Munter - 16/29 December 2003 / part 2
Nice people in the pubs today, was totally off me trolley like, but nice people around, and friends. Lots of visitors here for the week over Christ-mass.
I want intense, passionate anal sex with a really gorgeous woman for Xmas but I'm not going to get it so will just have to get so drugged-up and pissed that I stagger and have a right fucking tilt on and be the idiot-boy, I was an idiot-boy then. Now then, now then, now then. Olé. Asparagus. Saddams first words when he came out of his hole were:- "Did I beat David Blaine?"
P-A-B-M sounds like he's enjoying his recreational activities with another victim up there. I might have to strangle him. I've had a totally drugs and alcohol fueled weekend and had a great laugh with Cheryl on the phone last night, I was in the Endeavour, off my tits, she's got such a fucking amazing infectious laugh, One Love to you and Stephen. The belly of joe, nah. M8. Oh Fucking Bastard Bollocking Hell! Cobbler's Monday, needed vodka, charlie and billy to get out of bed and up'n about today. I'd been gutting turkeys all morning. They're coming for you Barbara. Stupifyingly boringly on walls. You're not listening to the finished article. Van Gogh's Moonrise. X-mas my arse! Billy God. No, he can't be called that or a number, boo hoo, u got the horn? Tw. At. Darwin's Bulldog. A male donkey (handsome with a torn straw hat on w/it's ears sticking out Mrs Nice?). Fish pap. Halibut-t-t-t-t-t-t-t. Was it? Billy arse.
Got a Punk compilation on, ****** is coming round soon and we're going out for a few beers and I'm off my fucking face. Was shaking like a cunt earlier on 'cos of the medication and Ruth Shit but am ok now, maybe it was just the fucking D.T's. I still believe in Father Christmas you know, so don't try and spoil it for me this year with yer josh 'n muck 'n old rubbish about him not existing and it just being yer dad 'n that 'cos I know what you're like! Just because you don't believe in him doesn't mean that he doesn't exist! Yeh I know I'm fucking warped mate, no-one said it would be easy, it's an awful job but someone's got to do it.
Jilted John. "Not that puff" I said, dismayed, "Yes but he's no puff!" she cried. I was so upset I cried all the way to the chip-shop. She is a bitch, he is a puff, yeh yeh. Shuttleworth/Appleton. John/Brian. Wank. Nod. 'Wet, Weird and Smeared'- ha, that's a T.G. title and it don't get much better 'n that, do it?
Had a great laugh with those two ladies from Leeds last night, one had just had an operation on her ankle and was on crutches. I heard 'em talking about having another drink and her friend said "I'm easy." I couldn't fucking resist it so I said "Oh, can I get you a drink then?" and it was really rather jolly until ***** rang and I had to hike up to his in fucking Arctic conditions to find the missing object, which I knew I would find and partake of as a reward. Hippopotamus. Lump of tough gray lard w/horn, like mud. Has he got Tiger Feet? No, it's just the way he walks. Kiss it, no, not the fucking Blarney Stone you monkey. Geordie maggots. Fucking Wedding-Cake Again. Robin Hood and Friar Tuck tried to fuck my aged corpse, but the bamboo masks that they had on, the rain had warped. Meanwhile, back on earth, my head it did explode within the beautiful voices of The Orb on F.M. (Fucking Magic) frequency.
