|
 Tales of love, vengeance, murder
and allied carpets
A few years ago a young friend of mine approached me with a question. "Why don't you f**k off you tramp faced bedsore". He then proceeded to kick me about my eyes and douse me in seagull blood before hoisting me up over a nearby lamp post using a complex series of ropes and pulleys and inviting the local children to play 'pee-high' with me as their optimum target.
 Yes, halcyon days indeed i hear you reminisce. Precious times like these should be held close to ones heart. About 3.5 inches to be exact, although one should allow for cotton-grabbage and degradation of wool if wearing an aran sweater.
Indeed, it has only recently been brought to the publics attention as to the dangers of holding objects close to ones heart when fully clothed. A recent study by the London School of Keepy-Uppies and Tanktopologists revealed that the average male weighing approximately 47 - 52 stone, may indeed be more prone to heart failure. Now couple this with the chilling statistic that in 1997 over 400 dogs had to be put down in southern Italy, and you are left frankly confused. I know i was.
Which brings me neatly on to the topic of this page. Stories. We all love a good story. Whether it's the classic boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy wears full suit of armour in local swimming baths and is sectioned under the mental health act, girl becomes a half bat, half banshee living off rats and small insects (are there any other type?) whilst working as a property developer in Cheam. Or even if it's a fantastical tale of mythical far off places where people can eat potatoes, wear snorkelling equipment underwater and sing both loudly and quietly in their own homes.
You see stories are what keeps the world revolving. Ignore all scientific fact, for tis' piffle and all involved should eat a burnt steak for listening to Hearsay, or at least thats what i thought the lad at the Fish counter in Asda said.
 But i digress, and this is mainly due to years of substance abuse and the onset of mercury poisoning. "don't bite down on it!" i remember the doctor screaming at me, just before i slipped into a 4 month coma that some idiot had left lying discarded on the ward floor.
So now armed with this powerful information what will you do? I for one will be climbing the tallest building i can find and shouting from the rooftops. Maybe this was why i was brought here and strapped to this table.
Now read a story or two...
|
