Monday 31 August 2009

Aloysius Awakens.

Today on Jeremy Kyle I witnessed what must surely be the greatest piece of TV of the millennium. On stage was a distraught weeping woman who’s children had been murdered by her bullying abusive boyfriend. Kyle sat at her feet on the steps of the stage, as he is inclined to do, and verbally prodded her into describing the complex and many ways he used to beat. Then, pausing for dramatic effect and breathing heavily, he got her to tell the audience and all the people at home what he forced her to do one afternoon. ‘One of the most heinous acts you’ll ever hear on the Jeremy Kyle show,’ he said.
‘He made me eat the ashes of his dead first wife,’ she wailed. Kyle repeated what she said in his highly camp pantomime way when he is hit with a mix of incredulity and anger, then turned to the camera and said ‘after the break how he killed her kids. Keep it Kyle,’ he menaced as I laughed in his face over and over like you would at the growing irrateness of an SS officer. It was one of the funniest moments of the weeks TV.

I was lying in bed beside Mad Kimba watching this – here, - she said – he’s never said that before ‘Keep It Kyle’ – I wouldn’t know – I said – I don’t watch this show much.

I’m staying with Kimba for a couple of days while Aloysius sleeps. He has been sleeping for a week now, ever since I caught him in the bath that day pulling one off to ‘Teen Rid On Sofa Like A Horse’ or something; or I think that was one I watched last night. So I’m here with her while he sleeps and while Kimba’s lesbian mistress is away to Lourdes I’ve been throwing her one on the sly. The mistress is ‘ferosh’ Kimba tells me………
But just now Aloysius just got of the phone to tell me he is finally awake. He tells me he’s had a long 4-day dream in which he was a character in Tron but that it was set in Walton Mountain. I told him I think he watches too much television.

Friday 21 August 2009

Granda's Haunted TV

My sister came round today looking a fag. My granda was with her which was mysterious – that is mysterious up till she told me that she’d won a coin flicking contest with him and won 30pounds off him.
I said – oh yeh? –
-
and she said – yeh. Me and granda threw a tenner into the pot each that I’d beat him in a toss of the coin. I bet heads three times –

I asked – did granda not get a turn to call? –

and she said – he did and he always went for tails –-
then granda piped up – your gran always went for tails in a coin toss.

I knew my sister knew granda always went for tails cos of what granny said. Granny read the tarots for folk and convinced granda she could talk to the dead. In 1959 she told him that she'd forseen the Russians dropping the H-Bomb and sent granda to Donegal and told him she’d be along in a day or two with the children. She never showed up and told granda it was on account of her being held up in the traffic jams with all the people trying to get out of town before the bomb fell. Granda believed her and to this day thinks the reds tried to go nuclear on the west. But he still has that sneaking suspicion there, my ma tells me, that he thinks she sent him away so she could participate in an affair she was having.

When Granda and my sister (I’ll call her Micheesha. I’ve mentioned her enough times) arrived I had Coronation Street on ready to start. Granda took a pew, pulling up his trousers before he sat down as old men are fond of doing, and said
– My TV’s haunted –

- How so granda? – I asked him.
– I got your uncle’s step son Billy Wheelbarrow to chip my card, and that was OK; I got all the channels and all for the regular 30pound charge, but when I go to turn the tele’ down with the tele’ remote control the fuckin’ SKY goes mad and switches to the GOD Channel. Channel 609 ---
- Maybe it’s the Lord trying to tell you something, granda?

– he could think of plainer ways than that – said granda.

Then my uncle arrived. His name is Gavin, the Belfast alco. It had been a big day for him today. He had been to the ‘Big Doctor’ in Donegal Square North for a review of his DLA to see if he still deserved that benefit for being an alco. The front of his jumper was covered hem to neckline with long strips of silvery wet slabber. It was like a herd of snails had passed over his jumper in the night.
--- did they give you the OK? - asked Micheesha, with the sort of giddy anticipation (that’s today (and only rarely) matched in its ferociousness by Ulster’s precious mothers awaiting the A-Level results of their children arriving on the door mat this morning).

