I'm Having A Conversation

I’m having a conversation
I’m having a conversation with you
Listen as I talk to you
I am talking to you in a conversation

I am saying words to you
You are listening to my words
Next you will speak some words to me
I will listen to the words as you say them to me

When the conversation is over
I will do something else afterwards
Maybe I will sit still in a chair
Or maybe I will get up and walk around

Later I might go outside
I will walk around when I am outside
Maybe I will stay still for a while
Then afterwards I will carry on walking around outside

I am having a conversation with you
I am saying some words which I have thought of
I am saying the words to you
You are listening to the words that I am saying

A Typical Day

A Typical Day

I always like to try and beat someone up every single day. On Monday I didn’t manage to, as I was stuck on public transport for most of the day, and as a result I felt incredibly stressed and angry. Yesterday was a different story, however.

At around 11 a.m. I was walking behind this guy. He was about five foot nine, wearing pale blue jeans pulled up high with a rugby shirt tucked in. I think he was a student, but not one of the fashionable kind, maybe an engineering student or something. He had a strange bandy-legged walk and was in his early twenties. I sidled up behind him and smashed him in the right ear as hard as I could with a formidable right hook. It made a nice cracking sound and he groaned, although he didn’t fall over – he nearly did though, but he steadied himself and turned round to face me, shocked. I kicked him in the chin with all my force, grunting with the effort. The stupid prick went down.

Later on that day I had a fight with a little girl. Well, I say a fight, but really it was just a fairly unprovoked brutal attack on my part. She didn’t stand a chance, as she was about five years old and probably weighed the same as one of my legs! I was coming out of the shop having bought some lottery tickets. The little girl was outside playing with a doll. She looked up at me and smiled, saying “Hello!” in a babyish voice. I sneered at her and told her to fuck off. Much to my surprise, she called me a ‘nasty man’, getting all sulky and petulant, and pushed me in a stroppy manner. I couldn’t believe her cheek. I crouched down on her level to give her a fighting chance, and put my dukes up. I rained a quick succession of jabs into her angelic little face, blood flying everywhere from her nose and lips. She was crying her eyes out, but was a plucky little specimen, as she was still upright. I pivoted, and put all my force into a low right jab aimed at her ribs. That did the trick! The silly little slag was on the floor, choking. I am dead certain I broke quite a few ribs and probably her pelvis as well. I left her on the floor whimpering – not before delivering a tasty kick to her neck! That taught her.

It had been an excellent day so far. Some days I only manage to beat up one person, but that day I had already hurt a man in his twenties and crippled a tiny little girl. I felt great, and it was only mid afternoon. I barged into my mum’s house at about half past three. The door was ajar but I kicked it open anyway, shouting as loud as I possibly could, so loud it was making my throat sore. I had always managed to keep my violent exploits away from my mother, but things had come to a head somewhat and I decided it was time to show that old bitch what time it was. I ran into the living room feeling absolutely crackers, and evidently I looked quite worrying too, as she looked up at me absolutely aghast, dropping her cup of tea on the carpet. I yelled at the top of my voice “WHY DID YOU EVEN BOTHER HAVING ME!” and smashed her in the teeth with my right fist, swiftly followed by a left to the ear, then another right, this time an uppercut to the jaw. My mum was quite frail, so this was likely to kill her. Fuck it! Crying my eyes out and giggling, I kept smashing her in the face till it was a bloody pulp and she had stopped screaming. The technique I used was that of a large ape – using both fists at once, flexing at the elbows in a downward stroke. Finally, I got up, stepped back until I was flush against the back wall, eyes trained on my mum at all times, then ran in her direction as fast as I could. Just before I reached her I leapt into the air and flipped my weight, so I landed on her full force with my shoulder, elbow and back. I crushed her under my huge bulk, and I heard her bones shatter and the dying air being expelled from her lungs. My work was done! Calmly, I walked upstairs to the bathroom and drank a whole bottle of thick bleach. I sat down and prepared to die. The pain was unbearable, and after about two hours, finally, I was dead.

I went up to St Peter’s Gate. St Peter thought my story was interesting, and said I could get into Heaven, despite all my violent acts and killing my mum, if I was to write it all down and give it to him. He said he would send it down to Earth and see if people liked it, and if enough people did then he would let me in to Heaven. At the moment I am waiting in Purgatory. I really hope you like my story so I can get into Heaven!

© Noah Brown 2007

Education, Education, Education

Hiiii…how’s it going? Yeah, yeah, cool cheers…had a TOTALLY amazing weekend. A load of us went up The Faversham and saw Patrick’s band. You know, Patrick from halls? Really tall, goes out with Alison from Cambridge? He’s REALLY cool…

…anyway, it was sooo awesome, I got TOTALLY wasted - Yeah…they’re really good, y’know, kind of like a really cool Seventies thing going on? with a really sort of 90s rave thing as well? Steve from Surrey was there and had these really strong pills? God, I was SOOO fucked…Julian had to look after me when we got back…he’s SUCH a sweetheart…

…Patrick’s doing SOOO well at the moment…they’re going to do a session for XFm soon. What? Oh, shut up you cow! You’re SOOO cheeky sometimes. Well, okay, yes, he is a very nice looking young man…mind your own business madam!

…anyway, how’s things with you babe? Yeah? Oh that’s AWESOME! I would KILL FOR the chance for a placement there, you lucky cow! Mum and Dad are paying for me to go out to New York for the summer so I can talk to some designers there…you know, a bit of networking, lay on the old feminine charm! You know me babe!

...What? No, no…I’m TOTALLY skint at the moment…don’t get my allowance for two weeks and I am COMPLETELY going to Ibiza this Summer with Lauren and Mel…I’ve told Dad that if I don’t get a really nice holiday this year I’ll be TOTALLY burnt out for September…yeah, and a car too! I am SOOO not going on the bus next year! It’s DISGUSTING!

…oh God…they were SUCH chavs…I couldn’t believe it…Caroline was SOOO drunk…this guy had like, a white shirt? and white trainers? You know, not those really cool white canvas trainers like Patrick’s got? they were like, running shoes or something? Oh Godddd, honestly…Caroline actually got off with him! Yeah, I know! With a LOCAL LAD! Honestly, you should have heard his voice…he sounded SOOO thick…I was completely taking the piss out of him? but he SOOO didn’t realise?

…anyway babe, I’ve really got to go – Julian’s DJing at that new club tonight, it’s like some 80s-new-wave-electro thing, probably be REALLY boring but I said I’d go on the condition he gets some coke and buys me cocktails all night – Oh. My. God. - you wouldn’t BELIEVE the state of this guy who just walked past…honestly babe, I sometimes forget it actually IS Up North here…hahaha…I KNOWWW; I’m terrible aren’t I? Anyway babe, I’ll see you next week at Klaxons? Cool! Love you! Byeeee!

© Noah Brown 2007

It's A Shit Business

It’s A Shit Business

As I intently squeeze out a turd on to the chest of this flabby, middle-aged businessman, I think about how it came to this. The father-of-three groans and sweats and, as if to preserve my fragile sense of self, my mind wanders…

I had never made a lot of time for myself. From my schooldays, I was always a quiet, shy, demure sort of girl. I had no figure to speak of up until the age of about seventeen, and when I did, I made sure to hide it under vaguely unflattering, sober garments. Father was a stern, distant individual, and he had left our house by the time I was thirteen. He started an affair with his young secretary, lost all interest in my Mother (just before she became ill), and went off to set up home with this girl. That was the last either of us heard of him. Indeed, when he was in my life, I can remember my Father saying maybe dozens of words to me, in total. Never a compliment, never a connected exchange, a few grunts here and there, the odd withering put-down. She would never come straight out and admit it, but I’m sure he used to beat Mother too. Well, he left, and Mother started taking a serious turn for the worst. Turns out she had bowel cancer. It was a terminal condition, untreatable, and the doctors held little hope for her. She could have spent the rest of her days in a hospice, but the pair of us decided it would be best to see out her remaining time being looked after by the only person who ever truly cared about her – myself. I spent my early teenage years studying hard, having very little of a social life and looking after Mother. She lost all control of her bowel movements, so I would be in the midst of revising for my O-levels, when I would be summoned downstairs by her anguished call, have to take her out of her wheelchair and try to preserve her modesty. I can remember the acrid stench and the vivid yellow colour as if it was yesterday.

At the age of fifteen, a nice young lad took it upon himself to try and woo me. His name was Richard, and he was tall, with a strong, honest jaw and powerful arms. He caught my eye as I was out in the village shop getting a few things for Mother and I. Richard was a paperboy, and came from the very well-to-do private estate up the road. Well, I was very shy and reticent, as is my nature, but eventually agreed to let Richard take me to the picture house in town. He was the absolute picture of charm and civility, and I remember feeling very warm and safe as he walked me home from the bus stop that evening. It felt wonderful to be cared for and made to feel special, some much needed respite from my responsibilities with Mother. After a few dates, I am embarrassed to recount, one thing led to another and I let him take my innocence. The experience was exquisite – to this day I blush just thinking about it! – and I was sure this was it, this was the beginnings of the rest of my life with this lovely young man. Well, I’m afraid things weren’t so simple. As time went on, I found it harder and harder to make contact with him. He was never there when I called him on the telephone, and he never rang me. Occasionally he would come to the house, smelling of alcohol and a vaguely herbal, sweet smoke, and take me in a cold, perfunctory fashion. I was absolutely blinded, made giddy by what I thought to be love, and never questioned any of this. The nappy changing, wiping, washing and sterilising was so much easier to bear with the fires of love burning in my foolish, deluded young heart. Anyway, eventually the visits stopped altogether, and a letter found itself on our doormat – the contents of which tore me in two. It turns out Richard had been having his way with a few of the rougher girls from the council estate a couple of miles away, informing me in detail of what they had been getting up to and how they were far superior to me, in terms of figure and technique. He went on to say that him and I could never have any future together, as I was plain and flat-chested, and more crushingly, that I had a ‘spastic mother’ and our house ‘stank of shit’. He ended by saying he was embarrassed to be seen with me and never to get in touch again. I felt like my very soul had been destroyed.

