Ted the Twat

“Do you think that’s reasonable then?” Ted paused, “Why do you have a face like thunder?”

“Because I’m looking at a cunt, that’s why.”

Ted went bright red, his nostrils flared and his mouth pursed.  His mouth reminded me of a hairy arsehole, all pursed lipped like that and wispy hair around his top lip.  I thought about voicing my observation but he was still trying to process the fact I had called him a cunt. 

“How dare you. How dare you give me such attitude?” Ted’s voice rose slightly. It wasn’t high pitched but it did strain at the word attitude, like he was about to choke on his own saliva mixed with indignation (I noted the word indignation as it was a good one for the old vocabulary bank). I wanted to laugh at his choice of words. How dare you. Such attitude.  It sounded alien from his mouth because it was like the words of a school teacher or a superior at work.  Ted was neither of those things. He wasn’t superior in any way (apart from height as he was a tall and lanky bastard) but had delusions of grandeur. 

Ted was Brentian.  He liked to believe, like David Brent, that he was funny and successful and popular when, in fact, he was laughed at, professionally mediocre and friends were in it out of duty it seemed.  Ted was also castrated. Not literally. Well, I was pretty sure he wasn’t but with a wife like his you couldn’t rule it out.  And that’s where the metaphorical castration emerged. From the words of Ted’s dick of a wife, Cathy.  She had chopped his balls off pretty much on their wedding day.  Ted liked to spout off mantras about being a real man means being a breadwinner and all that. He was basically a walking motivational meme.  I felt like buying him a white board that dumb people hang round their necks to communicate. That way he could write down his newest musings on life for the world to see. He always shared really creepy shit on social media like, Be the man you would want your daughter to date and vomit inducing stuff like that.  I mean, why would I want my daughter to date a version of me?  No matter how nice I am, why would I be happy if my daughter dated someone who could be me? That’s Freudian as fuck.

Ted also laughed excessively at his own jokes. No, Ted, it’s not as hilarious as your red faced, teary eyed laughing is making it out to be.  And he was one of the people who said something and then had exaggeratedly shocked reactions to his own words, like a knock off version of Harry Hill.  And I think Harry Hill is an insult to comedy. 

And he eats with his mouth open. I mean, I know I shouldn’t judge someone based on their eating habits but, actually, yes, yes I can judge someone on their eating habits. He’s a lip smacking disgrace.    

Ted slurped his beer and he failed to wipe the Guinness foam off his top lip. What sick bastard is happy to leave it there?  Who does that unless they’re a sociopath?  I tried not to twitch.  Ted spoke and the foam seemed to move as if it was its own life force.  “Your moody silence doesn’t help your situation.”

To be honest I wasn’t being deliberately silent, I was just distracted by how many things annoyed me about Ted.  I started thinking I was being irrational and maybe needed to get over myself. Ted took another gulp of his beer, making the foam moustache twice the size and I assured myself i had every reason to resent the prick.  I wanted to reach over and wipe his top lip but thought I might end up with broken fingers so tried to focus on somewhere else to look at. Like his rather large forehead. 

Ted was expecting some sort of apology from me because he felt more than slighted, but the problem with Ted was that he was so far up his own arse, if doctors performed an X-ray they would mistakenly think he had two useless organs – his appendix and his brain. 

“After all I’ve done for you, how can you sit there so arrogantly?” Ted was getting angry.  I was getting bored.  Which is why I was zoning out and focusing on Ted’s top lip.   

“All you’ve done for me?”

“Yes! And you throw it in mine and Tammy’s faces!”

The red face and frothy top lip made Ted look like a strawberry Cornetto.

Ah yes, Tammy. Ted’s sister Tammy.  This confrontation was all because of Ted playing Cilla Black and thinking setting me up with his sister was an amazing idea.  I had hated the idea from the start but agreed to go on a date with Tammy to shut Ted up and, to be honest, I hadn’t had a shag in months. 

It turns out Tammy is a male version of Ted and also ate with her mouth open and seemed to also drink Guinness and not wipe her top lip.  And what was it with going bright red? I wondered if they both had botox or something because how the fuck can foam on your top lip not annoy the hell out of you?

I decided that Tammy wasn’t right for me but unfortunately for me I decided this after I slept with her.  Yeah, I’m not a saint by any stretch of the imagination.  And although I had decided Tammy wan’t right for me, I couldn’t just sleep with her and then not call her, so I dated her for a few weeks. I realised it was time to call it quits when she told me she loved me. 

In hindsight I should have not said yes to a second date (or sleep with her) but hindsight is a beautiful thing (as is a conscience and a brain).  Now I would feel it’s justified for Ted to be angry with me for breaking his sister’s heart but Ted decided to sue me for causing his sister emotional trauma. And so here I was, signing a document agreeing to settle out of court for an obscenely large amount of money considering what happened. And Ted was still giving me abuse as I was signing the cheque. 

“You’re an embarrassment to your family,” said Ted, his frothy face getting even redder. He was starting to remind me of a red version of that girl who turns purple in Willy Wonka. 

I’m pretty sure the only embarrassment my family felt was me being friends with Ted and shagging his sister Tammy. 

I decided to bite my lip. I’d called him a cunt, there wasn’t much more to be said. I did regret calling him a cunt though.  After all, it’s unfair on cunts. Cunts are attractive and lovely to be close to.

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