doesn’t topple over in the gentle breeze is anyone’s guess. Gary spat on the concrete, turning a bull ant’s donut crumb heist into Kevin Costner’s waterworld. Fucken geeks. Masterboss stopped to nosh some flattened chips outside Red Rooster. Red Rooter, thought Gary, ogling a forty plus piece jiggling past in cutoff denim shorts. Woulda been hot stuff in her day, mused Gary while absently bracing his crotch. He fossicked about in his bumcrack before moving on. Fucken sweaty, ya cunt.

At Centrelink Gary fastened Masterboss to the railing with his chain. Looked like he could use some water, but Gary couldn’t be fucked sorting that shit out. Masterboss was really panting, and even gave a bit of a whine, which pissed Gary right off.

“Stop whingein’, ya ugly cunt.”

HASSLE. The one thing Gary hated more than anything was cunts giving him HASSLE, and here was Masterboss of all cunts doing it. That cunt of all cunts should know fucken better. Fair enough it was a hot day and all, but givin’ cunts fucken hassle? Fuck that.

Inside, Gary stopped at the cooler and had six of those pissy little cardboard cups full. Gotta keep the fucken fluids up. Keep ‘em up because Gary liked to take good care of things, reminding himself what a responsible, considerate sort of cunt he was, unlike the cast of poofs and weirdos riddling this shithole. No other cunt had hit the cooler. Problem with this lot, affirmed Gary, was that unlike him these maggots didn’t know how to live properly. Important to set the example, mused Gary, tweaking a nipple through his singlets synthetic blend. Set the example, and if any cunt arcs up, start swingin’. Connect to the jaw.

The line was really long. Gary hated being at the back of this fucken line, waiting behind all these manky cunts. It made him really angry, and Gary was tempted to just tackle the fat bitch in front, see if he could get her to knock down that posey tattooed cunt, him to flatten that fucken baby stroller and so on just like domino’s and maybe then Gary would be free to get his proper service at the counter, ya cunt!

It wasn’t gonna happen. That security cunt Jennings had clocked Gary the second he came in and hadn’t let up with the hairy eye since. Jennings the posey faggot wasn’t eyeballing anyone else, which pissed Gary right off. There were nerds and gimps a-plenty, left, right and bloody centre to fucken stare at and here was Jennings, still just staring at Gary, really fucken staring. The only reason Gary could cogitate for that level of attention was his rugged good looks, and that, Gary confirmed, made Jennings a poof.

Jennings Is A Bum Pirate kept staring, causing Gary to get a bit angry, a bit upset. You know what this fucken shit is, don’t you?, thought Gary. Victimisation. They were trying to get Gary down again. Gary often felt cunts were trying to get him down. But it wouldn’t fucken work. Gary snapped, storming over to Jennings Sat On A Pork Sword to fucken flatten the cunt, but when he got there he realized he’d still be doing anger management as a fucken grandpa at this rate. He had to leave it. Gary fumed rejoining the line, Jenning’s cocked brow and poofy smirk etched into his mind’s eye. More cunts had joined the line, and thanks to Jennings Live At The Beresford he couldn’t even push back in without copping more hassle. Next time he hit the bag he’d think of Jennings.

It was one of those days when all the counter cunts were missing, probably out the back shagging each other and eating biscuits, predicted Gary. There was just the one glasses cunt at one of the counters and some lady and her kid had been bailing him up for fucken ages. It made Gary angry, was what it fucken did.

To pass the time Gary focused again on the fat bitch in front, staring at the one who would be the starter domino. Queued up close, Gary could smell her pungent stench; the smell of no exercise and too much cheesecake, a dumb fucken bovine lump of lard, pure begging for a solid nudge from his able arms. Her glorious new incarnation – Domino girl, the starter! But that wasn’t on. He’d cop hassle and never get served. So…he couldn’t push her over into that posey tattooed cunt, but could he push her over to the side, there on the carpet and fuck her instead? That would be alright. Gary thought she was a bit of a blimp, a real slapper, but that it would be alright. She kinda stunk like rotten oranges, but. Eventually he made it to the counter cunt.

“How can I help you today?”, asked the mutant.

Gary felt itchy, angry. Who the fuck was this, this glasses type cunt that he had to talk just to get his fucken money?

“Yeah, I want me payment, ay.”, explained Gary carefully. You had to spell it out for these fuckwits.

“Have you got your form there?”

