Bastards. Scum-sucking, furd-wangling, gonad-scratching, bilge-drinking, crotch-sniffing, whore-mongering bastards.
The phone rings this morning. I'm only on my first cup of coffee but I pick it up nevertheless.
"Good morning, sir. This is Peter from the showroom. Your car's arrived and we really need you to pay the 55% cash you promised us, sir. Could you..."
I get to the showroom just as he's replacing the handset, hand over the readies and ask him for the keys.
"Oh no, sir. You can't possibly take it away today."
"But I've just handed you two and a half million forints cash!"
"I appreciate that, sir. But we have to register the car first. It doesn't have a number plate yet. And then it has to be tested and..."
"Oh yes. MOT and emissions tested."
"But it's a new fucking car!"
"I know, sir. Bureaucracy, sir."
"So, why in the name of all that's sensible did you ring me this morning and tell me my car had arrived? Would it not have been more humane to wait till I could drive it away?"
"Possibly, sir. Thing is that until the bank has confirmation that you have, in fact, stumped up your slice of the dosh, nothing can proceed."
"Okay then. So when can I pick it up?"
"Er...let me see...registration 2 days...test it on Thursday..."
"Oh yes, sir. They only test on Thursdays."
"So it is, sir but until it's registered, they won't test it. Friday afternoon okay, then?"
"Is it buggery. I've got to go to Budapest on Friday to pick up the Shoe."
"Saturday morning it is then, sir."
"I'll still be fucking drunk on Saturday morning. Bollocks!"
Bastards. Snot-gobbling, slime-trailing, arse-dangling bastards.