Will 2021 Be The Year Sean Finally Gets His Fucking Act Together? We Investigate
EVERYONE’s favourite affable rogue, Sean, long ago captured our hearts, minds and undying friendship.
But like many of his friends, WWN has often dedicated some time to worrying about him and asking ourselves ‘just when in blue blazes will he get his bloody act together’? While we love his antics and the fact that he still holds the record for wearing the same pair of boxers most days in a row (12) we think it might be time for him to get serious about life.
Famously, Sean asked himself that question in January 2018 and shared with a number of his closest friends his New Year’s resolution at the time; ‘yeah lads, I think I’m going to have to get my fucking act together’. That it came moments after he puked in a pub’s fireplace, thus extinguishing the fire, is irrelevant.
Even Sean could see the endless sessions, marathon online gaming, unrewarding work life, constant ‘single’ status and dangerously high consumption levels of packets Monster Munch would have to come to an end.
However, the loveable messer subsequently postponed such changes until 2019, and again to 2020, which got WWN thinking; will 2021 finally be the year he gets his fucking act together? It’s time to investigate.
Peering in through the window of his city apartment, the early signs were not good. Sean was sitting on his couch with his hand down his boxers, having a particularly attentive massage of his scrotum. We must point out this was not sexual in nature, as in his other hand was a slice of pizza, presumably left over from a session in his apartment last weekend. His beer belly, bigger than we remember when we last saw him.
Sean, Sean, Sean. Lad. You were supposed to be in work hours ago.
Yet another bad omen. No windows were open. Sean had cocooned himself inside his flat, the musty smells he can generate are legendary, but we’d recently been out with him and he smelled lovely, think it was Calvin Klein, we thought he was over this.
A positive development. We cracked open the window into his bathroom, climbing in, and saw no evidence of urine splashed all over the seat. Maybe he was finally growing up. We nearly started crying when we saw a bottle of Febreeze on the ground; old Sean wouldn’t have given a second thought to the smell of his poos, which thanks to the Monster Munch obsession, weren’t great now, it has to be said.
Craning our neck into the sitting room, it was bad news. Jeremy Kyle was blaring from the TV, but Sean did seem to be on his laptop looking for a new job at the same time. The journey of ascension to your best self, is best taken in baby steps, so let’s not all judge Sean, we’ve all been there. The reception on his TV wasn’t the best, so Kyle appeared on screen slightly distorted and his speech wasn’t clear through the speakers, but it was clear he was talking shite as always.
“You’d need at least 4 years experience for that one,” we told Sean when we saw a Web Developer vacancy he was looking at, maybe he was still in need of a wake up call in life.
“What the fuck are you doing here,” Sean said, jumping up in a defensive and panicked fashion. This is classic Sean, we’d all hope his days of volatile temper tantrums were behind him.
“Relax Sean, just checking up on you boi,” we responded, reassuringly.
Retreating into his kitchen and grabbing a sweeping brush to arm himself with, things took a turn for the troubling.
“Who the fuck are you? And who the fuck is Sean?” the man, now looking less and less like Sean by the second shouted in a strange accent.
Realising the error of our ways, we left what we had convinced ourselves after no hours sleep and a fairly hard 7 nights of partying, was his Waterford apartment, and returned to the streets of Amsterdam. On second thoughts, maybe we need to get our fucking act together.