Inspired by Koojo's 'Where's my fucking burrito'
"Erm, Pater? Concerning our eventual whereabouts" my eldest recalcitrant off-spring put it to me in a broken mix of English and Siamese as we boarded my wife's battered Toyota Tiger which is in constant fucking need of repair, "shall we today be attending the charms of the beach or will we in fact be gracing a theme park-esque establishment which boasts a wealth of exotic animals and an assortment of playful paraphernalia?"
"How much you have to learn, little one", I replied. "You failed to add option C to your list of possible excursions, which in this instance comes in the form of driving extremely quickly to the nearest Subway branch and watching your father overdose on granary products, cold cuts and a quite simply splendid selection of salad items and condiments"
"Well fuck you, then" she retorted, again in a delicate jumble of Anglo-Saxon and gook talk.
"Yes, fuck me indeed"
Call me selfish but I'd had a hankering for one these foot long feasts for the best part of five years and I could almost taste the balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressed jalapeno peppers as we gunned the vehicle towards the diner.
The first hindrance was parking, or rather lack there of, so I instructed my other half to drop me off here, yes, right fucking here, right in front of the fucking place, whilst she found a place to park the car.
I walked with a gait akin to that of someone desperate for a shit, towards the Subway and promptly barged my way among the irritating undesirables who were busy cluttering the restaurant whilst scrutinizing the choices on offer.
"Foot long. Meatball. Every fucking thing on it." I placed my order with the utmost efficiency.
I took a seat with my recently liberated can of coke which I later came to find weighed in at an extortionate 50 baht, and waited for my sandwich to be presented to me in all of its vibrant glory.
Then I saw them. Three figures walking menacingly towards me.
HERE THEY COME TO WRECK THE DAY
My family entered the eatery and my youngest immediately became incredibly excitable, a bit like a puppy with ADHD. She ran over to me, said "Hi there father, if you think your going to be eating your pending repast in peace then you've gotta another fucking thing coming", before up-turning a table and kicking a chair.
I'm quite sure it was unintentional, but there was no excuse for such exuberance whilst Pater was salivating in anticipation of the first edible fare to pass his lips in the past half a decade, so a ferocious bollocking followed by a monstrous belt to the behind ensued - as of course did tears. Once they had dried though, my eldest decided it would be in fine form to poke her little sister in the eye which again resulted in highly vocal waterworks from both parties as the young one had a pupil complaint and the elder of the brats had an exceptionally sore pair of buttocks after having been furiously spanked in front of a gawping crowd of spectators.
"What? You wanna photo of this shit? Fuck off back to the Hilton, you decrepit old twats".
My meal was finally presented to me by an alarmed member of the waiting team and I promptly banished my little bundles of love from the venue in order to savour the delights of my sandwich which was teeming with bountiful amounts of cholesterol and nutrients.
And she was a beauty...
A few pangs of guilt regarding the public thrashing of my daughters quickly reared after I'd concluded my meal, so I took them down the beach, gave them to a piss-head with a horse and let them get on with it for half an hour.