pommpey
THE FUTURE ... AS IT USED TO BE
- Banned
- #181
Not entirely football, but ...
My ship was parked alongside New York for the 04 July celebrations, about fifteen months before the jets smashed into the WTCs.
As I was making my way up from the berth to Times Square, a small theatre had just finished it's matinee. Outside stood very professional and serious thesp and famous Trekkie Skipper Patrick Stewart. He was in some dismal, off Broadway production he felt was worthy of him and had hair and a beard for his character and was signing autographs and brochures for the show. The people there were stereotypical 'fat-Yank' dweebs, incels, gun-nuts, loners, virgins, and other risible friendless, dangerous bastards, some of whom were calling him 'Captain Picard'. One was dressed in full Trekkie kit. You could see this was really spiking his precious soul. Did these fucking cunts not realise that Patrick Stewart, actor, had other dramatic outlets and he could cover other roles (apart from the one that had made him a fucking millionaire, mainly from these dumb, Xanax-pumped schmucks?)
As they circled him and fired gentle questions at him ... mainly about Star Trek, I hovered on the periphery of this, mildly amused at his gathering anger, masked by a poorly veneered smile. What a cunt.
"Cap'n Picard, when is the next series bein' made, sir? Will the Borgs finally overcome the Klingons and forge the dilithium crystals from Planet Zephton?"
"Cap'n Picard! Will you sign this knock-off, wrong series Star Trek shirt made by slaves in China? Sign 'to Barbara and Enos, love from Cap'n Picard!'"
"Cap'n Picard! Cap'n Picard! Cap'n Picard!"
I sidled round alongside him, possibly a bit too close, seeing my chance to put something on the 'Now You're Stalking' page in Loaded magazine. He glanced at me, angrily and I said "Or reyt, mate?" (well, he is a Yorkshireman, isn't he?) I raised my snappy camera in reverse to do a 'selfie' (no one had really heard of selfies back then) "Can we do a photo, mate?" He looked horrified and disgusted then finally snapped.
"Do you MIND? I'd rather NOT!" he cut back directly at me, not acting now. The crowd of prawns went silent, like I'd actually killed their king. I pulled a 'oooh, hark at HER!' face and he then stomped off indignantly across the street with dweebs still chasing after him yelling 'Cap'n Picard! Cap'n Picard!' waving shit merchandise, with little puddles of piss squelching in their sneakers.
I was greatly amused by all of this. Every time I see him now, I am reminded what a supertanker-sized wanker Patrick Stewart actually is.
pommpey
My ship was parked alongside New York for the 04 July celebrations, about fifteen months before the jets smashed into the WTCs.
As I was making my way up from the berth to Times Square, a small theatre had just finished it's matinee. Outside stood very professional and serious thesp and famous Trekkie Skipper Patrick Stewart. He was in some dismal, off Broadway production he felt was worthy of him and had hair and a beard for his character and was signing autographs and brochures for the show. The people there were stereotypical 'fat-Yank' dweebs, incels, gun-nuts, loners, virgins, and other risible friendless, dangerous bastards, some of whom were calling him 'Captain Picard'. One was dressed in full Trekkie kit. You could see this was really spiking his precious soul. Did these fucking cunts not realise that Patrick Stewart, actor, had other dramatic outlets and he could cover other roles (apart from the one that had made him a fucking millionaire, mainly from these dumb, Xanax-pumped schmucks?)
As they circled him and fired gentle questions at him ... mainly about Star Trek, I hovered on the periphery of this, mildly amused at his gathering anger, masked by a poorly veneered smile. What a cunt.
"Cap'n Picard, when is the next series bein' made, sir? Will the Borgs finally overcome the Klingons and forge the dilithium crystals from Planet Zephton?"
"Cap'n Picard! Will you sign this knock-off, wrong series Star Trek shirt made by slaves in China? Sign 'to Barbara and Enos, love from Cap'n Picard!'"
"Cap'n Picard! Cap'n Picard! Cap'n Picard!"
I sidled round alongside him, possibly a bit too close, seeing my chance to put something on the 'Now You're Stalking' page in Loaded magazine. He glanced at me, angrily and I said "Or reyt, mate?" (well, he is a Yorkshireman, isn't he?) I raised my snappy camera in reverse to do a 'selfie' (no one had really heard of selfies back then) "Can we do a photo, mate?" He looked horrified and disgusted then finally snapped.
"Do you MIND? I'd rather NOT!" he cut back directly at me, not acting now. The crowd of prawns went silent, like I'd actually killed their king. I pulled a 'oooh, hark at HER!' face and he then stomped off indignantly across the street with dweebs still chasing after him yelling 'Cap'n Picard! Cap'n Picard!' waving shit merchandise, with little puddles of piss squelching in their sneakers.
I was greatly amused by all of this. Every time I see him now, I am reminded what a supertanker-sized wanker Patrick Stewart actually is.
pommpey
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