The subsequent weeks were hell for me. Mother tried to show concern, but the pain was too much for her, and the medication she was on was making her less and less lucid. My tears would roll down my cheeks as I held my breath and wiped, changed the nappy, gave her a bath. Exams were coming up, and the combination of grief from the break-up of my ‘relationship’ and the stress and strain of caring for an ever-worsening Mother meant I didn’t do as well as I hoped. I had no time to be thinking about a career, or going to secretarial college, say, so I didn’t give it too much thought. My days were full with simply keeping Mother as comfortable as possible and trying to remain functional with a broken heart.

Two weeks later, Mother died.

After making all the arrangements and sorting out the (very sparsely attended) funeral, the house, along with my life, was empty. At this time I strangely felt quite devoid of emotion and thought, at that point, that I was coping very well. Turns out it was a person’s inbuilt way of dealing with severe shock and trauma. After a couple of months of not leaving the house and talking to no one, the neighbours became concerned and I ended up being sectioned. The details of my time away are very hazy indeed – suffice to say, that is all I will elaborate on this period of my life.

By the age of eighteen I had dusted myself off and was ready to make a fist of things. I had learned to drive and had bought myself a little car with the money from Mother’s will. I found a job at a care home about twenty-five miles away, looking after the elderly and infirm, and settled into this work very well. I felt a real sense of purpose, and knew I was doing a great thing for these poor old people, people whose families had often all but abandoned them as their health had begun to falter. The ‘dirtier’ side of the job never really bothered me, as obviously I had countless experience of this from my days with Mother.

I threw myself into reading. I read Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Greek tragedy – even the more frivolous romantic novels of the day! Between my days at the care home and my evenings reading in Mother’s favourite armchair, my life was as full as I wanted it to be. I still could not bring myself to bother with men, although there was one gentleman who also worked at the home who seemed to be interested. As far as I was concerned, though, a man would just complicate my life unnecessarily and I was only just beginning to feel like I was alive again. Then I was struck by a major setback, which ended up becoming a tragedy…

I had become a member of a book club, which I saw advertised in a magazine. For a monthly fee, deducted from my bank account, I could have a number of books sent to me for much lower prices than those in the shops. This was a very beneficial arrangement, as reading was my only real pleasure – indeed, it still is my only real, simple pleasure, and these days I appreciate genuine pleasure all the more, such is the coarse nature of my daily life. Everything was fine and nothing untoward, until one day my card was refused. I called my bank, who informed me that all the money had been taken from my account and I was in fact five hundred pounds in debt. I managed to divulge that somehow my details had been used from my membership of the book club – perhaps a rogue member of staff had decided to defraud the customers. I was absolutely distraught, penniless and in debt. I could afford neither food nor petrol to get to work. The bank were entirely unsympathetic – there was nothing they could do for me, they said; I should have taken out insurance to cover such an eventuality, they would launch an investigation into this which could take months, and in the meantime – hard luck. I felt sick. I called my employer, who again took little sympathy – in fact he more or less castigated me for my ‘stupidity’. He agreed to advance me a small amount on my wages, just this once, so I had the money for fuel in order to get to work. The next day, my tank was empty so I went to buy some petrol. To my horror, my card was refused! The money he’d advanced me had been swallowed up by overdraft charges. There was absolutely nothing I could do. No friends or family to lend me money, no help from the bank, no savings and no means of getting to work. I was sacked.

I sat at home for a week or so, distraught and depressed, becoming unhealthy. I was trying to stretch out the tinned and packet food I had remaining in my cupboards as best I could. I could not see an end to this, apart from by taking my own life. Things seemed entirely hopeless. I thanked my lucky stars I was not a drinker, as this would have surely accelerated me into making a rash and stupid act. I was frozen with inertia. Then one afternoon, just before five, my doorbell rang. I was shocked to see it was Charles, my old colleague from the care home – the one who kept shooting me furtive glances throughout the working day. He had come to see how I was getting on – he had heard about my predicament and expressed his sympathy. He was quite good looking in a bookish, meek sort of way, although I had never really seen him like that. I was, however, grateful for the company. I felt very embarrassed that I had little to offer him – I had even run out of teabags – and the house was a little drab to say the least. Even through my fog of depression, I could see that Charles was very uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and began:
“Errrr…look…I really hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage here…errr…but I know that you have no money…really, it’s a terrible state of affairs, disgusting…but I was going to suggest a way you could make some. Please, hear me out…”

Perhaps in my ‘normal’ life, unfettered by this blind, blue depression, I would have been up in arms, marching this young man out of the house before he even had the chance to speak another word. But somehow, I sat and listened, open mouthed and dead-eyed. Turns out Charles didn’t just work at the care home for the money and because he liked to help the elderly – no, he had a more prurient interest in the nature of the work, you could say. Charles was obsessed with excrement. I could scarcely believe what I was hearing, but having been so close to suicide, thought there was no harm in listening. For the first time in my life, genuinely, I was past caring. Charles did not want to have sex with me – indeed, he had no interest in my vagina or my willowy body. He was offering me two hundred pounds to drop my undergarments and excrete on his slight, naked frame. I will never forget that fateful moment. I took a deep breath, pressed my temples and began to take off my skirt…

One hour later, Charles sheepishly pressed twenty ten-pound notes into my freshly scrubbed hand. My eyes were red with tears but I felt okay. I had turned a corner of some kind. I stared catatonically at the wall, and cracked a slight smile. Charles put on his purple fleece jacket ready to depart, before piping up:
“Errrr…the thing is…I have a few friends, well…if you were not adverse…”

I took an existing client list from Charles, and placed a couple of carefully-codified advertisements in the classifieds. I began to develop expensive tastes – I would often drive down to London for the evening in my new MG and spend a night at the theatre, or go to one of the finer restaurants in the West End. I had six or seven foreign holidays a year, and my bank manager was on very good terms with me once again. So now, as I squat on my haunches, anus just inches away from the face of this murmuring Old Etonian, I strain, and a little tear forms in my eye, as I think of the cars, the theatre, the holidays, the clothes, I think of Mother, of Richard, and most of all, I think – it’s a shit business!

© N Brown 2007

Mr Fitzgibbons

“You see, the world was originally in my possession, but along the way somewhere it slipped out of my control. Don’t you DARE move your hand! Keep - it – exactly – THERE…

…God that stinks…it reminds me of the ovens…dark days they were…not that you’d know anything about THAT, with your portable-music-systems and your fancy clothes. I remember the first time I threw a brick at a man’s head, as if it was yesterday. I drift back there, and the crunch of skull and squish of brains permeates my consciousness like so much perfume! Time was, I was a muscular, powerful modern-day warrior – DON’T MOVE YOUR FUCKING HAND I TOLD YOU ONCE ALREADY – and many little tarts writhed beneath my sinewy frame. I once managed to actually grab a pigeon’s wing as it flew past, I was that quick…I tore the stupid thing off and gave it to the woman I was seeing…the colonel’s wife. STOP WRIGGLING. I waited for the wing to harden and mummify somewhat, before displaying it in a fine leather case and presenting it to the lady…it had the instant effect of destroying THAT burgeoning relationship, I must say! Ha ha ha ha!

…your screaming is incredibly vulgar. Did you see that film on the television a few years ago? I believe it was an Antipodean production, concerning a little robot designed to rob banks. Always found that an amusing diversion, that piece. I am not long for this world…

…now Dorothy, you slag…my work is done. I have succeeded in burning off your left hand over this little gas stove, a stove that has actually been in possession since I was in the Cadets. Please adjourn to the garden shed and whimper there. I intend to imbibe a few glasses of port and complete Donkey Kong Country”

guest spot no. 2: "NIGHT TO REMEMBER" by Uncle Steve

"real men eat meat, like dead rabbits. this one here has nice juicy
legs".. tasted rank.. i looked up at him and grimaced.. "you're doing
grand, geoff" he said, lovingly.. looking back, he was probably taking the piss - he was a fuckin cunt like that! kenny was my best friend in the world back then.. he nicked a paki's ball for me once, i've still got it now - mitre world cup 86 special.. "still stinks of curry" he joked! hahaha.. always been a funny bastard..

this bloke, called neil was always getting it.. one time kenny ordered neil to climb up on the roof to get our ball back.. there was fuck all up there! we nicked the ladder and left him up there all night.. he eventually jumped off, breaking his leg - "thick bastard," kenny would say, "shame he didn't fall a bit further and break his fuckin neck!" everyone was in stitches..

we packed up our camping gear and loaded the boot.. some prick nearby on the site was packing his tent up - had all the poles laid out neatly on the ground, ready to tuck away.. "watch this,
geoff".. pissed meself instantly - i knew exactly what was on the cards.. i grabbed my kestrel and took a ringside
seat.. kenny reversed the car sharply into the fancy-tent prick's head - hahaha! all his tent poles and fancy gear got crushed too, i was in hysterics.. we drove off crying with laughter.. i took a picture of him, flapping around in tears like a fuckin spacker! what a gayboy.. i treasure that pic..

we were ratted by the time we got back.. kenny parked up at the bus stop "come on, i'm starvin.. what you fancy?" "none of this foreign muck" i belched.. couldn't find an english takeaway, it was all fuckin greek, chink and paki food.. finding anything decent wasn't happening so we went the kebab house..

"what team do you support then?" kenny was in a good mood - chatty.. "er.. man-chester united my friend" said the foreigner behind the counter.. "fuckin ell, fuckin glory hunting cunt.. you wanna come down the victoria ground with me! you up for that mate, what's your number? i'll give yer a bell on saturday" "er.. haha! er.. that's ok mate.." "wha'?" "it's ok, you have a good time though mate eh? you have a good time my friend.." "wha'? you aint' coming, you fuckin greek prick?" "haha.. no, my friend you have a great day.. and i am from turkey mate.. you are a nice man mate.." i'll never forget the next bit, kenny was fuckin right on one! "come here, carlos.. " he said then nutted then bastard - went down like a sack of shit.. me being the fuckin showoff, i whipped out my dick and pissed all over him, the counter, grill and kebabs.. kenny walked out, embarrassed - i got a few funny looks for that one! I felt a right prick..

The Place was heaving.. i met mark stein on the door, he was my hero! proper set me up for the night.. kenny hadn't noticed - his jaw was hanging on the ground from all the fanny on display! in fact, it wasn't long till i lost him.. apparently he got some major rubs, even fucked some bird on the bonnet of our car! jammy cunt.. i couldn't hold my drink - passed out to Dancing Queen but not before i’d gotten MY rubs! fingered three birds!

new guest spot no. 1: "THERE'S NO WAY I'M A PRICK" by Uncle Steve

looking at myself in the mirror, i'm absolutely certain there's no way
i am a prick.. i've got that look in my eyes that says "think it, but
don't try it".. that shit is the bomb, you're all wank.

