My Life Oy Vay 5
The great Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis debate rages on, is that Encephalitis with a soft c or a hard c? I think we should be told. A nation holds its breath, but don't hold it for too long, people might wonder. Is it the only disease I muse, that if you can pronounce it without biting your tongue off you haven't got it? I heard somewhere that cats are now going down with a feline version of this affliction, is it too much to hope that a canine version might not be too far behind? This is just the thing us dog haters are waiting for? No more flatulent fidos no more rabid Rotties no more mangy mongrels and of course the most important thing, no more squelch noises when walking about your business on the streets of London.
And of course the more entrepreneurially minded of us could turn this into a major export market and ship the rotting doggy corpses to China, thereby helping to cull there sweaty slant-eyed dog eating population at a stroke. This would then have the added bonus of relieving the population problem by about 50%, hence staving off imminent disaster of the collapse of the ozone layer, because with the loss of some 50 zillion farting chinky-chonks we might just be able to breathe again. And then of course we could retrieve Hong Kong and so the 100,000 or so Triad members over here on a free meal ticket could be dumped over in their own drug-infested country and we could shut down their Laudanum markets that have been causing such grief for our unsuspecting yoof, and its collective cerebellae will be too bombed out on Macdonalds Spongimac (with encephalitic relish) to snort anything more dangerous up their snotty, cavernous and rat infested nostrils than a chocolate milk shake. And we all know where milk comes from don't we??????
And the brain dead shall inherit the earth.
Carrying on with this theme it seems that the poor Crustacea of our seas are going down with a Gastropod version of Scrapie, which as we all know is a cousin of Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis. Apparently these hard crusted integuments have been swallowing poisoned algae, like some crazed Cookie Monster of the deep as if there were no tomorrow, and for many of them there won't be.
Holy fuck! What a week. I'm just getting settled back into scum city when the other day ex-girl friend was waiting outside my block of flats. I could see she'd had a drink but wasn't drunk so I immediately thought 'this should be good for a leg-over' at least. Well one has to think of ones spiritual needs. We had agreed in more sober moments that if she'd had a drink that she wouldn't come round. I was sober but to paraphrase the Rome adage 'well when in scum city' so went and bought a giant bottle of weapons grade cider. It was a lovely day very unlike October, I guess this is what they call an Indian summer. Anything to do with all the Asian Indians that have moved in here I wonder?
So we cracked the bottle open and sat on the balcony and just chatted. I cooked a stir-fry later on and things were just tickety boo. I can't remember at what point or why she turned from Mary Poppins' nicer sister to Linda Blair from The Exorcist but it was explosive. Maybe it was the crack about wanting to screw her daughter that did it. I thought she might take it as a compliment. But she caught me from behind with a shove and I hit the deck. She raked her nails along my back drawing blood then started pulling my hair. I managed to jump up and thought about chinning her just to stop her, she had gone berserk. I just got her in a headlock and said 'right I'm calling the cops'. This halted her and she slipped to the floor saying that she wanted to see Raj an old college friend of hers who happens to live around the corner.
Luckily he was at home and arrived within five minutes. The look of complete horror and shock on his face when he saw her was priceless. Miss prim and proper was not just drunk but legless and holding onto his leg bleating. We picked her up and bodily got her in his car and took her home. On the way back to my place he kept saying 'I can't believe it!' (Imagine The Queen doing her speech on Christmas day and railing against the nation screaming 'You cunts fuck off I don't need you you bunch of scrounging lackeys! ((Now that's a Queens speech that would be worth watching))
He dropped me off and if I could have done I would have licked my wounds.
A few days later a mutual friend of ours phoned me to say, that the following day she'd gone to A&E to get help - you can get Librium to help you calm down. But she ended up attacking a female nurse and was arrested. She got carted off to Holborn 'nick' in a police van and spent the night in a cell. This was the woman who when I met her never ever swore. If she hurt herself she'd say 'fiddle' or 'pooh'. It was because she worked with children she said when I asked her. I said I know loads of people who work with children who swear like troopers, of course you don't swear in front of them but crikey you need to let it all out after. She demurred. She was good at doing that.
But with my long experience in therapy/psychology/analysis I thought I don't buy this there's a cauldron bubbling away there somewhere. And so it has proved. Poor cow I hope she comes out of it. She used to be abandoned by her parents when she was a small child, to go off for a drink at night. Admittedly only to the pub over the road but when you're a four year old child left alone in a dark house, that must have been terrifying. She remembers one night standing at the front door screaming the neighborhood down, when the local Bobby came along and picked her up and took her into the pub, found her parents and ticked them off. They took her back, waited for the Bobby to go and went back to the pub.
When she was fifteen she was called into the Headmaster's office at school and told to go home as there had been an emergency. Her father had dropped down dead. Three months later she was called into the Headmaster's office and told to go home as there had been an emergency, her mother had dropped down dead. The ultimate abandonment. She had to go and live with her much older brother and morbidly obese sister-in-law. Morbidly Obese couldn't stand her being around and she was put into a home. Another abandonment. So to say that she has abandonment issues surrounding me is an understatement. She does not want to let me go! She did begin phoning and not saying anything, and turned up late one night ringing my doorbell, but I ignored it. Cruel to be kind and all that.
What else has been happening in the world? I see old Blunkett has been at it again with some other top totty. How does he do it? Why doesn't he pick up someone like Anne Widdecome? I think we ought to put an ASBO on him - an Anti Social Blunkett Order. I came out onto the main drag in Scum City to see a young feller puking out of a car. 'Oh charming' I thought 'and good morning to you'. It reminded me of an incident packed evening some years ago. No it wasn't the cheap Spanish wine, or the bags of Salt and Vinegar crisps, it wasn't even the Kentucky fried prawn ' n' apple turnover nor the six pints of home made saki consumed in breath taking time. Neither was it the two helpings of creme caramel that had made me extremely ill, and like the young feller just now, puking my guts up.
No it was the box of Semtex flavoured Marzipan that had made my insides feel as if I'd swallowed a tankful of Piranha. Yes - some po faced Arabs thought it a wacky idea to fill boxes of marzipan with explosives, and thereby striking at the hearts (and stomaches) of Western imperialism. Well I had obviously collared a box, because after consuming them and the above at my friend Kevin's I suffered extreme privation of my sensory faculties. Apparently Kev said that after throwing up over his Â£5000 stereo system, I played decapitate the pussy cat with his CD collection. I then attempted sexual foreplay with his hamster, upon being rebuffed I then tried to eat his budgie. At which Kevin then threw a bucket of water over me. I ended the evening sobbing quietly over his Madonna record collection saying over and over again, 'Mummy mummy, please don't put me down the well again'.
My wife suffered the most poor thing, I arrived home the next day looking like a street alky. I suffered an attack of flatulence that threatened to remove her fillings and actually brought down the dodgy plaster in our bedroom ceiling. She was most distressed and said that I must have damaged the ozone layer beyond belief. Should I hand in my Greenpeace badge?
As November the 5th hoves into view I see someone has invented silent fireworks!!? Whatever next? Vitamin free food? Nah Mcdonalds have done that already. Pleb free streets would be a favourite of mine. Not to have to face the racks of the great un-washed as they drunkenly stagger with their pimply off-spring from theme pub to fast food take-away. Only pausing to vomit on the rubbbish strewn pavement, so that they can fill themselves up again with another flame grilled bowel-buster, with an extra helping of French Fries 'on the side'. What a stupid phrase, where else would they go - underneath? Another stupid Americanism. I suppose the Americans are so unutterably dense that they have to be told how to arrange their food on the plate. So - filled with disgusting American styled food the Brit-pleb then lurches into the nearest hostelry to consume copious amounts of warm gaseous beer and cocktails while their offspring attempt to set fire to the drapes in a vain action at eliciting some response from their brain-damaged parents.
Their flea-ridden dogs roam the pub scavenging any scrap of food they can, because their idiot owners didn't stop to think that when they bought the sweet little doggy for Wayne at Christmas, that this animal would grow and have to be cared for, Would have to be fed and washed, which in effect would take time and money. Two commodities that they have no understanding or respect for. Shorten the working week!? I'd double it and halve their wages. Meanwhile their animals will savage anyone that dares come near, especially children. Which is fully understandable, as the poor dogs were probably tormented mercilessly as pups, by these sadistic worker ant off-spring. The dogs are allowed to crap all over the pavement and in the parks causing blindness to anyone stupid enough to sit down on the grass.
Yes a mass cull of all dogs and their owners is the only sensible way of dealing with the problem. The orphaned children could go into the factory and workplace to work off their surplus energy, while at the same time produce cheap televisions and DVD players in return for a mattress and a bowl of gruel at the end of the day. Remember a dog is not just for Christmas you can make a decent stir-fry from the left-overs on Boxing day.
What's this got to do with silent fireworks you ask? Well a firework factory was asked if it was feasible to make silent fireworks by a local fete committee. Because at their last shindig replete with Dresden Starbursts and Hiroshima Big Bangs in the neighbouring farmer's field, the farmer's prize Charolet bull took great exception to the noise and wrecked his master's new Volvo. When his 18 stone missus came out to see what the commotiion was she was set upon by the bull and shagged rotten. Mr. Farmer was terribly distraught - he was inconsolable - he hadn't insured the Volvo comprehensively.
Isn't the weather wonderful? 70f in October. But the weather does bring with it all sorts of unsavoury sights. Like the great British public trying to enjoy it. If I have to clap eyes on another cellulite ridden female clopping down Scum City's main drag in patent leather high heels and shorts, looking for all the world as if she's been sunbathing in paintstripper, I'm leaving! Asians, Africans and Latins have this colour pretty much sewn up thank you. But for us honkeys the sun is a no no. Melanoma is not the name of the latest French teeny pop idol but a form of deadly skin cancer visited upon us by the good Lord because we've been beastly to our brown-hued brethren in the past. I think they've had a hand (or underarm) in this hole in the ozone layer malarkey. I bet at this very moment as far apart as Bradford to Brixton they're frantically spraying on the Right Guard for all their worth. No more rioting for Winston or Mohammed, just press the button and watch them drop. I of course am immune to all of this because I only have to step into the suns rays for a few minutes to go a wonderful hue of murky. I put this down to the fact that I drank boot polish and listened to Edmundo Ros records as a child.