A small town in Norfolk was at the center of an independent report carried out by Trading Standards yesterday evening which confirmed that local Norwich dealer “Little” Pete Alexander was actually just “two minutes away”.
An investigation was launched, in a bid to bring fairer and more honest product descriptions and delivery times to the UK drug trade, by Trading Standards at 6.38pm last night when a mister Wes. T. Wood of Acle, Norfolk, was told almost forty minutes previously by his dealer that he would be “about five minutes”.
Wunderground spoke with Mr Wood to get his take on events, “To be fair it was pretty unexpected. The evening started out fairly standardly, I was watching The Voice on catch-up and eating overpriced, starchy Chinese food with Wifey when Will.I.Am came on the telly with those creepy eyes of his, the ones that look like someone forced two pickled onions into the eye sockets of a particularly docile panda, and I suddenly remembered that I fucking hate my life.”
“In a fit of impotent rage I launched a tub of black bean sauce at the wall above the TV, then yelled at Wifey to clean it up,” he continued nonchalantly. “While she was busy holding back the tears in her Pineapple Dance Studios tracksuit and sponging the black bean off the Laura Ashley wallpaper, I got on the phone to my mates Spoony and Hodge to let them know that we were going out into the city to have it large and get bollocksed for the night.”
“Obviously they were well up for it, there’s fuck all else to do around Norfolk unless you have an ounce of creativity or some gear, and at that point we had neither,” continued Mr Wood, with the vacant stare of an offshore oil worker waiting for a North Sea contract in 2016.
“Our normal guy, Reds, wasn’t answering his phone so we tried this new lad, Little Pete, who we met in the pub outside the railway station in Brundall. He said he’d be ‘five minutes tops’,” claimed Mr Wood, scratching furiously at the flesh on his wrist where you would normally expect to see a watch.
“We sat there for forty cunting minutes,” explained Mr. Wood’s angrily. “We’d drank half a case of Breezer while we were waiting on the unpunctual little twat and there was still no sign of him, eventually we decided enough was enough, something needed to be done, so we got on the phone to Trading Standards and made a number of complaints about his business practices.”
“After being put through three switch boards, speaking to about ten different morons and being placed on hold for a total of thirty four, abhorrently Jessie J soundtracked, minutes we eventually got through to some bird called Sheila in HR. She assured us that they had launched a full investigation into the matter and that a representative had just spoke with Little Pete and he was ‘LITERALLY two minutes away’.”
“They were spot on too, exactly two minutes later the daft little bastard showed up and gave us our gear, the rest as they say ‘is history’.”
