God, Li Ping is a cunt. Seriously, a fucking cunt. You know what? You try to help someone but really, what's the point? There is no fucking point. Ever.
I lost my phone about a month ago and it was found by a very nice man called Kevin. Kevin called my Mum. My Mum called me. I called Kevin and then went to his workplace to pick it up. It was that simple. But Li Ping is a cunt and making things simple is just not his style.
2010 is my year of being really nice to people. No arguing, no getting upset by other people's thoughtless behaviour and much more helping. Kevin is my influence. He found my phone and, instead of phoning everyone in Australia or texting photos of his cock to my Mum, he made sure I got it back. I would NEVER do that. Not until now. On Monday night I found Li Ping's phone on the train. Li Ping is a cunt.
I immediately contacted a couple of people on his phone and the next afternoon he called me. Even though I left my number for him he called on his own phone. I should have known then what an arsehole he was. When I answered the phone one thing became apparent. Li Ping loves pauses. "Hello", I said. Then about 20 seconds later Li Ping said Hello back. "Are you calling about your phone?", I enquired and after much soul-searching and reflecting he said yes.
This was going to take ages.
English isn't Li Ping's first language but he definitely knows it better than I do. He used words like bothersome and grapple. Words I forget to use all the time. If I have one thing nice to say about Li Ping it's that I like his vocabulary. He likes quite old fashioned sounding words. It's just that there is a lifetime between each one and talking to the cunt on the phone takes every ounce of my patience. I actually had to borrow some patience from St. Monica because within no time at all I found myself daydreaming about kicking Li Ping's severed head around my back garden. I would have enjoyed that. Time passed and eventually Li Ping and I got round to the business of him picking up his phone. My good deed was coming to fruition. Soon he would be picking up his phone and thanking me profusely for being so incredibly benevolent. Showering me with gifts and kind yet frustrating drawn out words. Well, that would happen if Li Ping wasn't such a cunt.
I first of all offered to meet him at Lewisham train station even though it's about a 15 minute walk for me. I'm doing a good deed after all. Sometimes good deeds are 15 minutes away. He didn't like that idea. Despite the fact that he lived a couple of minutes away from the station he just didn't know when he could get there. Fine. As he's so near the station I'll drop it off at his house. He didn't like that at all. After all, he doesn't know me. I could be a serial killer. You know, the type of serial killer who likes to give his victims their lost phones back before he fucks their corpse. Right. Well, where would Li Ping like to meet me?
He was going to be in a bar in Blackheath that night. I'm not going to Blackheath just to give the guy his phone back.
He could come to my house. No. If I'm not allowed in his house, he's not allowed in mine. That's law, that is.
He changes his mind and says that he WILL pick it up from Lewisham train station. Somewhere between 4 and 6. FUCK RIGHT OFF.
Finally we agree to meet at Costa Coffee, Shaftsbury Avenue at 3pm. It's where I'm meeting The Trap to discuss the upcoming Los Quattros Cvnts show. He sighs at the very idea of having to meet me there. It's a big inconvenience to him, it's way out of his way but as it's me (and the fact that he's just round the corner at the time) he will grapple with making the effort despite the bothersome nature of it all. Then he calls me back and asks for the address again. I give him the full address and the correct tube station that it's near and he agrees he knows the place. But, you know, could I now text him the address because he doesn't have a pen at the moment. Fucking cunt.
It goes without saying that half an hour after texting him the details I received a reply from him saying that he "couldn't" make it and could I meet him at Lewisham train station sometime the next night. FOR FUCK'S SAKE! All I want is a lot of praise from a complete stranger but I had no idea it would be this much of a cock-pain.
I let him know that this is all a bit much. If he sends his address I'll just post it to him. I can at least get a tiny bit of pleasure from knowing that I've done the good deed. I finished what I stupidly started. Li Ping will have his phone back. He'll never be able to thank me properly but I'll get over that because, after all, I'm a nice person now. His response was "No. Just meet me at Lewisham".
I am putting Li Ping's phone on eBay. He is a cunt.
I checked his phone today and calls from this number are now barred. When I sell the phone I will let you know how much money I got and what I spent that money on. If I can't be told how great I am I can at least buy something really stupid.
Me being nice is supposed to be the "third act" of my possible Edinburgh show. It's going to be really, really tough that bit. I try to be nice and I'm not allowed. What's the fucking point? Cunts.