We go to Costa Brava every year, know what I mean? Me ‘n’ Micky ‘n’ the girls and the kids. Fuckin’ love it, we do. The food is fuckin’ out of this world. ‘cept for this one place we tried once, the Montón de Mierda or some shit. Anyway, it was a fuckin’ disgrace, I mean you couldn’t call that pile of shit a fuckin’ restaurant. Any’ow Mickey decides its time to complain. “Whatchya mean there ain’t no fuckin’ chips?” ‘e says to the waiter, “I come ‘ere on a fuckin’ plane ya cunt!” ‘e goes, “I got fuckin’ kids ‘ere! What am I supposed to do with this tomato fucking bollocks?”
So, Mickey gets up like, an’ I grab ‘is beer, so’s not to spill none, in case it kicks off, and ‘e takes this pan of tomato shit and shoves it in this cunt’s face. Its like somethin’ out of Laurel and fuckin’ ‘ardy, except its scaldin’ ‘ot and this cunt is rollin’ round on the floor, clutchin’ at ‘is face an’ screamin’ like ‘e’d just shat a ton of fucking pineapples. Its hilarious, and me and the kids are pissin’ ourselves. The girls don’t even notice, they’re doin’ some shit on their iPhones, know what I mean?
Any’ow, we decide we’ve ‘ad enough of this shit and decide to go to our favourite caff, the El Inglés Son Gilipollas, they fuckin’ love us there, an’ get some proper grub. On the way out I pay the bill, an’ leave a tip. I mean, we ain’t rude, and we don’t wanna give us English a bad name or nuffin’. Know what I mean?