Pat Trackage, Amazon Deliveryman

[NJ Uncut]

Pat vrooms up looking for number 16. They've ordered something dead long. Fuckin thing barely fits, cunts

Hmm, there's 14. There's 18. No number on this cunt in the middle.... the fuck they doin? No number 16??

Pat gets out his Ford Mondeo, goes round to the cardboard parcel sticking half out the boot, and pulls down to bend it. Won't bend, cunt. He has to sit on it to get it to snap, but snap it does! Bits of glass fall out the exposed end, but no worries. Delivered's delivered.

Pat posts half through the door of number 1 and lobs the other half over the fence of number 6, where it lands killing their dog, shareds of glass littering the canine corpse.

Extra long light tube, £10.99 next day by 1PM.

[chveik]

nah that's a stinker

[Replies From View]

Pretty appalling behaviour from our pal Pat there.  But if there's no number on door 16 is it really his fault?

[NJ Uncut]

Oh bugger! In a rush to get his Mondeo loaded up from the sorting centre, along with all the parcels Pat must've scooped up the corpse of a recently snuffed sorter!

He knows the company policy on this one, however. He starts his route, and presently slings it onto the garage roof of number 14, shouting "so long, slacker!"

[NJ Uncut]

Good morning! Little Jimmy at number 12 fires up his iPhone. There's a notification!

SEE WHERE YOUR PACKAGE IS NOW! 8 STOPS AWAY!

He runs to his mum and dad's bedroom, and wakes them with his glee! "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ITS MY BIRTHDAY!"

His folks rouse slowly but pleased, Mum ruffles his hair. "Happy birthday honey!" she plants a kiss on her little darling, and Dad yanks on his navy blue dressing gown that was £7.97 last Black Friday, and pats his son on the shoulder.

"Get dressed son, your present will  be here in.... Show me your phone. Ahh, yeah, I know there, bit dodgy but he's hardly likely to have deliveries that part of town."

"That means get dressed and have your breakfast, honey, as Exposition Dad says you'll have your bike soon!"

"YAAAY!"

---

Noon. 7 stops away.

"Dad, he's been delivering at the Dog and Duck for four hours!"

Exposition Dad ruminates. "That's quite a rough place. But the order would be cancelled if something happened, I don't pay a Prime membership fee to be fucked about. Don't worry son, you'll be biking shortly."

"Mum, what's being fucked about?"

"Well Jimmy, you know Aunt Sally and men..?"
---

"Hmm. Don't worry son, I know he's been stuck 6 stops away, and that massage parlour is a rumoured knocking shop. Probably has some strapons and lube to deliver, I wouldn't worry about it."

"Dad, what's a strap on?"

"Ask your mother, champ. Sit tight! Like I have to.."

---

"No son, don't cry, see, four hours at a rumoured drug dealer's is fine. They have a lot of money. That's why I want you to grow up humble.."

---

8pm. The end of the delivery window. 1 stop to go, and the little blip is moving. Little Jimmy is flagging and can barely hold his head up, but he's still able to Amazon Kindle© some excitement.

"Doting mum! Exposition Dad! He's almost here, he's almost here! Can I go biking?"

Mum and Dad look at eachother like simpering poofs, very much in love. Mum speaks up, as she wears the keks.

"I suppose so son. If it's here within 30 minutes. But it said by 8PM, and look, the dot is moving so fast on Apple Maps! He must feel guilty about being late, it's almost bike time, Jimmy!"

"YAAAAY!"

The loving family watch, expectantly, as the dot rolls nearer and nearer their humble abode.

"Here he comes, sweetheart!" coos Mum.

A dirty Mondeo, once white, swerves down the road, banging over a postbox, nearly killing a cat, and screeches to a halt outside number 12.

The trio watch as the doors open. Here comes some Amazon magic! All is forgiven as the parents see the sheer joy light up their darling's mush. The wait was worth it and the feeling of arrival is incredible.

"Fuckin tip this motor" coughs Pat, kicking a load of empty cans of K cider out the door, as Burger King wrappers and the odd jonny tumble out. "Wrecked. Where was I?"

Pat speeds off to the Dog and Duck finally pancaking a cat this time, and proper dinging some monied cunt's Beemer, haphazardly swerving, fucked and refilling with toxic jizz. That calls for a cheeky pint and the knocking shop. Maybe a curry.

Hang on... There's a friggin bike on his roof, he eventually notices.

Sound. It'll come in handy if he's too fucked to drive home.

