No no... Seriously... What the *actual* fuck is that.

Not many expressions sum up a sentiment like 'what the actual fuck.' It means, fuck me sideways, lookie that. My boss/job/life/best friend/tube compadre\dog\partner has just done something shockingly and permanently alienating to me. They've withdrawn from the endearment bank. And you know what's left? resentment. That's an empty endearment account. It only takes a few credits out each time you make a withdrawal, but eventually it catches up. It's like tube journeys. Let's lump all the other commuters on the tube together as one big Commuter Compadre. Your CC seldom does something cool, like tell you your zip's undone, make way for you, make sure you get the armrest, make sure you get one little inch on the pole to hold on to, makes you feel welcome to put your bag near their feet, lets you read their Metro if you don't have one, yet makes sure they always have their own. But they do all the bad stuff, like getting in your way no matter what you do, making eye contact, breathing on you, breathing on themselves, and then standing close to you, get on while you're trying to get off, get off while you're trying to get on, act like a shower of cunts when all you wanted to do was read over their shoulder... Not let you read your damned paper in peace when they've got nothing to do because they're disorganised little pricks, stop at the turnstiles to look for their pass... All these are withdrawals from the endearment account. Many, many more withdrawals than deposits. The account is in arrears. There is now resentment. That is why you hate your CC. When someone acts like you fed their dog a yorkie bar just because you had the audacity to sit within your allocated seat and a corner of your suit jacket brushed the edge of their paper as you sat down, that's when you say, 'what the actual fuck was that.'

it's a ball, and it's a leg. it doesn't fit.

It's totally hard work to even think of them together. It's a headache trying to make them go. The whole thing is a hassle. It's a ball leg.

That's what I thought people were saying when they were actually saying 'ball ache'. To me, it made a kind of strange sense that these two words together should mean 'a hassle'. And I'm not talking like, when I was ten. I mean until four months ago, when one of my more articulate friends clearly said 'ball ache'. Ache, not leg. I had to say to him, bwahahahaahhahaa don't you mean leg? And as I said it, it dawned on me with terrible clarity; of fucking course it's ball ache. That makes so much more sense, you absolute dumbass. Everyone stopped talking, the deathly silence was a wall of accusation. Accusation I had just failed the lowest IQ test, the one they give to flora. And failed. Miserably.
I had to admit to them all that I thought it was ball leg. People had tears running down their face. Someone said something about me putting on pants in the morning. Someone else compared me to Joey in 'Friends', with his Moo Point. (It's a cow's opinion, it doesn't matter. It's moo.) This means the consensus is that I am essentially as much of an imbecile as Joey. And here I was thinking I was so clever. Do you know what else I've been getting wrong? It's a damp squid. In my defense, what the actual fuck is a squib? Also, it's hear hear, not here here. Thank me later, it's brutal out here, this English.

Anyway, just to taunt me, all my friends now say ball leg instead of ball ache. I mean, they say it even if I'm not there, they've stopped making a point of it to take the piss, it's actually just become part of their vernacular.

I need to get new friends.