He's Gotta Go.

Well, it's who I think he really is!

My injury and resultant incapacity (see previous post) have left me a little less light hearted, cheery and tolerant than normal. That, coupled with me having more access to the Devil's Lantern than is healthy, has brought about a deep loathing of a character who features all too frequently on our screens.
His name is Josh, he is a young boy and, contrary to the way children are supposed to be, he is heard and not seen.
This little shit features in one of those dreadful ads for Picture Loans, a commercial which itself has previously been a target of this blog. It's the one where that cow-eyed, vacant, Geordie bint takes advantage of the convenience of a phone call to sign away her life, home and family to Picture.
She smiles inanely and chats to the loan shark on the other end of the line like a long lost friend, pausing only briefly to tell her husband to fuck off when he enters the room to inform her that the house is on fire, or something. She pauses on a number of other occasions, however, and that is where the devil child Josh comes in.
Josh, we are led to believe, is her young son and although we never see him we hear him, repeatedly interrupting mummy's efforts to blag £25,000 at an interest rate slightly above the inflation rate of post-war Germany.
"Mum, where's my scooter?" he bellows off-set. Instead of saying "Shut your fucking trap you ignorant little shit, I'm on the bloody phone", she dutifully replies "Try the garage!"
Seconds later the little bastard is at it again. "Mum, I can't find my trainers!" What's going on in that bloody house? Is the little son of Satan blind, stupid or just fucking bone idle? Bearing in mind moron mummy has just told her husband to "shut it" after he dared to have a quiet word in her shell-like, does she say "Try fucking looking for them yourself. Oh, and by the way, I've no idea who your dad was", before adding a warning that he's about one step away from being found a place in a children's home? Like Hell she does! "Under the bed!" she shouts.
No sooner is she back on the blower than the little arsehole comes back with "My scooter's not in the garage!" That's where I would have really lost it. I would have politely told the loan arranger to hang on for a few minutes and then I would have gone upstairs to ram the demanding little turd's Adidas Pratpumps AND his wheelymax 210 up his arse.
Surprisingly, Geordie woman doesn't respond in anyway at all........until she hears the sound of her husband tripping over something metallic which evidently sends him crashing to the floor. Now this is in no way coloured by recent events in the Pither household but does she then say "Darling, are you all right?", let alone "Oh Jesus H fucking Christ, I'll have to go because I think my husband has just seriously injured himself"? Nope. She just chuckles "Josh, dad's found warr scooter!" Uncaring, thick bitch!
Picture Loans were packed off to Grantham some time ago now. Well, Josh, his trainers and his fucking scooter can follow them!