03.00AM in downtown Lower Road, Erith, Kent, UK. Just as Herbert Smith, retired factory worker, dressed in his Made in 1965 pin-striped pyjamas, was about to relieve himself yet again, he heard a noise in his shabby living room, and it wasn't a mouse looking for crumbs, it was a fucking burglar!
Unknowingly, the low-level-shit who was illegally searching for dosh in Herbert's ancient biscuit tin, was about to get the surprise of his life as Herbert silently, armed with his bed-side lamp, crept up on the burglar and smashed the thing over his head! OUCH!
The burglar wearing a hoody and balaclava spread over his face and head crashed to the floor holding his thick head. Herbert nimbly grabbed a handy breadknife, spread his legs over the half-KO’d moron and whipped the balaclava off only to reveal a wannabe gas-meter reader who entered Herbert's abode under false pretences earlier in the day.
"Oh, it's you, you fucking clown, I thought I smelt a rat earlier when you showed me your ID with those tattoos spread all over your fingers reading "Hate". Who the fuck do you think you are, you twat? Oh, a pro burglar, well I laugh my butt off at that one. Now listen here, I Herbert Smith, landed in Normandy in 1944, maybe I was your age, but I don't really fucking care! I and my fellow comrades defeated the Nazis in France, Belgium, and Holland. I worked all my life in the poxy plasterboard factory down the manorway, and now I'm a 90-year-old pensioner with a pittance in my biscuit tin that you want to nick, shithead!"
"You know what, if you want to be successful in your nocturnal activities, on the other side of town there's a high-security estate where the fucking rich and famous reside, and brainless footballers. They have fat limos in their garages, £ten grand Rolex's on their wrists, their bimbo's have diamonds stuck on their pussies, and paintings on their walls, which are certainly not purchased at Woolworths! So, why the fuck do you pick on an old-age-pensioner who can just about pay his electric and gas bills, buy food, and feed his fucking cat!?"
"Oh, I know why, you are a fucking chicken-arsed-low-level-scumbag frightened of getting eaten alive by patrol dogs making sure their clientele lay safely in their luxury-box-spring beds, bought at Harrods! Instead, you target innocent pensioners scrimping and scraping through life after working all their lives and making sure you young lazy bastards can go down to the social, blag your unemployment hand-outs, and nights, rob the very people who feed you!"
"Sir, I am sorry, and my head hurts, have you got an Aspirin, and what are you going to do with me?" The cringing young burglar asked.
"Sorry, fuck your sorry, you craphead, I am going to show you how to play real 'Cops and Robbers’, so you learn how not to rob old ladies and men of their paltry savings and pensions!"
Herbert donned the balaclava over the intruders head, back to front, ordered him to get up onto his miserable feet, led him outside, blindfolded, tied him to a lamppost, returned indoors, wrote on a cardboard board, "This Mother Fucker wants to play Cops and Robbers", returned outside, and pinned the sign to his chest and returned back indoors for a cup of tea!
As dawn broke, several of Herbert's OAP neighbours ventured outside to pick up their pints of milk left by the milkman, curious to see who was tied to the lamppost, they approached the moron and, recognising the tattoos on his hands realised it was the fake gas-meter reader from yesterday! How lucky they were!
The police arrived, read the sign pinned to the burglar's chest, laughed their 'cojones' off and dragged him into their patrol car. One police officer knocked at Herbert's old front door and inquired,
"Sir have you got anything to do with this?"
"Me, why me, I'm just a 90-year-old-pensioner with my savings stuffed in my biscuit tin, hold on, I'll have a quick look if they are still there." Herbert walked inside; the police officer followed.
"Fuck me officer, my dosh is gone! Have a look in that low-level-scumbag's back pocket, maybe he nicked it!"
Lo and behold, there was Herbert's savings, $250,00 nicker, and still wrapped in the envelope given to him by the bank with his name on so Herbert could pay his extortionate gas and electric bills!
The policeman handed the money back to Herbert, winked out of his right eye and calmly said, "Well that'll teach the little bastard a lesson not to play Cops and Robbers with a 90-year-old-war-veteran, let's hope he gets stuffed in the nick after this story is told to his fellow inmates, and I will make sure it gets told, all the best sir, my respect!"
Herbert sat down to a cuppa as the genuine gas-meter reader knocked on the door, without tattoos, and he let him in. Herbert told him his gas prices are obnoxious and the gas company are a bunch of daylight robbers who can never be caught by the cops!
That's the way life is these days!
Budding burglars beware! Do not fuck with these heroes who gave you the freedom to do your disgusting, dastardly deeds! You have been warned!
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