Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Remove Passage at Greyfriars

I am fucking wrecked.

Being a da is hard work- don't let any cunt tell you otherwise.

It leads to lapses in concentration.

I was eating the other day, with a friend, and he had made some lentils with sausages. His ma made the sausages, so I was pretty eager to try them. There were two big bits of sausage in the lentils. He's a good cook, this chap. Mario is his name.

Because I'm a self-absorbed, childish cunt, I thought both were for me, so I ate the first one really quick, and it was lovely.

A wee bit later, I ate the second bit.

My mates goes, here, did you eat my bit of sausage?

I apparently did. But here's the thing- I couldn't remember doing it.

I could remember the first bit, it was so memorable. Unlike normal sausages, it was dryer and nicer.

But I can't remember the second.

I think it's due to sleep deprivation.

Still, I'm glad I got to eat both bits, if only to have deprived him from the enjoyment it would have brought him.

You see, these last few tired days, I only enjoy the satisfaction that retribution, violence or pain brings.

It's pretty good, actually.

Like a deranged batman, I've started to target the people who read the Montreal Mirror, and in particular, those whose lifestyle says to me "I am a cunt that reads the Montreal Mirror and finds it of interest".

It's fucking open season down my street.

Here's a wee example:

There was one fella today coming down the road wheeling a bike along the footpath.

Before he even opened his mouth I had the cunt pegged.

Fucking twat in a pair of braces, mad hair, brogues and t-shirt with "ALF" on it. I knew his type.

When he began to speak to his chum who was dootering along beside him on the road, his horrible English Canadian ironic monotone sealed his fate.

I fucked a chamber pit full of dog shite and sand at his head and knocked him out cold.

I got Sarah to punch him a few times while he was lying on the ground too (just wee digs, she's only wee).

We made a bit of a game out of it.

You have to keep it interesting for the wee ones.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Video Nasty

Here's an interesting story;

When I was very, very young, I worked in a bar. It was part of a hotel. I mostly enjoyed it.

I worked there on and off for about 7 years.

One day, I was working at the bar and I saw an obese gentleman with long hair and glasses.

I can't remember what we were talking about, but we got on to talking about videos. He was from Sussex.

It turned out he liked videos, and took a video player with him everywhere he went.

I think he turned the conversation towards videos, looking back.

He must have been some kind of traveling businessman.

He was drinking pints of cider and smoking cigarettes, one after the other.

He asked me did I know what a "video nasty" was.

I said that I did, that it was a sort of banned video that had a certain cult following.

He said he fucking loved video nasties, he had loads of them.

I said tell me a name of one, to see if I'd seen any.

He said "SS Love Camp", with a big grin on his face.

Fuck me.

"Is it any good?" I asked, and he went on to describe in gruesome detail all the tortures, murders and rapes that took place in the show.

"Sounds like a two thumbs up!" I said, trying for levity.

"It's pretty good" he said.

What kind of a cunt tells a total stranger such things?

People should keep that shite to themselves.

Maybe he thought I'd admire him for it. Or ask for a lend.

Later that evening, I had to bring drinks to his room, on a few occasions.

He answered the door in his underpants every time, and the room was full of smoke every time. I bet he was watching video nasties, but he must have paused them when I knocked.

He gave me a quid every time I brought him a pint of cider.

I would have given anything to watch "I spit on your grave".

Lady Binman

Lady Binman,

Beautiful and calm.

Holding on to the back of a bin lorry,

On a sunny morning.

Binmen should not look like you.

They should look like Onslow from "Keeping Up Appearances",

Obese, unshaven oafs.

Not a young black woman with short hair.

How did you get the job?

You must be as good at picking up bins as Onlow.

Wouldn't be fucking hard.

Traditional binmen are unfit.

Until I saw you, I'd never seen a lady binman,

Nor imagined one.

Except maybe a binman's wife,

Riding in the lorry for a laugh.

Everywhere you go, there you are.

Mildly surprising and pleasing.

Like learning about a music festival in Afghanistan.

