Mingeflute

Yesterday, I let my autistic brother do the weekly shopping on his own. I gave him £60, which he instantly and quite correctly converted to 728.57 Norwegian Krone based on an exchange rate of 12.14285 per pound sterling. I patted him on his poor fucked head and out he strolled with a shopping list I had drawn up.

I now appreciate that although his successful return from the supermarket was in itself something of a personal triumph for young Crickeytwat, the actual purchasing was a right royal fucking disgrace. Despite having ignored the contents of my list by not having bought anything which was on it, he had still taken stock of how much each item would have cost, and had drawn up an accurate but nonetheless hypothetical grand total. He had instead bought 30 double packs of peach-tinted lightbulbs, and 15 copies of Bella magazine.

At first I was angry. I wanted to hurt him so. But then I contemplated who would complete my maths homework if he were to be beaten, and so I let him offal. Having pondered why in fact I still need to do maths homework when I haven’t been at school for ten years, I decided I might as well use the excessive stock with which I had been burdened. Switching on all the lights, I had a surprisingly randy wank to the Bella cover feature on Jordan and Peter Andre, fed my own, personal, rain man, and tucked my own’s self back into dead.

If you think you might be autistic, please go here, quoting every Premiership relegated team from 1914 to the present day.