Lost me form? Says who! This cunt was arcin’ up! Gary decided to drag the maggot over the counter and stomp on his glasses, but No.

“Errr…nah, nah. I don’t have it on me, ay.”

“Ok, no problem. I’ll print you a new one”

Then I’ll jam it up your arsehole, glasses cunt! Fucken form. Gary was above all this namby pamby beaurocratic shit, he was a tradesman and a fighter, not a nancy boy bookworm who never took a punch, probably couldn’t even crack sixty chin ups. See, the thing was… Gary realized Glasses Cunt was trying to tell him something.

“If you’ll just fill that out and bring it back over, please.”

“What? Bring-”

“Fill that one out and bring it back over.”

“Bring it back over? Whaddya fucken mean bring it back fucken over! Just give us a pen so I can fill the cunt in.”, growled Gary.

“Please, if you could mind your language. There are pens over on that counter. If you’d like to go over and fill out the form, then I can process you.”

“But if I go over there I gotta line up again,” objected Gary.

Glasses Cunt was taking the piss. Gary went to grab his collar, but Jennings was suddenly right there. Gary had no choice except lining up again. Everyone was watching. By now Gary was getting a bit ticked off. He’d been in such a good mood all day, really positive, and now he pretty much had the shits. Back at the counter Glasses Cunt has a problem.

“I’m afraid you’ve been suspended. You were unaware?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Fucken Suspended. Why the fuck would that shit be happening? Gary suspected it could have something to do with all those job network appointments he’d spent snoozing in bed. Getting sprung siphoning petty from the work for the dole van wouldn’t have helped. Then was the issue of what was in Gary’s white plastic water bottle; he maintained it was plain Coke, ya cunt. No, he wouldn’t tip it out and fuck what his breath smelt like, what were the cunts doing that close to him anyway, did they want a kiss, the fucken faggots? Things were worse since he’d decked the intervening team leader type cunt. Gary assessed the cuntish financial glitch, cursing its suddenness. He racked every crevice of his cranial compound for a solution. The answer came like mana from heaven.

“Ya know what? That was me twin brother- it’s all a mix up. Gareth Gunn, not Gary. Cunt has the same fucken name would ya believe it! I’m Gary. Nah, it wasn’t me, ay. So you can see how youse cunts got it all mixed up. I’ll tell ya what; I won’t take it any further with a formal complaint, seeing as it was an honest mistake. No hard feelings, no dramas. I’ll just take me payment now, so I can fuck off.”

Glasses Cunt was having none of it.

“You’re still suspended. For another seven weeks. You’ve been suspended for failing to attend all job network appointments, failing to fulfil your mutual obligation and also for receiving cash payment for hours worked and failing to report said payment or employment to Centrelink, as required. I find it hard to believe you didn’t know. You were notified by mail, if you don’t read your correspondence it’s not our fault. I’m afraid I can’t help you. Come back in seven and a half weeks.”

Seven fucking weeks! All this jargon pissed Gary right off. Endorphins swarmed scratchily through his system, Gary’s initial reaction was to start swingin’! The old Gazz would defo be focused on fisticuffs, but no no. More HASSLE was the last thing Gary wanted, so with a disdainful snort, he decided to do the right thing, hawking a green slug onto the carpet. It hit with a thwack, refusing even to wobble. Shit looked like fucken araldite. Ugh. Spying the infraction, Jennings came again to intercept, but look at him veering off to chat with some retard when he saw Gary’s malevolent gaze, read his body language and understood the situation! YES. Gary smiled inside as he savoured Jenning’s fear, replayed the bitch out visually in his mind. All you had to do was be ready to punch on, here and now. Still got it!

Back outside, Masterboss didn’t look too good. Probably shoulda put him in the shade, reflected Gary. A beige pancake of lumpy sick lay beside the pitbull’s prostrate form.

“Get up ya fucken fairy,” encouraged Gary, offering water, but Masterboss’ floppy big tongue couldn’t really get in the little cup and it all just spilt. These centrelink cunts couldn’t get anything right, decided Gary, bouncing the paper cup off some old bag’s head. She turned but he busied himself untying the lead from the railing.

So no payment, ya cunt. Which was pretty fucked, yet Gary reckoned he’d be alright. It was important to stay positive and Gary reckoned he was pretty positive. The other thing needed was a good fucken attitude, and the one thing Gary knew without a shadow of a doubt, what with being such an intelligent, responsible type cunt, was that he had a good attitude.


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