--- Yes – said Uncle Gavin. I’ve been on the hooch since Sunday night; and this morning swallied 3ltrs of water. When I gat to the doctors surgery I boked all over the show!
– you’re a fuckin’ blitzer – laughed Micheesha.

At the advert of Coronation Street I was admiring Granda’s sweater. --- I like your sweater – I told my granda
– ah this old thing – replied granda – I’ve had this so long all I’ve to do’s whistle and it jumps right on me – then he took it off threw it on the floor, whistled, then picked it back up and put it back on, to demonstrate, and I think went slow-mo when he put it over his head, to show how this happened.

Then Coronation Street came back on again. Ashley was supporting Claire in her efforts to start up a Street Fete. Granda said – that one Ashley’s a fuckin’ halfwit – he’s a gub like a monkey ---
and true enough Ashley does revert to the Simian pout when he wants to express his emasculation at the hands of Claire – or just his general gormlessness.

When I returned home I discovered Aloysius lying in an empty bath listening to this Alicia Keyes (You Don’t Know My Name) song on a little portable radio he was clutching tight to his chest. On my laptop, which he had mounted in the corner of the bath he had a vid’ called ‘Amateur Gets Her Wet Teen Pussy Eaten Out By Her Boyfriend’. When I walked in on him he was going hell for leather; cheeks red and wobbling and wrist going like mad. When he opened his clenched eyes and saw me standing there he said, --- Well this is what I like to call my Hamlet cigar moments... -

But when I brought him down from his erotic high he did have a story to tell...

Thursday 20 August 2009

With Furnaces Burning 24hrs A Day...

...like beacons of death stretching far into the horizon.

How about this at the end of the street –

Or inflatable morgues set up in playgrounds like morbid bouncy castles.

The government has drawn up contingency plans to deal with mass death in the result of the predicted second wave of swine flu in the autumn. The document, compiled by government and council leaders include the following measures in dealing with the influx of corpses:

  • · Mass graves. “burial site for multiple graves and consecutive burials... excavated mechanically in advance and designed for efficient preparation and use.”
  • · In order to store and transport corpses “inflatable storage structures, which come in various designs and can be customised and deployed to a range of terrains.”
  • · Undertakers should open 24hrs a day “and hire more staff, and that retired doctors should be called back to work to issue death certificates.”
  • · Laws could be passed that allow for “streamlined mass cremations with furnaces burning 24 hours a day.”

But before you go taking measures to prevent from being one of the number rolled on a cold slab and rush out the door for your shot remember these inconvenient truths re the swine flu vaccine. It will not go through clinical tests before it is administered. Many sites are saying this, but I’m not sure. I’ve heard from other sources news to the contrary. One thing that is a fact is that it will be brimming with adjuvants used to spur on the strength of the vaccine ingredients one of which is the deadly squalene, one of the most dangerous forms of adjuvants which causes the immune system to attack it wherever it finds it, including when it occurs naturally in the nervous system which can lead to severe nerve damage resulting in Guillain-Barre syndrome, which can be fatal and killed more people in the 70’s US outbreak than swine flu did itself. When you think of this toxic punch and add to the mix squalene assisted sooped-up ingredients including a material poison, salmonella, or typhoid fever toxin, you would sooner drink a bleach laced highball than let the GP poke you with their death bringer needle. Vaccine researcher Patrick Jordon reports that the vaccine will come in three injections:

the first injection will be for the purpose of turning off the victim's immune system. The second injection will be for the purpose of loading people with deadly organisms. And the third injection will be to turn the immune system back on for the purpose of creating a cytokine storm that will deal a lethal blow to the body.”