[NJ Uncut]

YOUR PACKAGE HAS BEEN LEFT IN:

WHEELIE BIN

[Glebe]

"Alright, can I leave this in with you? They're away next door!"

"Ooh, reckon that's an Amazon Fire HD 10... tell you what, I'll keep it and they'll have to assume there was an order fuck-up!"

"Haha whatever mate, enjoy!"

[NJ Uncut]

^ Heh. Alternate version!

"Can I leave this with you mate? They're away in number 11."

"Yeah I guess.. Yeah, sure. Sure."

"...And this, number 6...this is number 22.. 24...this is round the corner, Elmhurst 112, and also 78.... Just make sure they're delivered by 4 o clock mate, nice one!"

[Glebe]

"Excuse me... is that my package in the flowerbeds?"

"Yeah mate listen I knocked twice, for fuck's sake."

[PlanktonSideburns]

His siatica only really let's up when he's in the driving seat, and when he gets out to deliver, it screams down the bottom half if him like an exploding diamond knife

Ironically he switched to driving in the hope that permanent spinal damage could be avoided, working on the picking department in the warehouse after they put the robots in was a total fucker- standing still for 11.5 hours plus 10min break (once the walk from the station to the break area is factored in) makes your spine and hips feel like pestle and mortar made of fine casting plaster - 'if you can really shine on the picking in the next month, then maybe we can look at getting you shifted' some lanyard foetus proclaimed one day.

The resulting grind to get out in the sunlight prolapsed his lower disc sadly, and the resulting hernia juice pinched down on his siatic nerve like a snake on a frog

If it wasn't for a lifetime's squirreling away prescription pain killers, I would have been section 21ed into a tent under the motorway now, and I suspect that this is probably only delaying the inevitable. Who will want to employ a broken in the middle morphine addict when Boston dynamics finally pushes me out? I'm really sorry if your new soundbar didn't arrive exactly on time, maybe go John Lewis next time? They post dpd, and those guys got a union.

I see a hs art post by nj uncut - it's about my people! He's usually a very sympathetic and conciencious poster, no doubt this will be a cathartic read

Oh.

Big oil gets under your skin I guess

Yours

Pat trackage

[Lisa Jesusandmarychain]

nah that's Postman Plod from " Viz", basically

FTFY.

[madhair60]

"Time for some fat snackage!" trills Pat Trackage, tucking into the sausage roll that gives him cancer.

[Replies From View]

"Oh goody!!"  Pat Trackage can sense that yet another imbecile has decided to save some money by having their old passport returned to them without special recorded delivery.  "Mine now!" he scoffs, and chucks it on the pile.

[Kryton]

I'm genuinely sniggering in the pub at this name.

[Glebe]

Another successful delivery, as Pat tosses the package carelessly into the driveway and jumps cheerily back into his delivery van. "Come on, Jess!" he smiles at his cat, accidentally backing up and crushing the prone parcel before speeding off to his next fuck-up. "Wom-pom-pom..."

[Kryton]

This package says FRAGILE
But is it?

[a duncandisorderly]

"photographs- do not bend" says the writing on the stiff envelope.

"oh yes they fucking do!" says Pat, channeling the 'viz' postman from thirty years ago.  well, to be fair, who fucking posts photographs in 2019? serves them right.

[Cuellar]

"At least I'm not like those poor sods in the warehouses, shitting into plastic bottles so they don't miss their quotas," muses Pat, as he drifts to sleep, and into oncoming traffic on the A34 killing a family of four.

[NJ Uncut]

Fuck me, this Parcelforce van turning into the orphanage car park is holding Pat up something fierce.

Pat knows the company policy. Follows him in, and when the daft cunt is inside dropping off the toys or whatever for the bastards (literally), slash his tyres.

Pat ain't worried about getting caught. There's a company policy for that, too, funnily enough also about slashing. Nope, you don't wanna catch Pat! But Pat'll catch you alright. Usually between the hours of 6am and 11pm.

[Glebe]

"At least I'm not like those poor sods in the warehouses, shitting into plastic bottles so they don't miss their quotas," muses Pat, as he drifts to sleep, and into oncoming traffic on the A34 killing a family of four.

"I knew I should have played-it-safe and not taken you three on a day out!" the departing soul of Play-it-Safe Paul tells his ghost family.

[NJ Uncut]

"Come on you lot," Pat beckons, opening up the back of the lorry. "There's room for 40 this time. Just don't open the Primes before I drop you off."

[Replies From View]

"Come on you lot," Pat beckons, opening up the back of the lorry. "There's room for 40 this time. Just don't open the Primes before I drop you off."

Ooof.  Topical.