Severe Jam Damage

So this is the post where I’m supposed to say ‘Happy New Year’ to anyone reading this right? Tonight is the night where everyone parties like it’s 1999 and Jools Holland has a right old Hootenanny.
Except…
Except of all the days of the year, this is the one I hate the most.

It is 10 o’clock on New Years Eve and the text messages are beginning to come through. I won’t be replying.

Why do people feel the need to blast everyone in their phonebook - even those they haven’t spoken to since the previous New Year. Like they could really give a fuck.
Enough of the false wishes for ‘prosperity and happiness’. Cut out the stupid ideas that the stroke of midnight tonight is any fucking different from any other fucking night. Why can’t we just be honest about it?

All we care about during the year is ourselves. A change of date doesn’t change this.

So I say Fuck New Years. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

It happened so suddenly. One moment everyone was going about their business as usual. Normal people doing normal things. Adelaide Jones was in the freezer section of Tesco trying to decide between beef and mushroom or steak and kidney pie for dinner. Her husband Bill loved a bit of kidney but she wasn’t fond of it herself. The thought of where those things had been and what they’d done put her off. Sometimes Bill would bring fresh kidneys home from the butchers and the tangy smell of piss that floated up from the wrapping always made her feel ill. Adelaide decided on the beef and mushroom pie.

Jim Wilson was walking his dog in the park. The little terrier was excited, yapping and bouncing, trying to chase everything and anything that was in his eyeline. Some kids on skateboards passed by and the dog strained at the end of his leash chasing after the rattling wheels.

Terry Ryan was making himself a cup of tea in the office kitchen. He was very particular about every step of the process. Ideally he would have made a full of pot of tea and let it stew for a while, but in this place he was lucky to find a clean mug after 9 in the morning.

Adelaide Jones had moved down to the ready meals section when she noticed a carton of eggs floating past her trolley. She stopped for a moment, struck dumb. Then she looked quickly around for a hidden camera. It must be a joke, had to be… her thought process froze as the eggs were followed by a string of sausages and a frozen turkey.

Terry Ryan felt a strange tugging in his shoes. ‘What the…’ he thought and then found himself bumping his head gently against the ceiling. The tea things were scattered in the air below him. ‘What a strange thing.’ He thought as a tea bag gently caressed his face.

Jim Wilson saw the kids go up first, they floated around on their skateboards, swooping and flying. Screaming with joy and a little fear. ‘How high can you go?’ they chanted. Jim noticed the leash in his hand had become slack. He looked up and saw the little terrier treading air, floating up, up and away. Somehow the dog had loosed itself from the harness. Jim watched him paddle around for a bit and then with a sudden jerk realised his feet were no longer on the ground. He windmilled and back-pedalled trying to reach the earth that slowly, slowly fell away under his feet.

Below, he saw men and women struggling vainly to stay close to the ground. One young couple held tightly to the trunk of a tree. A man in a suit tugged at a park bench which itself was slowly lifting into the sky. All around him people and things were rising slowly into the heavens.

‘This is what it feels like to fly’ thought Jim, and then he turned away from the earth. The city fell with him, up and up into the vast blue.

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Inspired by To all the dancers in the sky By Flickr user Dejon. Check out the rest of the flicktioneers: The Gurrier, Chris, Linus, Tadmack, TeaandCakes, LittleGoat, Aquafortis, Valsha and Neil.

I had a great time at the party last night. I was witty and pretty and laughed my ass off. My nickname is now ‘Muttley’.

Damned if I can remember much though. My liver would give the finest fois gras a run for its money.

This is perhaps one of the most disgusting things I’ve read all year.

Richard LittleJohn

Sound isn’t great so you may have to turn up your speakers.

So I’m a big flickr fake this week. Too much alcohol, not enough brain cells. I tried, really I did this week, but I got nada, nuthin’, nil.

You can check out the productive people listed below. For me, I’m going to try and get some sleep.

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This entry from flickr picture daddy’s dumbbells by Flickr user fadedmilkyway. Check out the usual suspects: The Gurrier, Chris, Linus, Tadmack, TeaandCakes, LittleGoat, Aquafortis, Valsha and Neil.

I meant to write a bit about my trip to Winnipeg last July. As evidenced I didn’t get round to it. But here is a link to my Winnipeg flickr set if anyone is interested.

Edit: Don’t know why the photo to the right looks so grainy here.

Here is a link to a rather innocuous newspaper article.

However, it is the comments section that really made me snigger…

samples:

‘They are a nuisance, and also the flying wizards of Satan. There, I’ve said it.’

