It was a regular Monday afternoon for me at work today. Slightly shorter day than usual, wedged nicely in between 2 days off. But it was still a Monday and there is still that psychological 'Monday' factor that always wears you down if you're working.
As I carried on about my business who should turn the corner and start walking up the aisle? Only Norwich cult icon The Puppet Man! Whoa yeah the fucking Puppet Man! He who stands outside Primark with a rubbish puppet (I don't even know of what) dancing to whatever he's taped off the radio. It makes him an integral part of Norwich as the Partridge.
But back to the shop. Here he comes, I'm thinking - this is going to be awesome. What's he going to do? Will he do a little dance? Is the puppet with him- will he crack that out? Who cares this is going to be fucking OFF THE CHART.
So here he comes. Oh he's going to grab a pie first. Erm why is he crouching down - oh god he's on his knees. Just rummaging through the pies like they are being outlawed by some sadistic Orwellian regime. Oh wait, he's talking to himself now. That would be slightly acceptable if the puppet was here. But it's not. I can't even understand what he is saying.
It was bad. He eventually got up, sans pie and wandered off still talking to himself.
It was a crushing moment. A cult figure in my life reduced to a fucking joke. This is worse than when I heard about Pee Wee Herman wanking in the cinema.
So now all that is left for me to do is remove myself from the Facebook Puppet Man fan group, and try to be strong the next time I walk past Primark - just looking forward as tears well in my eyes and sting my cheeks.
Turns out - like most cult heroes of mine - he's just a fucking tramp.
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