Chances are it mightn’t be up to you whether you take the vaccine or not. The World Health Organisation have officially recommended it be mandatory to take the shot and those sitting on the WHO board, including representatives from GlaxoSmithKline and Baxter (who, as manufacturers of the vaccine, are going to be minted after the rollout), also recommend that European governments set aside their authority and let an interim special council under the WHO and the EU take over. Greece and Switzerland have already announced they are to have mandatory vaccines to be enforced by the military while the US says its military is prepared for ‘assisted’ military enforcement.

It looks like the walls are closing in, but if you can elude the pharmaceutical brownshirts then all most good nutritionalists recommend is Vitamin D. The Public Health Agency of Canada says that Vitamin D shores up the system against flu by:

neutralizing activity against a variety of infectious agents.”

So there you have it. Unless you want to be heaped on the pyre get out in the sunshine* with your rod and catch yourself a nice big salmon*.

*Good sources of vitamin D

Wednesday 19 August 2009

America Can't Pay Her Tab

Some are predicting that the first stages of the globalists’ decimation of America will begin as early as the end of this month (August ’09) when a report from the FDIC (Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation ("preserves and promotes public confidence in the US financial system")) will bring the chickens home to roost on the banks. A report that Harry Schultz and Bob Chapman, of International Forecaster, says will expose the real condition of America’s banks as being, in a word, fucked.

The report, due out on August 25th, will begin a wave of Bank Closures, or a prolonged Bank Holiday, which will last into late October.

Below are two letters purportedly leaked from a large Midwestern bank by someone at executive level which details the restrictions to be put on bank customers and staff:

"1. All account access was to be limited by the Bank and that any withdrawals, checks, debit cards, or access of credit lines, and IRA's could total no more than $500.00 per one or a combination of accounts every 7 business days until these limitations were lifted by Federal Authorities.

2. All lock boxes were to be sealed and access to contents disallowed by regulations imposed by Executive Order, the IRS, FDIC, and the Federal Reserve Bank until further notice."

All this tied in with the emerging flu pandemic/rush to vaccinate will serve as a good launching pad to impose martial law on America. Already it has been confirmed that Northcom troops are to be used in the mass vaccination programmes. Anyone refusing to take the vaccine can be shipped off to quarantine camps under the Medical Emergency Powers Act. With both these emergencies dovetailing America in the next few months is a powder keg waiting to blow!

Below – An eerily prescient cartoon from the Chicago Tribune c.1934

Tuesday 18 August 2009

Gregory Makes An Appearance

A strange thing happened last night. Around 10.30, from out in the street, I heard the noise of a solitary flute play a rising set of bars and stopping. I perked up like a meercat in danger and hit mute on Big Brother. I turned off all the lights and stood still in the darkness for a measure of time. The flute started again. I shuffled sideways to the window, moving imperceptibly by grinding my feet across the carpet and tilted the blinds slightly. Down on the street was a solitary flutist, kitted out in full bandsman regalia. When he stopped playing again he looked up and stared straight at me. I was frozen with fear and stared back. I was so mortified I think had I not just taken a shite an hour before hand I would’ve released a torrent onto the carpet. But in my fearfulness my mind was sharp and I was able to drink in the bandsman’s features. His eyes were so sunk in his head I was surprised he could see at all without the assistance of a powerful pair of binoculars. His cheeks, temples, and mouth were so concave as to look like he’d been fashioned by scalpel to within an inch of his life. He stood there swaying slightly and jerking his head and rolling it slowly like it was too heavy for him to hold up. Then he turned and walked across the green bit at the front and got into a car on the passenger side. I couldn’t make the type of car it was. A light went on when he opened the door and I for a moment made out the shape of a heavy man wearing an eye patch. At that moment I cacked myself. Gregory the Torturer sports and eye patch. Not that he needs it – he just does it for effect. I’m thinking the catapult will not be enough. That maybe its time to call in that favour and get my hands on a pistol.

It brings to mind an incident that happened a couple of months back. Me and my aunt heading back from the bar one night came to the corner of my street, stopping for a minute to let a car pass. the car was rolling very slowly and I spied the driver, whose face was not unlike that of the flutist described above. I thought to myself, a thought informed by great intuitive feeling – There is an evil looking bein’. – My aunt did not pick up on anything strange, because she was drunk, and for that reason I asked her if she wanted to come into mine for a cup of coffee. As we went in that direction I noted the car had stopped at the far end of the green and cut the engine. When I got into mine I went to the window to see what he was at. I clocked he had a passenger, a woman, then out of the corner of my eye I noticed a figure coming along. I turned to see a young Down’s Syndrome boy, around 20 zigzagging along the footpath – stumbling, starting and stopping going along like he was drunk or just woke up from a heavy opiate induced sleep. The boy came up the path to mine and stood at the door without ringing or knocking. Then he went up the path of the neighbouring block and stood there in the same fashion, while all the while being watched closely by the woman in the car. Then he made a dash for it, running all directions across the green like he was trying to stay out of a sniper’s scope and up the entry behind the terrace row across the way. At that, the car with the sinister couple started up and wheel spinned off with a screech of the tires. It was a thing that stayed with me for a week afterward. My aunt had passed out on the floor so saw none of it. I cannot verify this and people think I’m making it up. Ma says, if I’m telling the truth, that couple were probably set to lift the poor soul.

Monday 17 August 2009

Boy Bush The Butcher

Aloysius hasn’t been in touch since yesterday evening so I’m to assume he’s safe. There has been no sign of Torturer Gregory the drug dealer either. Nevertheless last night I constructed a makeshift catapult, getting a woman’s stocking I found behind the fridge and nailing it either side of the doorframe at head height. I then selotaped a load of nuts and bolts together to use as a projectile were anyone to burst in unannounced. I reckon I’ll have some time to prepare the catapult, stretching it back and lining up my shot before anyone gets in. it would take a good five minutes of solid hard booting of my door to get it through.

Last night in order to stop being paranoid about Torturing Gregory coming round I trawled the internets looking for something else that would distract my strung out psyche. And fuck a duck – did I find it!

If I were to tell you George W Bush was held on suspicion of mass murder having carried out a Satanic Sacrifice Ritual in a place called Brownsville, Texas would you believe me? No? Yes? Well go here and look then...

Portland Indy Media Centre picks up the story, making the well researched point that the only individual spared the death sentence during W’s tenure as Texas governor, over battered women, pensioners and the mentally disabled, was the notorious and massively prolific Henry Lee Lucas:

'On June 30th of 1998, Henry Lee Lucas, arguably the most prolific and certainly one of the most sadistic serial killers in the annals of crime was scheduled for execution by the state of Texas. Given the advocacy of the death penalty by Governor George W. Bush, things clearly weren't looking good for Henry at that time.....

The very next day ... Lucas became the first ... recipient of Governor Bush's compassionate conservatism. The official rationale for this act of mercy was, apparently ... evidence ... did not support his conviction ... Never mind that many of the 130 death row inmates who did not get special attention prior to their executions had credible claims of innocence that were met with by nothing but scorn and mockery.'

They go on to cite an article from Sherman Skolnick who details Bush Senior’s involvement with Zapata Offshore Oil Company, a tentacle of the CIA, who ran their drugs out of Columbia, funnelling it through Mexico into...Brownsville Texas, which is a stone’s throw over the Mexican boarder. This was principally to fund the Contra’s in beating the reds – an op detailed in Gary Webb’s Dark Alliance that I talked about here. Skolnick goes on to connect the dots between the El Padrino cult, CIA drug mules, mind control and SRA (Saranic Ritual Abuse) all taking place in and around the smuggling routes between Matamoros, Mexico and Brownsville. Here's the start of his article:

'"SUNNYVALE, CA - Telling reporters and critics to 'stick to the issues that matter', Republican presidential candidate George W. Bush declined to answer questions Monday concerning his alleged involvement in a 1984 Brownsville, TX, mass murder, in which 17 people were ritualistically murdered and skinned. 'I will not stoop to discussing that,' said Bush during a campaign stop at a Bay Area software-packaging plant. 'We've got people across this country without health care, a broken educational system, taxes that are way too high, and all you want to talk about is something THAT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE HAPPENED 16 years ago? I'm sorry, but I find that offensive.' " (Emphasis added).'

So, yeah. Bush butchered 17 people. And yeah, he butchered a million and a half or whatever in his War On Terror (ridiculous as a war on dandruff! says Gore Vidal) indirectly, with orders from on high. Must’ve been that back in the day Boy Bush liked to hone his trade on the factory floor, so to speak.

Sunday 16 August 2009

Gregory's Torture

So Aloysius is away down the country to look after the cats of a pal who’s had to go on the run after getting herself involved with a big drugs man who I’ll name Gregory for the sake of my arms and legs and general well being.

The pal arrived yesterday morning at the streak of dawn in her electric blue Ford Coupe. Appropriately she had this song playing at full blast, (I think she uses it as a sort of shtick):




which woke all the nosy wee weemen and aroused the churning tight-eyed suspicion of the local men who stood with folded arms in their driveway.

I sent Aloysius on his way with a non-fruit hug and told him to stay in touch and that he could rely on me for a gun* if needs be should things gets hairy.
Two hours ago he sent me a text:

Am safe. Hav arvd at loc. took here in chopper that met me at ards airstrip. Cats are w/me. All is fine.

He went on to give an account replete with colours, feelings and lurid metaphor, of how the chopper took off as the sun was coming up and banked southwesterly, skirting over Scrabo Hill. He signed off by saying he felt like an underworld spy.
I am glad Aloysius is safe, but this last hour I have become afraid that Gregory will get wind Aloysius was staying here and decide to come round and use me as a hostage so that Aloysius’s pal will give herself up and face the consequences. Part of me feels that putting my safety before that of a girl is v.un-gentlemanly, but if this pal was giving a drug dealer the run around then who am I to stand in the way of his retribution. No hero me, and anyway, whatever happened to women’s lib and gender equality. Equal in one way, equal in all, including the receiving of beatings.

It will either be for that reason Gregory will batter my door down or he will think I know where she is and torture me so’s I ‘fess up. I was on the phone to an old jailbird pal the other day and he tells me one thing they do to nonces inside is to put superglue up their hole and down their dick through the jap’s eye. Gregory, having learned these torture moves when he was inside (I’m sure he must’ve been), might assault my shitepipe like this then threaten to do the same with my dick. I would tell then - I’d tell lies, detailed and exact, as to the girl’s whereabouts. Anyone who thinks torturing terrorist suspects is a good idea is wrong for definite. I’m sure of that, right this minute, thinking over the prospect of torture upon my own person. Even the thought of it has me already stocking up on fabricated info to trade in to stop Gregory’s torture. Fuck it! I’m going to put the drawers against my front door and make a weapon. I’d do a shiv but I’ve no toothbrush.

*I was promised one ages ago when I ran into some trouble.

Wednesday 12 August 2009

Taint My High


Micaela poses with an elephant she shot

I want Michaela Strachan to be my wife, said Aloysius watching Animal E.R or whatever it is she does. I’d use her shit as toothpaste.

This afternoon we had an experiment with salvia. I’ve heard a few things about Salvia. I missed the ‘Getting High Legally’ with mannequin-come-to-life Larry Lamb junior, but anecdotal evidence garnered from psychedelic psychonaughts bring me to the conclusion it would be a thing to try. So, yes, this afternoon me and Aloysius went to Rip Off to buy a bong. We’d heard from Rueben (who’s been in touch to tell me about his secret mission in Iraq) its better to heap the salvia in the bowl and suck it all down at once. He likened it to the psychedelic equivalent of downing a pint in one.