"come on cliff, yer lil prick".. he hurried alongside me.. he's all
over me at the mo, i'm his hero.. a colossus staring down at his
little mug.. we're off to the toy fair - god knows what to expect but
rest assured young cliff is going to love it! but don't try anything,
i said to him silently.. he tried it on straight away, i felt it..
"dad, a train is coming, is that exciting?" i swear, i'll fuck him up
if he steps to me..

"two pounds fifty thanks".. i paid in full and collected my ticket and
guide.. cliff was hopping mad at this point.. he'd seen piles of toys
ahead and was spinning.. "come on then cliff, yer lil prick"..

thirty minutes later, we still hadn't left the first table.. cliff was
all over the toy cars, pulling them out their boxes, laying them out,
talking gibberish non-stop.. "this table has fire engines on!" i
tempted.. nothing was working, we could be there all day.. the first
table.. i hadn't even looked around for myself.. people came and went, cliff was getting in the way.. squeezing in and around peoples legs to get to the exciting toys.. we were still there, the table's owner was thinking "christ’s sake, fuck that kid off will yer", i felt it.. "come on now son! let's check out the other tables.." "no, no, no, no, no, no!!" he tantrumed..

it was too late, i'd done it again - damn it.. “i'm really fucked this time.”

15 years later, after i got out, i saw cliff in the pub, playing
pool.. he greeted me and asked a few tough questions.. "have you seen The Fast and the Furious?" i could see he was getting wound up.. he was gonna try it with the pool cue he was holding, i felt it.. my head started spinning.. looking down, i'd finished my whiskey - i'd drunk a whole bottle.. that happens to me, don't know why but sometimes i get thinking and start necking it like water.. "come on then dad, i'll give you a lift home.. nah, don't worry, we're going that way anyway - to the odeon"..

i took all four of em out, there's no fuckin way i was going out like
that.. they obviously didn't fuckin realise i was tasty with a pool cue
until i wrapped it round their fuckin heads.. I gave cliff extra nourishment.. fuckin! think it! but don't! fuckin! TRY IT!

fin.

ENTER THE NEXT LEVEL

Watch a porno.
Smoke some skunk.
Watch a cannibal film.
Watch a porno.
Watch some war footage.
Smoke some skunk.
Do some press-ups.
Watch a cannibal film - keep watching the bits with animal cruelty and disembowelling.
Smoke some skunk.
Porno.
Cannibal film.
Porno.
Beheading footage.
More skunk.
Down some cans.
Porno.
Cannibal film.
Do some more press-ups.
Spin round in one direction as fast as you can.
Watch some more war footage.
Watch a porno.
More skunk, and maybe some aerosols.
Cannibal film - just watch the horrible bits again and again.
Spin round really fast again, for 5 minutes non-stop.
Down some more bad cans.
Smoke some more skunk.
Try and set up three screens, so you can have porno, cannibal film and war footage going off at the same time.
Keep watching for two more hours, drinking cans, smoking skunk blunts and every 10 minutes pressing pause and spinning round very fast for 45 seconds.
Now get down and do 40 press-ups.

Now quickly get your suit on and leave the house and go and get the best job you can!

JUST BECAUSE YOU DO MUSIC, IT DOES NOT MEAN YOU'RE SPECIAL

...just because you're an "artist", it does not make you precious

I am taking particular issue with 'jazzual', jazz-funk types here, at this point in time. Jello Biafra had it right in "Holiday In Cambodia" - 'play ethnicky jazz to parade your snazz/on your five-grand stereo/bragging that you know how the niggers feel the cold/and the slums' got so much soul". When booked to play records at a city centre bar on a Saturday night, try some party tunes, not arduous fusion plod and funk covers of Pink Floyd songs that go on for 8 minutes. And try smiling. And try not to have such disdain for those less "homegrown" than you. The city in which I live is full of humourless cool-chasing wannabes. Why do people feel such a need to belong to some kind of exclusive group, even when they are well into their genuine 'adult' years? I don't care how 'cool' you are, you won't feel so cool when you're being chased down a Ugandan back alley by bloodthirsty machete-wielding bandits. Let's see how much of an air of practised, glowering hipster disdain you can give off when the runny excrement of pure terror is trickling down your leg, and the glistening blade of truth is pressing hungrily at your thorax...

HERE, TAKE THIS CARRIER BAG

YOU PRICK. I'M SICK OF YOUR SHIT. SHUT YOUR MOUTH. I'M SO UPSET. GET OFF ME. THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. DO A SHIT IN THIS PLASTIC BAG. THE SKY IS FULL OF GULLS...WATCH THEM FLY! I HOPE YOU DIE OF A BAD DISEASE. YOU MONG. I SAW A LOVELY FILM. I LIKE THESE SHOES. BUY ME A CAKE. YOUR LUNGS ARE MAKING AN ANNOYING NOISE. EVERYTHING IS SO LOVELY, YOU'RE ALL REALLY NICE. THESE PEOPLE ARE ALL SO COOL! I'LL SHIT INTO THE BAG. MAKE ME CRY NOW. NOBODY LIKES ME, I'M SO WORRIED. NOW I'M EXCITED AGAIN! THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT. I CUT MY NECK OPEN WITH A GARDEN TOOL. THIS IS IMMATURE. I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU. I'M CONFUSED. I'M GOING TO A YOUTH CLUB. MAKE MY NECK FEEL RELAXED. I'M WEARING A HEADBAND FOR YOU. PISS EVERYWHERE. I PUT DRUGS IN A PIE TO KILL YOU. NO-ONE CARES ABOUT THE LITTLE DYING BOY IN THE STREET. YOU CAN'T STEP TO THE TECHNIQUE. THAT'S GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. LEAVE MY DAD OUT OF THIS. I'M IN THE GLEN RELAXING IN A LITTLE POOL. THERE'S A BURNING SENSATION IN YOUR LEGS. FUCK OFF YOU! THAT'S VALID. I'VE GOT A SOLAR POWERED CALCULATOR. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING. I'M SAYING A LOT OF FACTS. I SMASHED YOU IN THE FACE WITH A PAN LIKE IN TOM AND JERRY AND YOUR FACE WENT ALL FLAT! I'M WRESTLING WITH INFINITY. THERE'S BLOOD COMING OUT FROM UNDER THE DOOR, AND CEASELESS SCREAMING. STREET-CUNT. WAR MILK IN AN OLD CHIPPED CUP. CUN-MIND. BLEEDING UP MY GUTS. MILK EVERY LAST BIT OF YOUR POINTLESS BLOODY LIFE. BUY ME A CAKE FROM THE SHOP. I HAD A ROW WITH A REALLY CLOSE FRIEND. THE CROWS MADE ME CRY WHEN THEY FLEW NEAR MY FACE AND TRIED TO PECK. MY FAVOURITE BIT WAS NEAR THE END WHEN HE DID THAT FUNNY DANCE, DID YOU SEE IT? I SMASHED UP HIS CHEEKBONE WITH A HEAVY BIKE CHAIN.

THERE IS SO MUCH GOING ON THAT I CANNOT EVEN KEEP UP WITH IT. YOUR STUPID PUNY MIND WILL NEVER CATCH UP

DO A SHIT INTO A BAG.

I have seen 'Bones'...

...on television. He is the "calcium expert" for the Munch Bunch. What an unusual job!

Let's go to a foreign land. It would be like SO AMAZING to take our money and experience like a WHOLE DIFFERENT CULTURE. We could buy a SUIT for 4,000 Rupees.

Sometimes, it is difficult to spell your own name! MASSIVE 'LOL'!

Me and Darren Womb were down the arcade before. I completed 'Shinobi' on 20p and I was like "FUCK OFF', all yelling all gruff and that, and Darren Womb was like "you're SO repetitive". I quickly developed a rare glandular condition and he felt sorry for me! I tensed up really hard and I felt my metabolism go all wrong.

I'll keep slugging it out, like an old deaf boxer.

YOU CANNOT STOP ME, YOUR STYLE'S TOO SLOPPY, I SELL TOBACCO AND I'M DOING REALLY WELL NOW.

"Oh wow, you're like really RANDOM". Yeah mate, I fling my arm out so hard it jars my elbow and as a reward from God, a massive knife blade emerges from my hand. I stuck it through some prick's cheek. There was nothing the prick could do about it, as my style progressively gets more powerful. I kicked 'em right in the pelvis! It was filmed for an advert.

I GOT THEM PRICKS TOLD 'LOL'

We had to do an exam and after the exam everybody was comparing their scores.. i got 13/25 and all of my brainy friends got like 18+ So they decided to tease me about it and make me feel like shit. So i just told them all to fuck off and i left :) yay go me :) I love my friends and i’m sure they didn’t mean to make me feel like that.. but they just don’t realise what they say does to me.

'Minkypoops' clears the air...

Dear Daddy, I know you will never read this but doing it makes me feel better. You beat my mum up and belted me and my brothers throughout my whole childhood. You smashed up our toys and the home we lived in. You told us it was our fault and we made you do it. You were meant to protect us from everything that was bad or frightening in the world. The scariest thing for us was you. Now my mum has finally plucked up the courage to leave you, you are trying to play me and my brothers off against each other. I hate you more than you will ever know. You are an EVIL bully. You deserve to be a sad lonely little man who has no one left to care for him. Guess what? I’m 27 and not scared of you any more so FUCK OFF!!!!
Hate you forever
From the little girl you made cry every night.
p.s. I was right when I was 7 and wrote ‘daddy is a pig’ in my school book. Beating me for writing it didn’t make it not true.

friends!

The other day a friend had called me up and started Screaming at me on the phone for no apparent reason! I asked him what the problem was and told him calmly that i didnt do anything wrong! But he kept dragging it on and on and on… so finally i stood up for myself and said that i didnt need this shit in my life so I told him to take a flying fuck and leave me alone and never speak to me again!!!! Boy did that feel great!!!

7 Questions

Are you the kind of person who says exactly what you think other people want to hear?
Do you tailor your answer, and your personality, according to the company you're with?
Does your personality have an undercurrent of sycophancy?
Do you hate to hold an unpopular view?
Are you desperate for acceptance and approval from others?
Do you like to bask in perceived popularity?
Are you a bit like that character from the pub in The Fast Show who agrees with everyone?

Then you, my friend, are a PRICK.

I'm hot coz I'm fly...

...you ain't coz you're not.

"...QUICKLY, TAKE THIS CARRIER BAG AND DO A SHIT IN IT BEFORE ANYONE SEES..."

I saw the bloke from Ghosts and Goblins before. He suggested that I might smash you in your jaw with a wrench.

You were in the pub with your sister, crying, as usual.

This bloke was behind me and I span round like "BLAWWW" with my elbow out and got him right in the jaw.

I'm "CALLING ALL THE HEROES'. I'm 'BUILDING CASTLES IN THE SKY". I'm "ROLLIN' WITH DA NINES'.

I'm just sitting in a dark room, spitting and spitting and spitting. Someone came in before and tried to talk to me, you know, to ask me questions and do a conversation and all that, and I was just SPITTING on the floor! They got well pissed off, it was almost as if I was just TOTALLY IGNORING them, and just doing a big load of SPITTING all over the floor! 'THAT IS HOW I BE ROLLING LOL'

THEY GOT WELL PISSED OFF.

GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF AND 'STOP CRYYYYYYING YOUR HEAAAAAAAART OUT'.

BITS OF TEETH ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I'M LIKE 'YEAH WELL DONE' AND DID A BACKSPIN.

I smashed my friend in the face over pokemon, what can i do? - from Chris Kung

me and my buddy were drinking and we started talking about stuff and basically we werent gettin on 2 well,we spend too much tim e together lol! we had nrly two bottles of jim beam and she started saying that pokemon is stuipd and i was a loser for liking it and that i was too old and a grown man. i live on my own now coz mom went away two weeks ago. things have been getting harder and i m drunk now as i write this! anyway she said this about pokemon ans since mom going i have got back into pokemon especially mewtwo. anway i am really sorry for it but i hit her in her mouth and bust up some teeth, she cryed and i cryed too and chased her to say sorry. but shes gone and i dont know what to do. i am 23years old man. thinghs have been cool but now i cant sleep and i am sorry for what i did

- C Kung

The best answer to this problem was discerned to be the following:

what you need is manage ment counciling counciling for your temper and courses it's alright to say that you cried aftre you had hit her but that is what all women beaters do if you don't get help now this can and will happen again and the next girl may not get of so lightly.i hope you girlfreind takes you to court for abh and assault as this will show you that your behaviour brings consequences and will not be tolerated .YOUsay that you cried after you hit her but that does not surprise me as so does all women beaters . i think she is better of with out you in her life .because you have done it once you will do it again especialy if you don't seek help now before you get into another relationship no girl will be safe with you so get help now before things esculate as they will you know

Thanks Joan!

Character Studies from a Yorkshire Office

Ridiculous highlights in your hair
Fat arse, and bad loafers with buckles
Fat fingers like sausages, and stubby nails
Wonderful salt-of-the-earth demeanour


Big fat moon-faced yellow haired cunt
Plummy voice with inquisitive tone
Doing your best to suck up to the bosses
If you get sacked you'll cry and moan

(c) N Brown 2007

1980s arcade shoot-'em-ups

I love playing old 1980s arcade shoot-‘em-ups on my computer, and shouting “KILL!!!” as I blast fuck out of hundreds of planes or spaceships. I like to imagine that there are real pilots inside the ships, with families and loved ones who care about them, as I slaughter them with gusto. I like the tinny, repetitive, annoying music and the frenetic, stressful gameplay – it makes me feel mindless and hysterical. I like the fact that I can have unlimited continues and can play like shit and it doesn’t matter, as I don’t have to keep putting in 20p’s. Mainly I like to imagine that I am a ruthless warlord indulging in merciless destruction of people’s lives.

David Helms makes a contensious assertion

"I am a serious rapping tough guy. I sell heroin to kids and beat the fuck out of them. I smash my bitch in the jaw. I am the ultimate hardman. There is no way on earth that I am a queer. I’m out on the street taking care of business. If anyone tries to fuck with my money I will kill him or her with my fierce dogs. I never laugh or smile at anything unless it is someone being hurt or killed. My name is David and I am the realest motherfucker who ever walked this big old earth" - David Helms, 1992

Self-Hinder

You will fail at everything you do in life.
Everyone who has ever met you has nothing good to say about you.
You are a pathetic specimen of humanity.
It would be better for everyone if you died.
No one has ever been able to relate to you in any way.
There are murderers and rapists who deserve to live more than you do.
You are physically repellent.
You come across as if you are mentally sub-normal.
Your grandparents wish you dead and desperately hope they outlive you.
You are a profoundly ugly person.
No one listens to you when you speak.
If you ever feel bad no one will comfort you.
People either want to laugh or spit on you when they see you.
You will never have any friends.
Only terrible things will happen in your life.
A dying dog is more important than you.
You will never make an impact in your life.
If you killed yourself no one would care in the slightest.
You don’t deserve any comfort in your life.
No one wants to be in the same room as you.
The opposite sex finds you repulsive.
If you were lying in the street, bleeding to death, all passers by would ignore you.
You are universally hated.
You are physically awkward and you stink of shit.
Every time you try to contribute to a conversation you will be ignored.
Tramps in the street will not talk to you or acknowledge you.
Babies cry when you are in the same room as them.
Even a priest would want to kill you and wish you dead.
When you were at school all your classmates and all your teachers despised you.
Everyone is always looking at you when you are out in public, and laughing to themselves.
You will never be married or have any kind of loving relationship.
You will never have children, but if you did, they would hate you and kill themselves out of shame.
You should have been killed as soon as you came out of the womb.
Animals know you are evil, and will avoid you even if you have food to give them.
You deserve to die slowly and painfully, on your own.
When you die your body will be left to rot.
If you are buried when you die, your corpse will be dug up and violated.
You are a waste of oxygen.
You deserve as much pain and suffering as possible.

Love, Mum

X

(c) N Brown 2007

Daemonia Of Swan-Man

Daemonia of Swan – Man

By N Brown

I got in the van after Dad. The van stank and was filthy with mud, the usual way Dad left it. He’s not the tidiest bloke in the world, but the van was more for work rather than “entertaining” so it didn’t really matter. I was quiet and pensive, my regular demeanour. I found these little jaunts with Dad quite strange, but interesting in their own way. He always was a driven man.
“Right son. We’re going to smash fuck out of a swan. I fucking hate swans, the evil cunts. Protected by the bloody Queen… I’ll show you how to deal with them my lad. Put your seatbelt on”. We rolled away from the farm and Dad’s face twitched violently as he shifted gears, grunting erratically as if he was a pained animal. He put a tape of Saxon into the cassette deck and as the tinny rattle started through the speakers Dad looked almost appeased for a second, as if the rock had sated his hatred for swans. It did not last long, as the twitches and grunts started up again almost immediately. My four-year old self peeked into the back of the van and spied baseball bats, hammers, knives and swords. I remember not thinking much of it.

I wish this fucking twitch would stop. The more I think about it the worse it gets, like it’s trying to plague me, to drive me fucking mad. My nervous system is against me. That little cunt of a son’s going to see some serious fucking business today, none of that fucking artistic-creative nonsense that bloody woman tries to drum into his head all day fucking long. I was his bloody age almost exactly and I still can’t really comprehend that it happened to me. It’s a fucking amazement that I’ve got this bloody far, earned money, got a bloody house I nearly own, married and spread my gene – with this burning my bloody soul and sanity every fucking day. It wasn’t a man in a mask, it wasn’t, it’s feathered face was warm…it was some kind of hybrid…I don’t know…fuck fuck fuck fuck…YES I WAS RAPED BY THE BLOODY SWAN-MAN, HALF SWAN HALF FUCKING MAN…ALRIGHT??? I want to scream it out loud. I’ve got to do this, for the good of my family. I can remember his fucking bird breath, his feathered skin, his cackling laugh…biting my face with his bastard swan beak…

The swan almost broke my dad’s arm as he maniacally tried to leather the bird. It was going crazy, and I remember being scared. The noise was horrible, like a siren running out of batteries. Finally Dad managed to grab good hold of its neck and cut it open with a fishing knife. The swan choked and rasped and blood sprayed everywhere. Dad threw it on the floor and stamped on its head repeatedly, making a strange sort of high pitched anguished squeal. I was very worried for Dad, he shouldn’t make a noise like that. He was like a monster. He reached on the floor and handed me a big wooden mallet. It was half the size of my four year old self. I remember being swamped by the hammer, yet could handle the weight fairly well. “Come on. Smash the fuck out of the fucking thing boy”. He started smashing the swan into a pulp with a baseball bat, gibbering excitedly. I did the best to help with my massive wooden mallet, and remember enjoying beating hell out of the prone, lifeless, freakish bird. After about five minutes it was unrecognisable. Dad got some petrol out of the back of the van, doused the bloody heap and set it alight. As it went up, my father began to shudder violently, his body jerking and almost bending double. He was squawking in an ungodly way, at an incredible volume, spasming twitching flailing like some kind of spastic monster. All of a sudden Dad started glowing red. I remember starting to cry. The glow got stronger and stronger until there was a blinding spark and the glow shot out into the sky like a lazer and diffused into the shape of a swan. As it flapped its gaseous wings and evaporated into the ether, both my father and I were curled up in the foetal position wailing and sobbing.

This was a formative experience that shaped my psyche for the remainder of my days. I can’t fucking go anywhere near swans now. I’ve shot a few in my time, I have to admit. As a successful businessman with a ruthless reputation, I’ve found my early memories of the swan possession and the horrors of that day (and others with my very unstable father) to be highly character building. At least I didn’t get abused by that thing my father describes, that thing whose very spiritual essence I must have seen that day. Regardless, no fucking big-shot can try and pressure me into a signing a deal that’s in their interest, or knocking me on money. I’m known to play hardball. Anyway, that day on the way home, my Dad sat completely still, tapped his foot, smiled and started to sob uncontrollably. He had to pull over and compose himself. I never did see him twitch, or grunt, or make violent jerking movements after that day. He was never particularly pleasant though, so nothing had changed there. When he died five years ago we buried him with two swans in his coffin.

Copyright N Brown 2004

Life Of Viv

Life Of Viv

Viv watched the small dog do a shit in the street, then went up to the shit and got down on his hands and knees and started to rub his face in it, groaning. He picked up the dog’s shit and smeared it all over his face and hair. A passer by walked up to Viv and exclaimed with alarm “What the fuck do you think you’re doing mate?” Viv replied in a breathless voice: “I’m not sure really, I’m a bit confused and desperate!” It was a cry for help. Viv ran down the street covered in shit, and ran to the adventure playground up the road. When he got there he threw himself down the slide face first, smearing the slide with shit. Parents looked on aghast at the confused man, trying to shield their children’s curious eyes. Viv screamed “CUNTS!!!!” at no one in particular and gibbered to himself hysterically. He moved over to the monkey bars and began to swing from them with his shitty hands, yelping like a monkey. He thought to himself that he might get some little round sunglasses like John Lennon. Hardly anyone wore them anymore. Parents started to frantically ring the police from their mobile phones, so it was time for Viv to move on. He was not getting nicked for any fucker! He winked slyly at a young mum then sprinted away as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Next he went into Woolworth’s and threw himself as hard as he could into a rack of kids’ clothes, knocking them to the floor and ruining them with shit. The staff were terrified and didn’t really know what to do. Suddenly Viv pulled his trousers and pants down and started to shit on the floor. It was quite hard to push out, so he grunted and strained as loud as he could. The turd coiled out of his arse and lay on the floor steaming. He hooted with satisfaction and wiped his anus on a brightly patterned child’s t-shirt. Staff and customers were paralysed with shock as Viv took off again, dashing down the high street stinking of shit. As he ran he thought how he would like a pet. He would talk to his Dad about it, he pondered, as he made his way to his father’s house.

Viv sat in his Dad’s front room drinking a cup of tea. He had just told his father what he had been doing that day. His Dad didn’t really want him in the house as he reeked of shit and he seemed hysterical, dangerous even, but humoured him out of fear and concern. His father shook his head slowly, despairing. “I’m sorry, but I wash my hands of you son” he sighed. “Well, that’s funny, because I really need to wash my hands after handling shit all day! Haaaaaaaa!” Viv found himself hilarious. He got up and ripped his Dad’s curtains down then kicked the TV over. “Oh for fuck’s sake Viv” His Dad was starting to cry with despair. Viv did another shit, this time in his own trousers. His father hoped all this would soon be over and he could clean the house up and get back to some semblance of normality. He was used to Viv’s episodes. After a few minutes of running up and down the stairs screaming, shit running out of his trouser legs, Viv became bored and left, his Dad slumped on the sofa sobbing. Viv was going to go home and find information about pets on the Internet. He thought he might want a little monkey friend, a monkey of his very own!

Viv had found a website that sold pet monkeys, and shipped them anywhere in the world within 28 days guaranteed. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He bought himself a little spider monkey for two hundred pounds, money he had from his Mum’s will. His mum had died of dysentery when Viv was very young – she had literally drowned in her own faeces whilst doing volunteer work at an orphanage in Kenya. Viv had been with her as a young baby, and the imprint of shit and death had vividly burned itself into his impressionable young mind. It had turned out to be an incredibly powerful influence on the confused young lad, causing a subliminal shift in his entire psychological makeup. Now he would have his own little spider monkey pal, and the two of them would take on the world together and shit anywhere they liked. Suddenly, Viv smashed a glass into his forehead as hard as he could, causing blood to stream into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He started weeping and shaking violently, blood pouring everywhere, all over his computer keyboard and down onto his filthy stained carpet. In time, he pulled himself together and the wound stopped bleeding. His face was caked in dried blood – he certainly did look a right old state!

In bed that night, Viv had a very vivid dream. He was in a farmyard looking around in a panic. He was looking for something he had mislaid, but he wasn’t sure what. There was a pile of breezeblocks over by a barn. He walked over tentatively and looked down into the hole in one of the breezeblocks. Suddenly, dozens of hens flew out of the hole towards him, shouting in the voices of men. The hens had the eyes of humans and beaks full of strong white teeth, and were in some kind of obscene rage. They set upon him furiously and overpowered him, knocking him to the ground. Somehow, he wasn’t disturbed by this, and lay there peacefully as the birds attacked him. They were tearing the flesh off his face with their hideous beaks, laughing heartily like drunken revellers at a working men’s club. Two of the hens plucked out each of his eyes and crunched them like gobstoppers, at which point Viv woke up with a start. He was covered in sweat and had shat himself. After a couple of seconds of disorientation, he started roaring with laughter. What a cool dream! It was time to have a little adventure!

He quickly got out of bed, naked, sweaty and covered with both fresh and dried excrement, and headed next door. It was about four in the morning. He picked up a stone and smashed the window, taking care to remove as much glass as possible so he wouldn’t wound himself when climbing through. He clambered through the window into his neighbour’s living room. He stood there proudly and surveyed the beautifully decorated lounge. “Wake up you fucking cunts!” he screamed, at the top of his silly effeminate voice. The owner of the house came running down the stairs and entered the living room, full of adrenalin. “What’s going on?” yelled the heavy-set middle-aged man, bewilderment and anger in his tired eyes. “I’m really sorry,” whined Viv, “I just need someone to try and understand me. I’ve had such a hard life and I’m overcome with confusion a lot of the time”. Viv shivered and looked at the man with sorrowful eyes. “You think that’s bad, you cunt?” shouted the man in a gruff masculine voice, “well have a look at this”. He opened his robe, displaying his boxer-shorted stocky body. Viv looked at the man’s legs. They were tiny, spindly and withered, like gnarly branches of a willow tree. They bent in on themselves and his feet pointed in different directions. It was quite a sight to behold, this strong barrel-shaped torso atop these freakishly twisted, disfigured limbs. “This goes to show what a man can truly deal with when he puts his mind to it, buckles down and gets on with life without complaining. I run three businesses and I have slept with some of the world’s most beautiful women. When I visited Vietnam, I killed a man for fun. I ran a long blade through his stomach. Now, if I can do that with these disgusting appendages hanging from my powerful frame, then I don’t want to hear a fucking word of your self-pity, you little prick”. “Wow” - Viv was amazed by the man’s candid and forthright nature – “do you like monkeys? Can I come and talk to you when I need some help and support?” “Of course you can son. I’m not bothered either way about monkeys, really. My name’s Ron. Don’t worry about the window, you little prick! Now get out of here!” Ron ruffled Viv’s hair in a fatherly manner. Maybe all Viv needed was a strong male role model other than his own father. He bade farewell to his new friend and went back to his squalid shit-stained bed.

It seemed like he was waiting for an eternity, but finally Viv’s spider monkey had arrived! Rabid with excitement, he tore open the padded envelope and removed the small monkey, his eyes aflame with joy. “Alright you cunt”, grunted the monkey, “my name’s Martin Kenner. Who are you? You stink of shit, by the way” “My name’s Viv”, squealed the disturbed young man. “I am really happy to welcome you to my home. You will become a great little friend to me in the months to come. I hope you will provide the support and understanding that I’ve always craved”. “Steady on, you little queer” spat the cynical, gruff little monkey, “have you got any fucking drink?”

Martin Kenner and Viv sat on the shit-encrusted sofa in Viv’s squalid living room, watching a cookery programme, drinking cans of cider. Viv could hardly hold his drink and was feeling a little giddy, a couple of cans down. He was overcome with joy and kept gazing at the little monkey incredulously. Martin Kenner sighed wearily and rolled a joint. “So, what’s the fucking deal then you prick? I’m merely a primate, but I’ll be fucked if I don’t recognise depravity and an inability to cope when I see it. What’s with all the shit everywhere? Are you some kind of mental case?” The spider monkey didn’t mince his words, and Viv was taken aback to say the least. He started crying, as he had never expected his own pet to be so tactless. Martin lit his joint and inhaled greedily, exhaling with his eyes pointed to heaven, shaking his head. Viv was lost for words and sobbed and bawled until his body shook violently. He lost control of his bowels and rich brown shit ran through his trouser fabric, a torrent of excrement spreading rapidly all over the long-suffering sofa and soaking in. The unbalanced young man couldn’t stop shitting – literally litres of stool poured from his arse. “For crying out loud…” Martin Kenner wearily got up off the sofa and trudged up the stairs, to get away from this weird, stinking little freak. Boy, he sure had got the short straw here, he thought to himself, this kid needs sorting out, big time…

By the morning Viv had composed himself and was feeling positive. Him and his new monkey pal were getting to know each other, and they were getting on okay, all told. Viv explained about his childhood trauma and how his behaviour could be easily accounted for. He also made it crystal clear that he would not stop doing exactly what he wanted – he liked shitting everywhere and causing a stir out in town! Martin Kenner conceded that he was quite an abrasive personality, and sometimes could come across as a tad gauche. He was genuinely concerned for his new owner, though. He seemed really traumatised by past experiences and needed some closure in a lot of areas in his life. Something had to be done to give this distressed young man some hope. He had a vague idea of a plan, but he needed a bit of back up. Martin recalled Viv mentioning the friendly, straight-talking crippled man next door. “Hey Viv me old son, fancy going round Ron’s for a bit?”

Martin Kenner had managed to get Ron to one side in the kitchen and have a sly word whilst they prepared some martinis. Ron was impressed by the smart little spider monkey’s idea, and was generally quite taken with the firm-but-fair little primate. He had met a few guys like that over the years, and they had always done well in business. Perhaps he could persuade Kenner to invest in one of his car yards and possibly do a little management work for him, he thought absent-mindedly whilst pouring gin. Anyway, it was settled. It was a sound plan, it would do Viv a lot of good, and what’s more it could be a fun little bonding exercise for the three pals. The small monkey and the disabled entrepreneur glanced at each other conspiratorially and tried to act natural, bringing the drinks through to Ron’s luxuriously decorated lounge. Viv was sat slack-jawed, engrossed by a particularly gripping episode of Enjy Benjy. Shit was bubbling through his trouser fabric and running down his pale legs onto his socks. He stank like a sewer. “Viv, how’s about we go and pay your Dad a visit?” suggested Ron, subtly raising one eyebrow towards his new monkey associate…

They turned up outside Viv’s father’s terraced house. The journey through town had been eventful to say the least – Viv had thrown his shit at an elderly man and had also put both his arms inside a dog shit bin and pulled out a couple of handfuls of turds, which he then rubbed in his hair while a young girl looked on crying. It had been a right old do! Viv was excited about going round his old man’s as he could always smash stuff up and have a laugh when he was there. His father answered the door and before he could say anything, was roughly bundled into the house by Ron and the monkey, and was shoved against the back wall. Viv’s Dad was consumed with panic, frozen with shock. “Right Viv you little cunt,” yelled little Martin Kenner, “now’s your time. Cleanse your soul! Get it out of your system! Wreck the house! Destroy it!” “Yeah, and when you’re done, smash fuck out of your old man! Don’t worry, we’ll hold him here! It’s all under control mate!” added Ron, nodding towards Viv in encouragement. Viv’s eyes widened and his face fell into a broad grin. He took his Dad’s new TV and threw it out of the window, the tube exploding with a bang. He stamped on the DVD player, wrecking the expensive Japanese machine in seconds, as his father looked on in horror. Then all the pictures came down off the walls and were hurled across the room. All the while, shit streamed excitedly from Viv’s arse like a can of putrid silly string. Shit sprayed all over the leather sofa. Viv grabbed an ornamental knife from the wall and tore the thousand-pound sofa apart dementedly. He picked up the dining chairs and smashed them against the walls and floor, turning them to splinters. Martin Kenner and Ron restrained Viv’s father, who was moaning in despair. After obliterating the contents of the lounge, the unstable young lad turned his attentions to his Dad. He headbutted him in the nose and kneed him in the balls, causing him to slump to the floor, winded. He then kicked him in the ribs as hard as he could, with his two friends yelling words of encouragement from the sidelines. Viv’s father groaned in pain. “For fuck’s sake Viv…” “Shut up you prick! It’s not fair! Waaaaah!” Viv screamed cathartically like a little spoilt baby as he pulled his Dad up off the floor and repeatedly walloped him in the guts. He carried on until he was out of breath. Viv’s Dad lay there in a lot of pain, too battered to make a noise, internally cursing his stupid destructive son. Viv took a deep breath. He felt completely at peace with the world. He had stopped shitting! No more excrement was running from his arse! Everything was calm. The three pals said sorry to Viv’s father and left the house.

When Viv got home, he tidied up his entire house, cleaning all the shit stains with bleach and a pressure washer. Ron and Martin Kenner could not believe their eyes. He had sorted out his own personal appearance. He was a new man! Even his voice had changed, from the annoying effeminate tones to a more masculine, confident burr. He got a job helping run one of Ron’s companies and six months later was incredibly wealthy and fulfilled, married to a gorgeous model.

THE END

© N Brown 2007

The Violent Champions

The Violent Champions

A Big Absolute Waste of Time

by "Pecky"

Part One

Mike Gull stopped punching the child in the face and straightened up slowly, holding his lumbar regions in discomfort. His back was fucked; he thought to himself - how much longer would he be able to continue kicking in kids without any help. The six-year-old lad's smashed-in face emitted a low groaning sound as Gull thought to himself. He might have to make a call to Glenn Happery, the young tearaway from a nearby village known for, amongst other things, smashing babies up with spades and chainsawing his own Nan's fucking face up. Glenn was fit, strong and keen, and more importantly shared Mike Gull's passion for smashing up kids and ladies. Gull gave the boy one last massive kick in the guts with his heavy boots and caved all his fucking chest in, smashing his ribs into bits, then he walked off.

As Mike Gull walked down the busy town street, he had a spring in his step and a lightness of heart. He walked past a young mum hurriedly pushing a pram towards the nearby supermarket. He bounced onto his toes like a boxer and put his dukes up in front of the pram, blocking the pavement. Gull started shrieking "YEAAAAAAAAHHHHH????? COME ON THEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!" and recoiled his weight onto the back foot, like a cobra waiting to spring. He burst forth with immense power, bringing a right-handed jab through to the young woman's fragile jaw, actually detaching the jawbone from the rest of the face, ripping through the skin with sickening ferocity. He had smashed the fucking jaw off of her fucking face! Mike Gull didn't give a fuck - he just jumped in the air really high and landed his knees on the young mum's face, smashing what was left of it to smithereens. Then Gull kicked the pram as hard as he could. He could not believe his luck when the little baby flew through the air, wailing, and smashed into the front of a bus that was going too fast. The baby was smashed to fucking bits and Mike Gull ran down the road yelling and shrieking, punching and kicking all passers-by on his way, knocking a lot of them into the road.

Mike Gull ran really fast, hyperventilating and screaming with joy, all the while thinking to himself about his massive power. He was a mighty man, almost like a God! It was an honour for a little young baby to be smashed up into a paste with a bowling ball by him. He didn't give a fuck. He had just been eating base speed and raw steak all blended up together for days now. It gave him the superhuman powers he required for killing kids and lasses. He stopped running and span round on the spot with his arms out like a Tasmanian Devil off the cartoons. He was careering around the street spinning with his fists out. He went right into a very old lady struggling with her shopping bags. His quickly spinning fists made light work of the frail old woman, smashing both her cheekbones into dust and knocking the few teeth she had left all over the road. Mike Gull then stopped spinning and screamed with laughter to himself while he furiously stamped on the old lady's arms, breaking them. Then he threw her useless, moaning, bloody and smashed up old body under the wheels of a speeding black cab to make sure he'd made her die. The old lady's smashed up ancient head splattered like an egg under the taxicab's cruel wheels.

By this time Gull was nearly home. He quickly popped into the corner shop for some cans. Mike Gull did a high kick like a can-can dancer and powered his boot into the side of the elderly proprietor's head. The old woman's temple caved in like a dented can of beans! Mike Gull was so excited he did a piss all over the shop, some of it accidentally going on the old lady's old groaning head! He took his cans of Super and some fags and ham, and jumped on the old shopkeeper's pelvis. He heard a light snapping sound like balsa wood breaking. He giggled to himself like a little girl. On the way out of the shop a young lass was coming in on the way to college to get some fags. He punched her in the stomach incredibly hard using both fists like a character out of some computer fighting game! As she groaned and buckled over he did an uppercut in her head. He was nuts and he didn't give a fuck! He had to hurry though - go home, ring Glenn Happery and quickly do a deal of some sort so they had the manpower to go over to Coventry and quickly kick the fuck out of some kids at a playgroup! For this reason Mike Gull left the lass in the shop with only a couple of injuries and none that were fatal, although the uppercut to her head did end up making her speak a bit like a deaf person and dribble her food a bit. Mike Gull did not know this at the time, but if he had, he would not have given a fuck. He left the shop vibrating very fast and making a high-pitched screech like a kettle boiling.

When Mike Gull got home and started looking through the telephone directory for Glenn Happery's number, he thought to himself about what an unusual man he was. He loved to smash the fuck out of puny women and children but it was not in a pervy sexy way, uh uh! The funny thing was Mike Gull had cut his own cock and balls off when he was nineteen, he didn't give a fuck, he just did it, and dug a lot of veins and stuff out as well. So it was not a sexy thing for him to do, it was just to express his enormous power and cunning and also his crazy quirky personality! He found Glenn Happery's number and rung him up. The two men had a nice chat, as they had heard of each other and knew about each other's mighty skills. Glenn had a voice just like a little baby and he used 'goo-goo' language as well, like "Gwenn is going to smash wittle baby-waby's head off!" It was really annoying and stupid and really immature, Mike Gull thought, but he had to tolerate this eccentric character trait, he concluded, as there was no one else in the county who could grind a young baby up with a massive pestle and mortar like Glenn Happery. The baby language seemed really weird as well because Glenn Happery was a massive man, a bodybuilder who looked a bit like a big fierce bear. To hear him talk like a little baby, and sometimes cry like one as well, was really really weird!

Glenn Happery wasn't going on all in a weird and sexy way, either, no way! Glenn had a massive amount of power from a young age. Sometimes when he was about five years old, he could stand there and grit his teeth and tense all his muscles and he would glow like a beacon, with a bright red light emanating from his head and body. He did this so hard one time, that actual rays of fire started shooting out his body. Glenn's power was a ridiculous thing to behold. The only way he could use this power and carry on in his happy life was to use it to turn lasses and kids into a pulp. It was just an honest pursuit that kept him fit. Glenn Happery lived in an old windmill in the countryside.

Mike Gull got the coach to Glenn Happery's house. It was a long journey into the countryside and on the way Gull smashed two elderly female passengers to bits. He pulled their arms off just with brute strength, like he was an enormous gorilla! Mike Gull wasn't even that big as a person but his power came from deep within. Also on the journey he threw a baby out the window, and broke the baby's mum's spine! He didn't give a fuck about it. No one did anything about it on the journey because they were all too scared of Mike Gull's power. Everyone on the coach was really creeping round him, giving him sandwiches and biscuits...it was pathetic. When they reached the destination he thanked the driver and did a big flying kick out of the coach. There was a kid at the coach stop with his mum waiting for his Gran or something. Mike Gull's flying kick powered through the air and whacked the young kid right in the head, nearly severing his spinal column. The kid's head smashed into the mum's head and knocked all the mum's teeth out and smashed her nose into her face, then Mike Gull actually landed the kick with one foot on the kid's neck and one foot on the mum's neck. He landed with such power he instantly severed both heads, as if he had been wearing really sharpened-up ice skates! Glenn Happery was by the coach stop, waiting for Mike Gull and he smiled, impressed by Gull's powerful movements. The two powerful warriors shook hands.

Part 2

Glenn was really worried that Mike Gull was possibly better at kicking in women and kids than him. He felt really paranoid - maybe the reason Mike Gull had called and agreed to join forces was to steal Glenn's light. Glenn Happery thought this as he wept uncontrollably in a high pitched way, like a little baby, in the bogs of the pub that he and Mike were drinking in. Glenn repeatedly smashed his forehead against the wall of the cubicle and did a piss at the same time. He was really worried that he would have to stamp on Mike Gull's head until he ground out his brains, but he wasn't really about to do that as him and Mike didn't do violence on healthy adult men - just women and little kids! Glenn managed to compose himself and drank some water out of the tap. He felt his body swell up with an enormous power, so he strode out of the pub toilets looking really muscular and cool, like a barbarian from an action film!

There were some women from a local office sat in the corner of the pub, talking about their hard day at work. Glenn looked over to the bar, where Mike Gull was sitting drinking two bottles of Reef in a pint glass, and squealed in his baby-like way "Wook at me kicking in the lady-wadies Mike!" He took a little run-up, as if he was about to take a conversion kick in rugby. Glenn's massive size 12 steel toe capped boot connected with the 45 year old blonde woman's jaw, crumbling into fragments that propelled their way into the rest of her face, causing it to explode as if hit by a little bomb! Glenn Happery was incredibly powerful! The lady's friends dropped their glasses of wine and screamed in horror as Glenn swung his leg round and actually kicked a skinny wheelchair-bound lady's fucking head off. It landed on the floor and Glenn screamed like a maniac, jumping as high as he possibly could, and landed on the disabled woman's severed head, swivelling his foot down with a hip movement that was similar to disco dancing! The lady's head splattered like an egg. Glenn started vibrating and giggling like a little baby, which soon turned into distraught crying and screaming as he rampaged round like a bear, swinging his arms wildly. Mike Gull started to feel very competitive indeed! He had lunged forward off his bar stool and propelled his bony knee into a passing kid's face. The boy was only ten; he shouldn't even have been in the pub! His mother had sent him on an errand to get some fags out of the machine. Mike Gull had hold of the back of the lad's hair and was repeatedly smashing his knee into his face until it caved in, like a pie! As the boy gurgled and slumped to the ground, Gull jumped on his ribs and guts again and again until his stomach split open, like a slug that had been run over by a bike! Mike and Glenn sat down and took a breather.

Half an hour later, Glenn and Mike were pissed out of their heads, as the management of the pub were so terrified of the two tough guys they had been feeding them free drink all afternoon. They had both punched and kicked one of the barmaids incredibly hard; she had broken a few ribs but was still able to serve the two mighty warriors drinks. After another few minutes a tired looking woman in her late forties came in to the pub. She had sent her son in almost an hour ago to buy her some cigarettes and he still hadn't come back. Mike and Glenn knew what to do without even speaking to each other: they had an almost psychic connection! They charged with their fists out from opposite sides of the pub, thundering towards the young mother roaring like a pair of lions. Their fists smashed through the woman's skull, blasting it into pieces like a watermelon as her lifeless body flopped on the floor like a rag doll. Mike and Glenn's fists came together in a display of mutual respect as both charging men came to a halt above the freshly dead mum. Neither of these tough dudes gave a fuck! They were the power killing experts! They raised their other hands and slapped them together in a 'high five', both men shrieking as loud as they could. They took turns throwing the injured barmaid against the wall until her skull and back were broken, then they left the pub to go round Glenn's house, the old windmill. Both men had been initially suspicious of each other, but it now seemed like they were developing an effective working relationship.

Back at Glenn's windmill the two violent guys sat and ate a pasta meal and watched a documentary about sea creatures. Mike was amazed by the amount of strange animals that lived under the sea. He got up and smashed a wooden chair against the wall as hard as he could, grunting. Glenn laughed uproariously in his deranged high-pitched manner. Neither of them gave a fuck about anything! They just ate loads of pasta then started spitting on the floor, before starting a friendly conversation. Both men agreed that next time they kill a kid, Mike would hold its body and Glenn would pull its head as hard as he could, until he ripped the head clean off the shoulders. It would be a good way for the two warriors to collaborate and use their powers! Glenn asked Mike Gull why he cut off his cock and balls when he was nineteen. Mike got up and did a body wave, an old body-popping move, as he was really excited and this was an excellent way to express his feelings. He sat back down and told Glenn that his mum had told him to cut them off because she thought it would be funny. Luckily Mike had managed to seal the wound very quickly with a burning log off the fire; otherwise he would have bled to death. He didn't really give a fuck though; he thought it was funny as well. He just pissed out of a little hole, almost like a girl!

All of a sudden, Glenn started thinking about all the children and ladies he had killed. For a moment he thought it might have been a bad thing to do, as it was probably upsetting for the people who had been killed. He quickly ran out of his front door and on to the bus that had stopped just outside. He told the driver to fuck off and picked an old lady up from under the arms, carrying her from her seat. He then took her off the bus, and put her head in the gutter just in front of the large vehicle's powerful front wheels. She was very decrepit and confused so she just lay there like a moron. Glenn shouted at the bus driver to reverse his bus, and drive forward as fast as he could. The driver nervously muttered, "Yes sir" and did as Glenn said. The driver was absolutely terrified of the powerful warrior, and drove forward, crushing the elderly woman's head in seconds. The old lady's brains went everywhere; in fact some of them went on Glenn's weight-lifting trousers, which made him cry very briefly. He was fairly excited by the killing but not that impressed. For some reason he felt a bit numb - he was probably coming down with a cold and was also stressed out about bills. Everyone on the bus acted really calm and pretended not to have seen the pensioner's violent and pointless death. They were terrified that the same thing might happen to them! Glenn quickly nicked a baby off a woman's lap and ran off the bus with it. The bus driver carried on driving to the next stop as if nothing had happened. As Glenn hopped off the bus with the baby under his arm, he noticed that Mike Gull had also come outside, to see what all the commotion was about. Mike Gull felt a really warm feeling inside, as Glenn threw the baby towards him. Mike used all of his power to swing an enormous kick at the baby, as it hurtled through the air wailing. It was the most powerful kick Mike had ever done, it was almost like an atom bomb or something! Maybe working with Glenn was causing Mike to gain yet more power and energy, like an enormous battery was charging him up! His brown shoe hit the flying baby with such force that the little child simply exploded, making a huge bang that greatly disturbed both of the fighting men. Little bits of baby flew through the air, and both Mike and Glenn started doing pirouettes on the spot, like a couple of ballet dancing crazy tough guys! They were groaning as well, making a low guttural noise that was really immature and stupid.

Really though, they both knew they were wasting valuable time. They had to get into training and start observing a special diet, as they had to get to Coventry and smash up the playgroup. They initially thought it would be a quick job, but it transpired that there were loads of children there, nearly a hundred. The two guys weren't in good enough physical shape to do the job to the high standard they had set themselves, so for the next few days they ate chicken and loads of steroids and whiz. They also both meditated to get some inner peace. Not only were there a large number of children at the playgroup, but also they were very tough and beefy, and it would take a lot of power and expertise to smash them up until they looked like beef paste!



Part 3

Glenn awoke feeling groggy. He had not had a restful night's sleep. All night he had been plagued by scary dreams, dreams where laughing demonic babies were tearing off his skin. He had no idea what could have been bringing on these nightmares. It was a real nuisance! He stretched and yawned, and reached into his bedside cabinet for the little packet of heroin that he always kept there for emergencies. He felt really stressed. For the last few days him and Mike Gull had been training hard, as if they were Olympic athletes. They had been eating a combination of steroids, speed, chicken and steak, all blended up into a powerful concoction that was ideal for the muscular fighters' physical progress. They were doing really well and the last thing Glenn needed was stupid dreams about horrible monster babies. He bit a small hole in his arm with his sharp teeth and rubbed the lovely heroin into the bleeding wound. He couldn't be bothered to do it properly - he didn't give a fuck. Besides, heroin was really just for druggy weirdoes and he didn't approve of it at the best of times! Still, the powder did its job effectively, making Glenn Happery calm and ready for another day's punishing training.

Mike Gull had been up for about an hour already. He had put on an old video of breakfast television from 1985 that he found in the living room - Glenn had videotaped ITV's breakfast television every morning for about 12 years, until he lost interest in it, and he spent a lot of time watching the old footage. As luck would have it, whilst watching the promo video for "Loverboy" by Billy Ocean, Mike noticed a baby crawling across the floor, over by Glenn's exercise bike. Glenn must have forgotten this baby was in the house, otherwise he would have inevitably smashed fuck out of it. Mike picked up the gurgling baby, and before doing so, shouted, "I AM SORRY FOR BREAKING YOUR WINDOW GLENN!" as he threw the child through the nearest closed window as hard as he could. The glass shattered and the baby's gurgles suddenly turned into screams, as it was shredded up like lettuce and began its speedy descent to the ground below. Mike quickly legged it over to the window and looked out to see the baby splattered on the ground. It was nearly unrecognisable! Mike thought to himself about getting a tattoo, maybe one of a really cool motorbike. Glenn walked through into the living room to greet Mike. He wasn't really bothered about the window - the thing was, he didn't really give a fuck about anything. The two guys drank a few litres of the steroid, speed and meat mix and meditated for an hour or so.

When the two warriors came round from their deep meditation, they felt on top of the world. It would be a couple more days of this, and then they could take the trip to Coventry to set upon the playgroup. Those young children would not know what hit them! The combined power of Mike and Glenn's fists and feet would be about the same as twenty guns! Glenn felt confident that things were nicely on track. They could afford to relax for a while, so he decided that he and Mike would go and visit a couple of his old friends. Glenn ran the idea past Mike, who thought it would be just the ticket. They left the house and headed for Billy and Jimmy Lee's flat. Billy and Jimmy Lee were the two tough guy heroes from the arcade game Double Dragon. Glenn had met them a fair while ago when he had been doing some voluntary work at a local hospital. They had got on really well, and Glenn always made sure he visited the two guys every few weeks, as they were very bored these days. On the way, Glenn and Mike passed a four-year old boy riding past on his tricycle. They quickly remembered about the idea they had a couple of days ago. Glenn held the young lad's shoulders and Mike pulled on his head incredibly hard, until he felt the flesh tearing. Suddenly Mike pulled the kid's head clean off, except he had managed to pull out the lad's entire spine too! Blood flew everywhere and both tough dudes laughed, Mike in a moronic low tone and Glenn with a hysterical shriek. God knows where the kid's mum was, but she was lucky she wasn't there as she would have been smashed into fucking bits if she was! Mike took the blood-covered trike and threw it with all his might into a passing old lady's face. It made an almighty crunching noise as the pensioner's face caved in on itself, like a bloody soufflé that had failed in the oven! Glenn and Mike jumped up and down on the old woman's body with their heavy boots, until all that was left was a greasy smear on the pavement. All passers-by really tried not to notice what was happening - some of them even started whistling in a very conspicuous manner! Just about everyone in the world was terrified of the two mighty friends.

Another thing was, they would never get nicked for any of their horrible crimes. Glenn knew the head of the police force for all of Great Britain; he was an old mate of his, and he also used to play bridge with Mike sometimes. This ensured a blind eye for any of their slaying of women and children. Although in fact, a couple of years before Glenn had been snapping the limbs of young women at a rave. Someone got all brave and decided to ring the police, not knowing about Glenn's special diplomatic arrangement. The kid who answered the phone was new to the job and stupidly sent some female police officers to deal with the situation. Glenn repeatedly smashed the WPCs' heads into the wall until they were unrecognisable, then he ripped all their fucking arms and legs off. Why should he give a fuck? Word got back to the cops of the grisly scene and they were terrified. That was the last time the law ever interfered with Glenn Happery!

Half an hour later they were sat in Billy and Jimmy Lee's tawdry flat. The two martial arts heroes were very tired and cynical these days, as they had not had any fulfilling work for a good few years. They had taken to drink. Jimmy Lee had had a stroke six months previously, and one side of his face had slipped slightly. Billy just laughed all the time and carved little patterns in his arm with a rusty knife. Ken and Ryu out of Street Fighter had seen the once-mighty guys' downfall, and a couple of years previously had tried to help by bringing round food and reading stories to the bored, listless men. Billy and Jimmy had humoured the two young pretenders, before going completely crazy with them and forcing them to drink piss. Ken and Ryu left with their tails between their legs! Glenn reminded the arcade game veterans of this incident, and everyone laughed heartily. It was a heart-warming scene, to see four mighty masters of violence enjoying a laugh and a few cans of Super together. Mike was really impressed that Glenn knew these guys and felt a warm feeling of friendship deep in his body. Unfortunately, Jimmy and Billy started talking about sexy stuff, and it made Mike and Glenn feel all embarrassed and weird so they made their excuses and left.

By now the two fighting pals were quite pissed up and felt like doing some violence to a woman or a kid. On their walk home, they saw Bob Geldof pushing
David Banda in a pram - one of those posh three-wheeled prams with those kind-of mountain bike tires. Bob Geldof was taking Madonna's adopted son for an afternoon stroll as a favour to the successful female pop singer. Glenn and Mike suddenly got interested at the thought of smashing up yet another toddler. They were in for a shock! The scruffily dressed Geldof noticed the two violent guys and launched into a foul-mouthed tirade. "Oi, you, ya feckin' pricks! I know your game! Don't think for a feckin' minute I'm gonna let you get anywhere near young David Banda! I know about your pathetic penchant for destroying women and kids and I'm not feckin' having it either! You hopeless pair of cunts! Why don't you do something positive with your lives instead of just causing violence and pain to other humans! Look at me, I helped with the world's poverty and saved millions of lives, ya feckin' pricks! What have you ever done with yourselves, you stupid feckin weirdo pricks? Just feckin' do one, get the feck out of my cunting sight!" Geldof was incensed, and he was certainly turning the air blue with a stream of obscenities! Young Banda muttered to himself in his pram, apparently blissfully unaware of the realities of the situation. However, the boy had a certain glint in his eye that could not be quantified. Glenn Happery and Mike Gull felt really shaken up by Geldof's abusive tirade. They were quiet all the way back to Glenn's windmill - the change in mood was palpable. Somehow, both men felt that they would see the young David Banda again...

Part 4

All was not well in the world of Mike Gull and Glenn Happery. The two fighting tough guys still didn't really give a fuck about anything, compared to most people, but since that fateful encounter with Bob Geldof and the young Banda there had been a slight air of melancholy hanging over their violent proceedings. Geldof's frank and moral tirade had got the guys thinking, maybe they were being really bad by kicking fuck out of so many women and kids, kicking fuck out of them till they died! Fucking hell! Their heads were all a-flutter with confusion, so they trained incredibly hard by punching a brick wall, screaming and yodelling with explosive power.

Finally they were ready to go to Coventry and lay waste to the kids in the large playgroup. They had been planning this expedition for a good while now, and at last their brains and bodies were ready, conditioned to the level of a powerful prehistoric beast. Glenn sat there at his dining table and cried for a little while, sobbing and choking like a baby with colic. He cut his face up with a sharp little knife of his - just stabbed it into his cheek a bit and scrabbled it around. Mike Gull laughed at his crazy cool friend and threw himself down on the floor and started busting a caterpillar move. There were bits of smashed up baby on the floor and Gull got it all over his shirt, like an idiot! The two fighting experts felt a lot better - they had broken the ice, and managed to shake off the gloom felt from Geldof's harsh words. Gull and Happery high-fived each other and roared like mighty bears.

Walking down to the coach station, the two men were in the grip of so much serious power they were almost glowing and buzzing. Glenn shrieked like an exotic bird, and sprinted forward quickly, before jumping into the air with so much power he actually levitated six inches off the ground. He hovered forward, tilting left and right, with his fists aloft, screaming. An old lady was stepping out of her front door, quite slowly with her head down, muttering. Glenn Happery hovered towards her house really quickly and head-butted her, as she turned round. It was like the force of a meteor hitting the earth! Glenn was a lot taller than the elderly lady so had nutted her with an almost vertical motion, causing her head to fall in on itself. There was a very brief weak scream that was quickly superseded by a big sloshing noise, as the head mashed into jelly and got forced down into the neck of the jerking, twitching body. Glenn screamed "YEEEE-HAAAA!" like a cowboy, and the corpse of the lady slumped to the ground. He picked up the lifeless rag and threw it at Mike Gull with immense force. Mike delivered a sharp left jab to the rapidly hurtling body, a punch of such power and accuracy that the octogenarian's corpse actually exploded into tiny particles, like a gas. There was a lad of about nine riding down the road on one of those little metal scooters. Mike stood in his way and slapped him in the face incredibly hard with his right hand. Mike's blow was so powerful that it smashed all the skin and muscle off of the left hand side of the kid's face! It just ripped the fucking skin off his face so there was just a skull underneath. Glenn was watching Mike's effective combat skills, and when he saw the exposed skull he started crying and wailing like a little baby, in sheer terror and confusion! It was like one of those scary horror skeleton characters off of a haunted house! Glenn was distraught. Mike chuckled to himself as he threw the young lad into the side of a passing lorry. The screaming youngster splattered like a ripe tomato as it was such a hard throw, and the lorry had been going really fast. It was like a load of tomato ketchup all over the side of the big lorry! Glenn stopped crying and screaming and started giggling. The two men hugged each other like brothers and did a little synchronised dance for a few seconds. They were some pretty cool guys!

The two men passed a corner shop, and went in to get a couple of snacks. Mike Gull had a Peperami, because it was a meaty snack that was quite high in protein and would be good for his muscular training. Glenn Happery decided to get a Mars bar. He had never had a Mars bar before in his whole life! He was astounded by the delicious taste and chewy consistency. It was one of the tastiest things he had ever eaten. Suddenly, a white limousine pulled up in front of Happery and Gull. The two extraordinary fighters were really impressed by the flashy and expensive car. The door opened, and David Banda crawled out onto the pavement and looked at the warriors quizzically. Gull and Happery cracked their knuckles in preparation, and began to move toward the small adopted lad. The two guys stopped suddenly in the tracks though, as another passenger slowly made their way out of the car. Madonna held a Kabbalah book in each hand, arms outstretched at her sides. Mike and Glenn were agape as the sinewy pop singer cleared her throat and began to proclaim like a crazy and charismatic preacher..."GULL AND HAPPERY. YOU FUCKING PRICKS. I KNOW YOUR GAME AND YOU ARE NOT GETTING YOUR HANDS ON MY YOUNG ZAMBIAN ADOPTED CHILD. NEITHER WILL YOU GET THE CHANCE TO DESTROY ME". Madonna intoned with gravitas, and an strange alien quality, like from a science fiction film. "YOU THINK YOU ARE SOME GREAT GUYS, BUT THE HURT AND ANGUISH YOU HAVE CAUSED BY KILLING AND CRIPPLING PEOPLE IS OUT OF ORDER. THE TIME HAS COME, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. I WILL USE MY KABBALAH MAGIC TO BRING JUSTICE. I MUST COMBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!" Madonna threw her head back and yelled. Young David Banda purposefully turned to face his adoptive mother and slowly raised his little baby hands to touch each Kabbalah book. Madonna and Banda were connected by the holy tomes! The earth started to rumble and the sky darkened, the young boy and the mother vibrating and spinning, faster and faster, emanating a harsh purple light that scorched Gull and Happery's eyes. Gradually the light faded, and standing where Madonna and Banda had been was a huge monolithic anthropoid form. It was a huge Cyclops with massive hands, the size of cars, glowing with magical energy. It was the Mabanda!

Mike and Glenn were paralysed to the spot. Their crazy killer minds were just about broken with the stress and madness of the situation. The Mabanda began to speak, in a terrifying, hissing croak. "VICTIMS OF THESE VIOLENT FOOLS, COME OUT OF YOUR GRAVES, YOUR HOSPITAL BEDS, YOUR WHEELCHAIRS! THE MABANDA BRINGS YOU LIFE AND HEALTH, AGAIN, SO YOU MAY AVENGE GULL AND HAPPERY! KABALLAH MABANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!...." The Mabanda clapped its enormous hands together and a magical portal opened, a portal through which hundreds, thousands, of women and children began to appear, all with expressions of stone, all fixed towards the currently overwhelmed violent champions. Gull and Happery recognised many of these faces. It couldn't be! Every single woman and child that the two men had killed was back, alive, hungry for vicious revenge! All the ones that the guys had crippled, or given serious brain damage too, all were back, in one-hundred-percent physical and mental health, baying for the blood of the two violent pricks. "MY CHILDREN, DRINK THE BLOOD OF YOUR SLAYERS, MAY YOU LIVE AGAIN! THE MABANDA HAS SPOKEN! KABALLAH MABANDAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" The women and children licked their lips hungrily, moaning and cackling, all the while encircling the terrified, frozen killers. Glenn Happery and Mike Gull were completely surrounded. Their legacy of death and despair was returning to them. Mike roared like a dying lion and Glenn cried and shrieked like a fevered tot, as the women and children began to tear huge chunks of flesh with their teeth, all the while laughing, gorging on meat and slurping hot blood. As Mike and Glenn defecated in terror, holding hands in a last pathetic attempt at solidarity, the last ever sound they would hear was the booming laugh of the Mabanda, resonating across the landscape, like an explosion in a quarry.

THE END

(c) N Brown 2007