Dude, Where’s My Guitar?

I study music which means I’m shoved in the same block as many a stoned, heavy rock-obsessed, smelly loser. Meandering one’s way through this lot can be quite the task sometimes, but having to listen to their conversation in the smoking area at Uni whilst trying to chuff on some of Virginia’s finest plants can be even more annoying.

So yesterday, there I am minding my own, puffing away, when a couple of spotty wretches clad in hoodies with ‘Tool’ and ‘Him’ printed on them approach the NHS burdens’ standing point.

Wretch 1 looks at Wretch 2 and, I shit you not, utters the words “dude, where’s my guitar?” It’s at this point I can barely hide my smirk. Have they never seen that dodgy stoner film with Ashton Kutcher in it, which (rather unsubtly) parodies morons just like them? It’s called Dude Where’s My Car?

The wretches

Fucking ridiculous I’m sure you’ll agree. I stubbed out, walked off and thought to myself “I wonder if they have ‘Sweet’ and ‘Dude’ tattoos?”

What’s more annoying in all this is that they went off to look for the guitar and neither of them saw how ridiculous this all was. Sorry if you happen to be a bit of a long-haired Camden Town dweller reading this and I’ve offended you, but that was just mental!


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