Topping Up - 28 November/13 December 2003 / part 3
Arse fridge chocolate curry etc.... poo, have you farted? Smells like dead rotten cabbage. Now you know why they call it skunk, just had a spliff for breakfast and it funks, it's stinking the fucking place out. Like a wheel, going round and round. Turbo charged one pounded away. Happus clappus. My tea folly holly lolly vicar, dab. 'A handful of nothing is all that I need, it contains plus or minus everything, I was born to synthesize', Mona Lisa Overdrive. I was born to sin. All the ducks are swimming in the water. Gudgeon. Sprouts sprout sprouting sprouts. Shoot you sir. Happiness is a warm gun. Sprit sprat sproo. S-p-r-o-o-o-o-o. L. Gibberwish from the land of the gibber, I've spent some time there, eh Viv. Enough nonesense, I'm away to the banjo, fingering. Living cup. Wash bottle. Spliff tickle, pipe scratch the itch. Caning that fucking paste, cough (Arsenal), but (*****) who is visiting is a really nice guy and we get on well and we're all having a good time so what the fuck. It's a really nice feeling when good people visit, 'cos you try to show 'em good things and a good time, so you end up looking at the place from a different angle and it's a bit like being on holiday in yer own town. As Keith says, "Change the angle of the dangle." Regurgitating invertebrates by the dozen, jamming my craw, banjolele fol-de-rol. Happy as a pig in Shropshire, how's it hanging, you monkey?! Ckicken-fish supper. I thank you. I'm fucked, not literally but banjo'd off my fucking beak. T.T.F.N.
And the fridge clicks on and hums and gurgles away like a radjed aquarium. Rhymes with badge. With or without? Within. From the sounds issueing down from upstairs it sounds like Peek-A-Boo-Man is dismembering another victim. Sounds like he's doing Ready Steady Cook! I'm gonna put some music on and go to sleep otherwise I will have to go up there and strangle the toe-rag 'cos it sounds like he's dancing with the corpse. His floor/my ceiling. He's been out to the bins, now he's 'cooking'. Fucking strange fucking noises coming down from up there. Trying to get anutha OZ of skunk 'cos I've battered this cunt and caned the billy but replacement coming. Took less on Monday than I did over each day of the weekend and got more tingling etc and sleeplessness! Whats all that about then? Fucked if I know, fucked if I don't.
Had a right fucking show the other night, (*****) had just left to crash, was me 'n (*****) 'n he was off his fucking face, so missed the show. These young-un's came in, he looked at me funny, so I said, "What are you fucking looking at?". (*****) left then 'cos he was tired. I saw:- her skirt up round her waist, he was stroking cunt thru green gusset, he go pee, she show arse and cunt to her friend, talking, but me sat opposite saw all too, phew, till bouncer came and told her skirt to pull down. She said "Fuck. Off" etc - as he walked away but skirt was pulled back into place.
Cutting your skin and flesh and watching the blood flow is really addictive if you are in that place. I've bin dere 'n dun it. And 'd rather destroy myself with alcohol and drugs, it's much more fun. Bob Dylan. Chalky listens to Radio 4, like I do, everything, Women's Hour and You and Yours, one of his favourites, like mine, is 'I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue'. Fluky moo. Bench. Cor Anglais. Zzzzz. Two little ducks. Moo. How do you think it feels? Plankton. (*****) goes home tomorrow, we've had a really good time but he needs a rest from the booze, his dad was 'Harry H' in the film Mcvicar - "Fackin' Wedding Cake Again!".
Another Friday night, little billy tonight, few vodkas, few spliffs, maybe go out for a few beers, we'll see. Tom used to hate it when I said "We'll see", usually if he wanted to go somewhere to do something, he'd pull a sulky face and say "That means No". Kippers. Kipper paté was nice but they stopped making the fucker a few years ago, nice on toast. Spoke to Cheryl a week or so ago and she said the letters were like Radio 4 to her and I thought that was fantastic and I told her that as soon as I got off the phone I was gonna write another letter, and I did and it was 21:23 when I got off the phone. Keith gave me a beautiful crystal last night, quartz and amethyst, he rang my bell about 11:20 last night and got me to answer the front door because he couldn't be arsed to get his fucking keys out of his fucking pocket and wanted to know what it was like to have a fucking butler! Later on Jimbob came with some beers so we got mullered, fucking mullered, he and K. staggered upstairs eventually.
Gonna have another pipe of skunk and then attempt to play the banjo. Hears the shitting forecast and two dead men inside an elephant but that was fiction. Was that the elephant you fucked, that was forecast, I don't think it was, that was a rubber pig. Ha! Watermelon Man. Flash Bang Scallop What A Pilchard. Ashamed of the sadness in my face, in my eyes and in my soul, looking like a complete idiot, I can't even look at a woman properly (yet), how the fuck is a woman going to want to fucking look at me (yet). You've got a lot to answer for, Ruth, and I've got to answer to my stupidity, how could I have been so stupid to get involved and fall so deeply in love with you, I thought you were honest and sincere (I'm such a stupid twat), but I was led up the garden path yet again wasn't I.
Smoking big spliff, vodka and orange, still feel billy. Piglets feeding. Feels strange. Is strange. Was strange. I feel strange. Yo!
- The Laughing Glo-stick Whitby Whistle.
