LOCAL WOMAN (57) IN VOLVO HORROR

Joyce (57) yanks the fitted sheet off the mattress for the second time today. She bought this one in the sale at Dunelm Mill, a local outlet which specialises in ‘luxury’ bedding. She normally saves the ‘good stuff’ for the classier customers or her husband (estranged) but the washer has packed in so… she has no choice.

Joyce hates changing the bedding. It’s a right pain in the 'backside'.

This afternoon she has to go for a ‘sexual MOT’. ‘MOT’ stands for Maximum Operating Temperature, which Joyce feels is pretty apt given the nature of her work.

This afternoon, the dreaded Richard is coming. Joyce sighs as she shoves twenty Berkley Reds into her plastic handbag. Richard is a little man with a pointy face. The tip of his nose is sharp and cold. Vinegar runs through his veins and semi erects his awful prick. Even that’s sharp. And vinegary.

Thirty years ago, Joyce had a ‘steamy love affair’ with a sailor from ‘down South.’ He had swarthy looks i.e a curled top lip, big ‘sideburns’ and very thick black hair.

This afternoon, on her way to a ‘routine smear test’, prior to an appointment with a miserable client, Joyce is thinking about that sailor’s top lip. She hasn’t done this for many, many years. She’s thinking about how she used to stroke the hair on the back of his head which was closely cut and soft, like an animal. She would nuzzle the back of his head here as he lay resting after their sex. Smelling sweet.

This afternoon, completely ‘out of character’ and lost in ‘girlish thoughts’, Joyce doesn’t look as she steps out into the road, into the path of a T reg Volvo estate.*

*which has just failed it’s MOT.

EXIT KNIGHT

On the Devon coast...

NARRATOR: The smell of the tomb,
copper in the womb,
He has a dagger, he stabs her balloon.

MAIDEN: Please don't sap my life blood you selfish sod!

KNIGHT: O lose some weight you unfortunate clod

MAIDEN: Why does thou make me feel like such utter shite?

KNIGHT: This be my way love (EXIT KNIGHT)

I Think We Need to have a Little Talk

Dear Cousin,

Forgive this tardy response to your beautifully drafted correspondence. Events in the Diocese of Salford have plucked me from my writing desk and thrust me into the fray they call romance! Developments regarding my status are occurring at an alarming rate and were it not for the ghastly, brutish, weather, I must confess, I would not be labouring on this composition.

For cousin, O dearest cousin, I have met the man I wish to marry! Your mother and father are presently unaware of this news so I beg of you dear cousin, please break the happy news as I may not return from my sojourn in Higher Broughton.

Forgive me, you must be vastly keen to learn of what I speak. I shall keep you waiting no longer. ‘Twas a mere eight days ago when I was taking a turn in the village of Trinity; the air was frightfully bitter and, lost in my foolish reveries, I had forgotten my muff. Thankfully, I had a pair of Connie’s sheepskin gloves so my hands were not too perishing, although they fit very ill indeed.

I was looking for the first snowdrops peeping out from under the tired bracken when I heard a twig snap. It fair startled me and I spun around in a frightfully unladylike manner to see a very handsome gentleman on horseback wearing regimentals. His hair was shiny like the horse-chestnut and his eyes seemed to show infinite depth and kindness.

Lo! Cousin! The gentleman climbed down from his steed and took a courteous bow, apologising for his intrusion. He introduced himself and when I told him our name he earnestly expressed how glad he was to make my acquaintance. He is called Mr Bertram Pepper. We spoke of his family seat at Ordsall and how the regiment was stationed at Taunton in the summer months. I told him about our frolics last summer at Weston-Super-Mare. It was then he knelt, dirtying his creamy breeches on the dampened bracken, to retrieve a small posy of snowdrops. He looked at me beseechingly and held out the flowers. I felt my face flush upon which, the gentleman promptly arose and steadied my hysterics.

We are to be married Tuesday week and Bertram says we are to move to the Americas upon completion of our nuptials. His father, Dr Pepper, has a thriving business selling medicated beverages.

I do hope, Cousin that you can make the necessary arrangements and join us at the wedding.

With fond affection,
Your Cousin

Rasta Pasta

Hair in dreads like thick black pasta
Can I play a tape on your ghettoblaster?
You haven’t got one -
It doesn’t matter
You’ve got a milky voice O Mr Rasta.

Mocha Parade

Thought it was all getting a bit too 'wordy' so here's a pretty picture what you can look at with your pretty eyeses.

