I Get Offended By Hotels That Falsely Promise Biscuits
Start – Pitlochry, Scotland
Finish – Dalwhinnie, Scotland
I’ve no meaningful images from today as it was fucking raining for most of it and my phone wasn’t working because the cunts who test these phones only live in Southern California and they never fucking sweat or panic or press all of the buttons at once like a full blown retard.
My relations with the hotel staff last night deteriorated considerably come morning. I had a vendetta after I was promised biscuits last night and none were forthcoming.
I went to check out and the attendant called me by the wrong surname. First biscuits. Now this. Why? Mr Waterford? Are you fucking kidding me? If you’re gonna call me a name, try my first name. I get offended by politeness. I don’t give a fuck for etiquette. It’s all a rich boy wank. A way of firming up your buttocks for your betters so they will put you on the Premium Membership tiering at the golf club. I’d rather they called me Osama Saint Cuntilocks than ‘Mr’.
When I get mad I need to shit. So I asked her if there was a toilet I could use downstairs. She told me no. No downstairs shit house. Ever since I’ve started this challenge Ive struggled with stairs. I’m not going upstairs to shit. I’m not going in a lift to get upstairs as my coat fucking stinks from 2 days worth of sweat and whilst I fucking hated everyone standing there in the lobby with me I didn’t want to kill them with my awful fucking killer Chernobyl sweat.
I got my own back by taking a fistful of complimentary dinner mints, punching them into my face. 15-40 you cunts.
I stormed out and shat in a cafe.
Ran up big hill!
Saw this scary sign!
Got to within 30 miles of Aviemore.
The fucking end.
See you tomorrow cunts.