‘This is preposterous! Pigeons performed a vital role in assisting communications in both World Wars and should therefore be encouraged to breed in higher numbers in order to remind us that we must never forget. Perhaps the money would be better spent erecting a large memorial of a Rock Pigeon or perhaps a Feral Pigeon - I’ll leave that decision to the council. I don’t think a Wood Pigeon memorial would be particularly appropriate because I don’t think they did too much for us during the war. Other than food.’

I myself have never been attacked by a pigeon, nor indeed defecated upon by such a feathered being, but I feel it is my duty to point out to certain contributors to this discussion that it is no laughing matter to be on the receiving end of pests and vermin. Just the other day, for example, I was held prisoner in my own home by a violent squirrel who demanded I perform certain “acts” in order to regain my freedom. I was shamed. But the most shameful thing is, I secretly enjoyed it. How wrong is that?

I AM BARRISTER MOSES UKABANJO FROM LAGOS NIGERIA AND I NEED TO TRANSFER 35 MILLION PIGEONS OUT OF MY COUNTRY

My head was banging like a Lambeg on the twelfth. Synapses fluttered and misfired in my temples and stars ruptured behind my eyes.
‘Fuck you!’ I screamed, but what emerged was a mouthful of bloody spittle and teeth.
I saw the spray of blood and mucus splash across a pair of Docs just before my eyes swelled closed. Underneath me, hard cobbles dug into my kidneys, small pieces of gravel and stone pierced the soft flesh of my shoulders. I was human pebbledash.
The boots kept flying, my face, my chest, my groin.
The stars exploded into fireworks, blues and greens and reds splattering across my inner vision. Blinded now, the pain shot across the back of my eyelids, creating noise out of darkness, black holes imploding. I groaned, guttural whimpers vomiting their way up my throat. Stomach muscles tensed then, another boot to the breadbox and I curled against the foot.
‘Fuckin’ pussy!’ yelled a voice in the heavens above me. ‘Fuckin’ queer!’
My hands scrabbled for the boot, sliding off the leather smeared with my blood.
Someone laughed.
‘C’mon lets go.’
‘One more, I just wanna see-’
‘Nah, C’mon.’
‘Okay. You got any tissues? My boots are ruined with this shit.’
I realised the foot was no longer buried in my guts. My ears sang - a choir of angels on acid. The voices retreated, diminishing into the black night. The girls moved on, looking for more kicks.

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After a brief hiatus in November, Flickr Fiction is back. This ASBO inspired entry from flickr picture Christmas on Madeira by Flickr user Madeira. Not sure who else is in this week but check out the usual suspects: The Gurrier, Chris, Linus, Tadmack, TeaandCakes, LittleGoat and Aquafortis. Also new Flictioneers Neil and Dermo.

Twas the night before Xmas
And quicker than quick
The whores and the sluts
were turning their tricks.

The hookers were trussed up
in leather and lace
and the Johns paid extra
to cum in their face.

And the dealers in shell suits
driving white nissan vans
watched from the alley
and made silent plans.

The knocking shops buzzed
with the noise of the crowd
and the dildos and sex toys
were equally loud.

When in the bordello
There arose a big fight
‘Can I wear your suspenders?!’
‘Go ‘long and shite!’

‘He paid me for straight up
no bondage, no cuffs
Then he got busy
and then he got rough’

The little fat man
stood shrivelled and old
He was half naked
(I presume it was cold)

His eyes were like saucers
His nose red as berries
His back like a caterpillar
crawling and hairy.

The doorman was angry
and let a great roar
‘Fuck off we don’t want your kind
round here no more!’

‘All I wanted was something
a little special for me
A whip, or a gimp mask
a lashing or three’

‘Some silken stockings
A studded dog collar
warm fluffy handcuffs
I’ll pay you in dollars!’

‘Nipple clamps, basques
a long feather boa,
A tight fitting corset
on a girl from Balboa.

The girls they all scowled
and the bouncer grew huge
‘What the fuck do you think
This is the Moulin Rouge?’

‘We run a clean shop here
We’ll have none of that stuff
We can do anal
if you want to get rough.’

The little man sighed
and he pulled on his clothes
‘I'’ll find somewhere else
with better sex shows.’

He walked out the door and
went through the lane
past the junkies all lost
in their own world of pain.

They heard him shout out
as he walked out of sight
‘Yer girls are all ugly
and yer lap dancings’ shite!’

*Inspired by the BT Christmas window display.