Welcome to Grump Bag

Spunking in the face of society since 2008
Feel free to have a poke around the mind of a madman

Sunday, 10 July 2011

Update: Riz Lateef

Christians talk of the resurrection of Christ.

One of my friends once claimed he had two large Domino's Pepperoni Passions delivered to his house. By mistake.

Divine intervention always seemed implausible to Grump. Until yesterday, that is. When I witnessed a miracle of my own.

There I was, standing in the ticket hall, at Notting Hill Gate station. When who should I spy?

The one, the only, RIZ LATEEF.

I stood there, breath stifled by sexual urge.

Three months of trawling through phone directories. Multitudinous failed attempts to breach the BBC Television Centre's security. Countless wanks over the six o clock news.

THEN SHE FALLS INTO MY BONER FREQUENTED LAP.

Like a bluebottle fly, drawn to a left over curry, I drifted towards her involuntarily, imbued in her radiant, alluring Asian aura.

Hair tied up, makeup-less face purposely screened behind her BlackBerry, she probably thought she was safe from public detection.

Naive, Riz. Naive.

 Your vain attempts to de glamorise yourself are no match for my acutely poised desi radar.

Such delicately sculpted cheeks. Such fragile, brittle little wrists. I could pick them out from the most densely populated Mumbai slum.

I could feel blood rushing to my penis like a Tsunami surging through the indian ocean.

Finally I would sample the exotic fruits of the sub continent. Entranced, edging further towards her, she spied my rapist glare.

Her startled, deep set eyes flashed at me like a pair of marbles.

She sensed danger. But she needn't have feared.  I just wanted to greet her. Meet her. Maybe take her home.

MAYBE CONSUME HER SOUL.

She hurried through the ticket hall, attempting to escape. I pursued, eyes locked on her pert, albeit bonier-than-I-had expected buttocks. Her pace quickend. But the crowds were bottle necking at the barriers.

She was trapped.

I pushed my superior body weight onto her lightweight little frame. She yelped. Then I basted her neck with my tongue, before being forcably removed from the staion by florescant jacketed London Underground staff.

You may have escaped this time Riz.

BUT I HAVE THE TASTE







.

No comments: