Munter - 16/29 December 2003 / part 1
Hello boss,
what about wormy meat then, eh? Meat with worms in it. Lollipops children.
Peek-A-Boo-Man has complained about my 'incense' again (I told him it was incense),
very nicely and politely though (he's softly spoken and has a 'posh' accent),
so I might have to deck the cunt. No, violence isnt nice, so I will just fucking ignore him.
Two chickens. I'm not seeing with my eyes, I'm seeing with my mind. Had a beakfull of charlie, it's very nice, rock, it's a cunt chopping it. Gray day, fine drizzle falling. Shining in my head, I need it 'cos I can feel the intensity of my 'X-mass experience' coming and I'm going to have to charge through it like a fucking bull and not come up for breath till January. Off your face. You forgo-it to put thee wordes in. Oblique beak. The Beta Band. Must try and eat some Kung Fu Putty. Jim Beard Three has no beard. Hello, I'm crazy... Black Sabbath - 'Your'e Gonna Go Insane, I'm trying to save your Brain'. Alien Brain. I've pissed my jeans and quilt and it's soaked the bottom sheet and the mattress too.
Oh Shite, found my spliff on the floor that I was smoking in bed last night, it's still last night now, P-A-B-M is still walking about the sod. So I've had to sit up and have two big rails of Charlie up my conk. And got vodka + orange on the go and finished that spliff. Oh. do the hokey cokey, rah, rah, rah. It's Mad Cyril, I like that, turn it up. Although our drugs and our music stays the same. O.K. Shaun. Happy Mondays. Although our interests stay the same. Even though I've pissed the bed big style and I can't sleep in it 'cos it's too wet I don't/couldn't give a 7 metre shite, splash, from that height, at that angle. Iron. 'I should have told ya, that the things that you love start to own ya'.... Judge Fudge. Just disagree. Yipee yipee yeh yeh yeh, I had to crucify some fucker today, cheers big-ears. Can't sleep in my cold, wet bed tonight, I might have to try and sleep on the floor. 'You talk so hip man, your'e twisting my melon man, he's gonna step on you again, he's gonna step on you, your'e twisting my melon man' whistle, whistle, whistle. Can't believe that I've pissed the mattress, the sheet, the duvet and cover and my jeans, oh well it all needed washing anyway. P-A-B-M is still walking about upstairs, he's doing my fucking crust in. Mushy Peas and Gloves. Don't you ever leave me Ethel, never believe me either. Mad Fuck. Still walking, maybe a bit of banjo might be enough, or a finger of fudge (is) just enough to give yer kids a treat. Peas + Gloves on you all this season, you what? Got more billy but not tried it yet, looks a bit watery but is more yellow than the last lot and can't get anymore skunk so will have to try and save what I've got left, ha! And an eighth of pollen from the chap. Titty titty plu plu barumba!
Banana. Cleethorpes. John Cooper Clarke. Sex and Drugs and Rock 'n' Roll. What a jolly bad show if all you ever do is business you don't like.
Got plenty of drugs and rock 'n' roll but don't fucking know where the fucking sex is coming from. Fucking Wedding Cake Again! Just got in and had another beakfull 'o charlie. Had to leave the pub where it was nice and comfy and two nice ladies from Leeds to talk to and walk in high wind, blizzard, hailstones to ******'s flat 'cos he rang me in the pub and was freaking 'cos he'd lost his stash. Told him straight off "I will find it and when I do I'm gonna roll a big fucking spliff." I found it for him and rolled one and smoked it, nice grade Morrocan but not pollen tho'. Cocaine saliva snot running down the back of my throat. Am suffering thru this by getting totally off my fucking map.
Thinking about slitting Peek - A - Boo - Man's throat. Painful shit 'cos of last X-mas, getting dumped on Xmas morning via a text message isn't very nice is it. I'm going with the intensity and it's going very deep and the message is:- put your finger horizontally on your lips, move it rapidly up and down and go "Blrrlrr brrll brrll" etc. Stitch that. Silly Paul. Nah nah nah nah nah. Hello Willy! Looking at the old chap to see if he's still there. Kissing (his own) reflection in the mirror (there's no mirror in the gents bogs in the Black H.) That was what he was accused of and I had a scream with his woman in the pub today. He was on about his friend who plaits his hair for him and we started laughing about him pulling his todger out and saying "Can you do anything with that?" It was funny at the time, you had to be there I think but there was much mirth and merryment wrung from the concept of the incongruous hysterical impossibility of him getting his cock and balls plaited. Ho ho ho. Bah Humbug. Beans. Ah, stop your nonsense-eeze, yer worse than a wee bairn. Piglet lost in the forest. Keith has several piercings in his cock, I've not seen 'em, don't really want to, but they are there. Davy Graham - Watermelon Man. One, Two, Three, fatman in the stew. He's Red. The wife's chewin the fucking carpet. She's a carpet-muncher.