I hope you enjoy what you do.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

The Real Ghostbusters

I had wee Sarah all day today, on my own. Tina was out at a baby shower.

It was brilliant. I carry her about all the time, because she likes it better. She can see everything.

She loves dogs and wee kids. We didn't see any today.

Well, we saw some. No good ones, though. I think it was too hot.

It's really fucking hot here in the summer. Too fucking hot. I always get burned.

I never wear suncream. I shouldn't have to. It's unnatural. I make sure Sarah does though. She's too young to make an uninformed choice like I did.

I was pushing her about and she got sleepy, so I gave her her dummy to help her get over to sleep.

She did fall asleep, so I stopped at a bench and read the Montreal Mirror.

I'm beginning to hate the Montreal Mirror, 'cos it's full of shite. It's the same oul fucking shite every week.

The same cunty opinions, and trite news pieces, and wanky columnists. It's very right-on. I like no more than 3% of it, then I want to rip it into shreds and shite on it, screaming foul abuse all the while.

It makes me think that everyone in Montreal is a right arsehole.

I'm not wrong.

Some twat was coming along the day there, just before I went to the park, a beardy cunt with glasses. He had some other twat beside him.

The beardy cunt was explaining to the other twat about "the brown bag understanding" that exists between the police and outdoor drinkers in the states.

This is where tramps, arseholes and knobs can drink beer or wine outside, in public, without getting arrested, as long as their alcohol is concealed in a "brown paper bag" or some such thing.

This beardy cunt was excitedly explaining, in English, mind, the very notion to thon other twat as being a victory of community policing and common sense.

What a cunt. His using English merely confirmed my theory that most of the cunts, twats and arseholes in this part of Montreal are anglophones (I include myself here too, folks!).

I only caught about ten seconds of his loud conversation, but those ten seconds were enough to make me want to batter the living fuck out of him with a chair leg.

I didn't, but.

I was wild fucking tempted, though.

Montreal is full of fuckers like thon fella.

And this paper is like "The Ulster Tatler" for these knobs.

A terrible state of affairs.

Right cunts.

So anyways, I sat and read the paper while she slept, for a bit.

I thought of that fella who I'd just seen, and all the shite he was talking.

And I decided it'd be more fun just to watch two squirrels shagging each other.

So I did.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Terrific Fun

I saw a massive black beetle about 25 minutes ago.

I was walking through the park, and by the baseball field he caught my eye.

Huge big cunt, just creeping about. It certainly made my night. He looked too big to be just walking around. Maybe he didn't belong here. He might have escaped from someone's house, they were maybe keeping him as a pet.

I wouldn't.

Why would you?

Dogs are the best pets. They're like nicer people, better than people, simpler. Big dogs especially. Wee ones are cunts. They have a tendency to yap, gurn and be excitable.

Who wants that?

I'd rather have a beetle than a wee dog. If I got bored of the beetle, I'd let him go. I'd feel worse doing that to the dog. A bit guilty, because society obliges you to be nice to dogs and treat them well.

I couldn't be arsed with dogs. Sarah likes them though. She fucking loves them.

Some woman was going past with her toddler, walking beside her, and Sarah wanted to see the baby, so I hunkered down with her and showed her the baby, up close.

I gave the woman a stern, yet kind, look, demonstrating that I was showing my daughter her baby, whether she fucking liked it or not.

Chuckling, I said "Elle adore des petits enfants... et des chiens!"

I didn't realise, 'til well after, that she may have construed it as a wee jibe at her wean, implying I wasn't sure if her baby was a human or a canine.

It was a human baby, though.

I asked a priest once in primary school whether dogs and cats and insects have Jesus and the chance at redemption like we do. I can't remember his answer.

Why are we so fucking special?

It is great being a human though. I went to the zoo when I was home, and those cunts are not half as lucky as we are.

I'm reading these books by George Pelecanos, set in Washington DC, and the characters invariably eat a dish called a half-smoke. I fucking want one. I'll go all the way down there if I have to. He describes it so nice in the books.

I think it's a kind of sausage.