Luke's Diary: An Unlucky Man In A Zombie Apocalypse. Entries 757 to 956

Entry 757: Date Unknown

....

Sitting in the sexual health clinic I was feeling terribly bored until the sh*t well and truly hit the fan.

I'd been there for what felt like ages and the environment was hardly inviting; a cold and clinical setting full of annoying people, who, rather than keep themselves to themselves, decided to try and strike up a conversation with me. It's bad enough I was there after having sex with a 50-year-old dinner lady who gave me chlamydia, but to add insult to injury I was sat next to this woman called Trudy who just wouldn't stop talking. After five minutes I knew about all of the car boot sales she'd been to in the last month, the names of her sisters, the buy one get two free offers available in her local shop and all of the ailments she suffered from including: IBS, arthritis, migraines, a bad back and from the number of times she farted without even trying to cover it up, wind! Why me! Why do I always end up sitting next to the mouthy chav that tells me her life story when I am clearly but politely trying to give her the message that I'm not interested.

I told Trudy that I needed the loo (I didn't) but I used it as an excuse to get away from her and give my ears a rest. I stood up and as I walked towards the loo I bumped into a young and rather attractive woman with a tattoo on her arm. I apologised for bumping into her and she said it was OK and started to walk off. Taking a chance and thinking I had nothing to lose I introduced myself to the woman. "I'm Luke, by the way," I said, holding my hand out for her to shake. She gave me a strange look, suggesting that I was behaving oddly. "Erm . . . OK," she tentatively said, carefully shaking my hand, "I'm Naomi. By-the-way is a weird surname." "Oh no," I said, not realising she was joking, "That's not my surname." Naomi's expression changed to suggest she thought I was behaving even more oddly than I was a moment ago. "Yeah," she bluntly said, "I was joking." "Oh," I said, as I followed this with over-the-top fake laughter, "Of course you were. My surname is Warm." There was an awkward pause. "Luke Warm?" Naomi said, once again with a blunt tone. "Yeah, I know," I said, "Blame my Mum. People always take the p*ss. My Auntie Meryl always says I might as well have been called 'Very'. Anyway, do you come here often?" "What?" said a frustrated Naomi. "Here," I said, "Do you come here often?" "Do I come to a sexual health clinic often?" said a frustrated Naomi, "What are you trying to say!?" "Oh God," I said, feeling panicked and realising what I a tw*t I was coming across as, "No. Sorry. I didn't mean that. I..." Naomi shook her head and walked off.

That's when I felt a heavy hand come down with a thud on my right shoulder. "That was f*cking tragic," a voice from behind said. I turned around to see some cocky looking guy who'd just left the gents toilets and observed me trying to chat up Naomi. "Sorry?" I said, frowning with frustration. "That's not how you chat birds up, mate," he said, "You need to be a bit smoother. The name's TJ." The arsehole of a man put his hand out to offer me a handshake. I reluctantly accepted and shook the man's hand. "I've laid more b*tches than SCS have laid carpets," TJ said, "I've done more drilling and screwing than Bob the Builder. This c*ck's seen more p*ssy than Battersea cat's and dog's home. I've had more spit roasts than Henry the eighth." "Have you really?" I said with a tone of disbelief. "It's true," said TJ, "I'm here every other week. I've seen more sweet honeypots than Winnie the f*cking Pooh. Last week me and this good looking druggy and a fat guy filled a bath tub up with our jizz and then dunked this horny slapper in it." "Really?" I said, rolling my eyes and not believing a word this pr*ck was saying. "Seriously," said TJ, "I was dressed as Sid Vicious from The Sex Pistols. We called it the hunky junky, chunky monkey, funky punky, spunky spunk dunky." "Why are you talking to me?" I bluntly asked the guy. "I'm just trying to give you some tips," said TJ, "I mean that was diabolical. You obviously don't know what you're doing and you clearly need some help. Stick with me and I'll get you laid. I mean it won't be easy. You look like a sack of sh*t that's been dragged through a hedge and landed in a pile of dead badgers." "So, have you been in the consultation and advisory business for long?" I sarcastically asked. TJ was about to answer but I interrupted him. "Look," I bluntly said, "I just need to get past you." "I hope you're not going to the cr*pper," said TJ, "I've just dropped a sh*te in there the size of a French baguette. It's probably a four-flush job. Give it two minutes and I'll go in for flush number two. Either that or you could go to reception and ask them for a kettle of boiling water." "Oh, forget it," I snapped, "I'll quickly go into the ladies." "Without my help it's the only ladies you'll be entering any time soon," giggled TJ.