Taking a quick break from work, I found this other blog: it’s made by someone who collects what people say on the London underground. It may well be made up (after all, no one talks on the London Underground, I did once and people looked at me oddly and started backing away. I was talking to someone else and everything).
My favourites so far (my comments in brackets):
Believe me, you don't want to go to Osterley.
She's desperate to get broadband and I think we both know why.
She's sorry she missed your birthday. She was drunk. Again.
He turned up at work yesterday with a sack full of chopped wood.
He's dead I'm telling you. He's fat, unshaven and dead.
Ten years ago I was in college and she was twelve. Twelve!
We have to change at Earls Court. The trains on the District Line are very picky about where they go. (this is so true…)
Come on! Let's get drunk. It's Tuesday... it's practically the end of the week.
They need to find a babysitter who speaks cantonese.
Someone needs to remind Queen that Freddie Mercury is dead.
No. She is not my identical twin. I'm male and she's female - we can't be identical.
She's not going to believe you. I don't believe you and I was there.
I can pause live TV! I am practically a God.
Can you get some new razors? They are supposed to be disposable, you know?
Another Christmas like that and I am moving to Iraq.
I can fit my whole fist inside.
You're not as old as you used to be.
Honestly, for the first half an hour I thought she was a transvestite.
He's weird. At Halloween he dressed up as the Littlest Hobo.
It's a good game. You get to shoot innocent bystanders.
I have a splitting headache and when I close my eyes I can see Lee from Blue.
You spend all day stuffing envelopes for refugees. It's not a great job.
It's all subs and doms and pigs and stuff.
You didn't realise? It's obvious. Aslan is Jesus backwards.
Horace is my narcoleptic teddybear.
We get up. We eat breakfast. We vomit. We go back to bed.
When the all planet are in alignment, the dark age will be ushered in, and the Spice Girls will reform.
I don't want Hotmail on my mobile phone.
I am NOT drunk. It's just hard to walk in these heels.
She told this joke about Little Bo Peep and he was like... that's not a joke, it's just a stupid rhyme.
I'll buy anything if it has a free CD on it. (I do the complete opposite - I generally avoid free CDs. They are never normally good, apart from Word magazine ones)
Who is that girl? She's like... twelve... and she's singing about relationships.
Natasha Bedingfield is just Daniel Bedingfield with a wig. It's like Michael Jackson and Janet Jackson. They're the same person.
She has thighs... like muesli.
I haven't even heard Keane and I know it's going to be shit whiny Radiohead stuff.
Eminem looks like he's got AIDS.
Toto was the dog. Dorothy was the girl.
You know about Shania Twain and the wooden leg? I thought it was only me and my mates.
I never know what they mean by 'smart casual'. (that could have been me too)
I can't stand orange juice that has bits in it. (that could have been Malek)
There's nothing more beautiful that that smell after it's been raining.
I should probably stop here and get back to work, but I love this stuff as you have probably all guessed.
Oh, and the link is: