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