Mocha Parade is where I do my weekly shop. The fruit and veg merchant is second to none and the Offy takes milk tokens. I take tea with two tokens and a gregarious amount of enthusiasm.

In other news, I'm in love with a Strangeways shirt I bought off an ex-inmate a week before Christmas. 'Tis a mere 50% cotton but it's really comfortable. Unlike, I dare say, prison.

The Aztec in the Attic

There’s an Aztec in our attic. He’s been there for a couple of months now. He’s called Gunther. I know! Weird name for an Aztec, right? I thought that too but it turns out his Mom was German, so…
He’s got a brother called Otto but they lost touch. The last Gunther heard, Otto was living in a town called Bolsover, in Derbyshire, England.
Me and my Mom and Pop moved to the UK five years ago. We’re from Dewey Beach, Delaware. That’s in the US. The first state! Dad worked as a pharmaceuticals salesman for a big shot drugs corporation. Pop’s an okay guy I guess. He is quite tall and wears jeans a lot. I don’t know too much about him.
But, like, woah. This really crazy stuff happened before we all came to England. It all started because my sister, Kaylie, who is 6 years older than me and a total whore, was sucking off one of Dad’s work buddies (Jeff) in exchange for drugs and stuff. Nobody knew for like, ages until it all turned out pretty bad.
She was there getting stoned the whole time, ducking school and stuff, when dickwad Jeff decided to make her do porno films. I don’t know, he was supplying the drugs so I guess she would have done anything. All of this went on for about a year. The douche-bag even bought her a nose job and a fake boobs but Mom and Pop were still totally unaware. Maybe they thought she was a late developer. They’re kinda like that. Real dumb. It’s the same with Gunther, the Aztec. It’s like they haven’t even noticed he’s there?
Okay so my sister, the good gal from Delaware, does this really freaky anal porn which culminates in her ass prolapsing repeatedly during a take. It becomes the biggest hit on YouTube since the guy who sticks the pickle jar up his butt. My sister, in a giggly Roxicodone haze, mumbling ‘my ass, oops, my ass just fell out’ over and over whilst trying to poke it back in with her fake nails. Tee fuckin’ hee sis.
Ironically, a few months later, Dad was giving an informal demonstration on a piece of hardware which is a sort of fake ass, made for people who’s butts have collapsed. He was trying to get the consultants to buy them for their hospital. The doctors all started laughing and talking about the ‘oops my ass just fell out again’ girl from YouTube. Dad didn’t know what they meant until after the presentation when they showed him the clip of my sister. Pretty bad huh?
So, we moved to England. Out of pure shame. My parents just couldn’t take it. Turns out everyone in the neighborhood knew about it. Pretty much everyone in Delaware knew about it. Except for Mom, Pop and me. So now we live in an English house in a place called Milton Keynes. It’s long way from Delaware. Mom has an old Aunt who lives in this really English place called Husbands-Bosworth which is not too far from here. Occasionally we go visit her and drink cups of tea with REAL TEA LEAVES. Gross.
It was pretty shitty until Gunther moved in. But now it’s quite good. I go to a high-school called Kings Heath which is okay I guess. I like History and Home-Economics and German is OKAY but only because Gunther is such a dude and helps me out with it.
He is totally cool. On Saturdays he comes out of the house and helps me do my paper round. Most days though, he just stays right up there in that ol’ attic, playing online games and watching videos. He’s got a Toshiba. I give him shit about it all the time and say, ‘hey Gunther, you should get a Vaio man, they’re way better than that hunk of junk’ but he doesn’t. I guess he must be pretty broke because he ain’t got a job or a rich family. Unless Otto is loaded and sends him money? I doubt it. But I’ll ask him.
It’s a good life that me and Gunther share you know? He tells me about his Mom and how she came to be living in Mexico in 1535 and I tell him about my cousin Lionel who sometimes tips his head back, spits out boogers then catches them in his mouth. If we’re in the mood, we’ll watch ‘oops my ass just fell out again’. No matter how many times we watch that darn video, Gunther just doesn’t get it.

Wok Bottom

I like to go to Plopshop and rub shiny fabric onto my naked, inefficient thighs.

I wish I was Mate Koss or Slate Frost or Aqua Fresh.

My eyes, my bloody eyes.

Gok Can Tae Kwon Do Dot Com Phone Home.

I know a girl who seldom smiles.

Is it because;

a) her smile was stolen by a badly dubbed Hungarian millionaire?

b) her bum is shaped like a wok?

Answers on a postcard please.

Closing date for entries - 15/01/10