What a bunch of bungling fuckwits ferry companies are. Got up at the crack of dawn, drove for fucking hours to get to the ferry on time, and when you get there, you discover that all the organisation is done by Larry, Curly and cunting Moe. First of all, their queue management would not have disgraced a Spaniard, as every other queue got sent forward around me (including the first half of my queue!) I eventually wound up being one of the very last cars to get on the cunting fucker, even though I was one of the first people to arrive for the rust-eaten shitpile. And when I say eventually, I mean fucking cunting eventually. It took them nearly an hour to unload about forty cars.
All I wanted was to have a quick breakfast, grab a quiet seat and then catch up on missed sleep. Fat fucking chance. The fuckers had cocked up the cunting generator on board, so there was nothing to eat. While the inbred scousers were fixing this, we also could not set sail. So I sat there like a cunting twatspaz for half an hour, unable to even nod off thanks to the captain's repeated "courtesy announcements", cunningly timed to blast out across the fucking rustbucket every time I was just nodding off. The noise of the engine turning over and the annoucements made bits of the ferry rattle delightfully, adding to my already excessive pleasure.
After an extended delay, we finally got going and I got breakfast. A barely edible toasted roll, a snip at a mere fiver. Thieving fucks!
I then headed off to the "Quiet Lounge" where I only had to contend with 18 screaming children and a fat scouse slapper yelling at the top of her voice, the stupid fucking cow. What kind of cunt takes his kids to the Quiet Lounge, for fuck's sake? And what kind of stupid fucking whore insists on bellowing out her conversation in the Quiet Lounge?
I suppose I should be grateful that I got through Liverpool's rush hour traffic without having my wheels nicked, though.
Originally posted here.