Back at home we filled the bong with water and the bowl with salvia and played scissor rock paper to determine who went first. It was both our feeling that going first would be the best thing. I won with paper over rock and slammed the mother in one go. I had Camel’s Moon Madness cued up for when I was commin’ up and when the rubber hit the road the piece melded royally with the blooming high. I felt weightless when it hit. I repeated over and over it was a beautiful thing. When the thing really starts on Song Within A Song my arms started to rise like when you’re in a swimming pool and you can’t stop your arms from rising to the surface. A sensation came over me. It was like a blurred multitude of iridescent threads spooled from out of every pore and ran through the stratosphere reaching a specific length and stopping there suspended in dark starless space. It was a sweet sweet feeling came over me.


Aloysius took a hit then and stretched back in my rocking chair my granny donated. This fact (that he was in my granny’s chair) brought to mind a creepy story I could tell him when he was coming up.

One day home from school with the mumps I was lying on my mother’s lipstick pink PVC sofa swaddled in blankets with a vinegar soaked cloth applied to my forehead. It was around half 2 and Sons and Daughters was due to start. I was drawn to Sons and Daughters some time before from when I was off school sick. I liked it and had a twisted attraction to a shapeless GILP (Gran I’d Like To Fuck) with a bad perm and an obsession for standing at the sink cleaning dishes. The episode I watched the day I was off with the mumps looked to my young media savvy eyes like it was the culmination of a heavy story – that is incestual rape between an uncle and his niece. Because as I’ve said it was on at 2.30 in the afternoon the scene where the uncle finally rapes the niece is all shot from the shoulders up. She is supposedly crying but because the actress’s skills are so woefully lacking she appears to me then like she is laughing maniacally, beholden to an expression of total unfettered amusement like she’s been possessed momentarily by some jester archetype that finds every human emotion to be having the utmost credentials in the hilarity stakes. So she is very happy, it appears to me, in this embrace with her uncle. He was harder to draw an opinion on, if memory serves. But my 6 yr old mind basically took the verb ‘rape’ to mean a ‘meaningful and happy embrace between relatives.’

A day or two later when I was feeling better I accompanied my mother and my granny to Musgrave to do the weekly shop. It was back then that the only people that could have a pass card to the cash and carry were traders. If memory serves the only people that were allowed to be in the possession of one of these cards were people like catering companies and corner shop owners, of which there were a lot before the monolith Tesco’s et al terraformed the landscape. There were so many people that owned corner shops and ran catering companies in those days that there were a lot of people you could run into in Musgrave. Ma used to say you could meet the world and his wife in there and dressed appropriately, wearing her big Jackie O shades to disguise herself and save on any unwanted and awkward conversations about the weather with people she hardly knew. That day granny and I broke of from Ma who went to buy her meat so granny could take me up the toy aisle to get a knock-off counterfeit Action Force. I picked out one called Asp Eyes who owned nunchawks and a tape measure and granny took me to the shortest checkout lane to pay for it. When we got to the till and the girl was ringing up all granny’s things, including tampons, cos she didn’t get the menopause till she was 72, I got bored and recalling my viewing of Sons and Daughters from a couple of days previous turned to granny and asked if I could rape her when we got home. The girl on checkout’s eyes rolled out of her head and she was having trouble pulling an expression having been for so long keeping a happy affable gub on her for all the beer soaked Jontys coming past.

When granny told ma about what I’d said ma confronted me over dinner and asked me if I knew what I’d asked granny to do. Da laughed and sister, who was four, shoveled mashed potato into her gawky wide gub, totally oblivious. I told her what I thought it meant, happy and meaningful embrace, and she told me it didn’t mean that that it meant something evil and I’d hurt granny. In the weeks after I taunted granny with strange notions. I walked up to her silently when she sat stroking her cats and pointed to the Sex Positions cover in the book catalogue at the back of the Sunday Times Magazine. I told her that at times I thought about how sensational it would be to be stabbed in the stomach. As it was the summer months I went outside and whipped mice to death with strips of carpet cutoffs. I presented them to granny at dinner, after having put them in the microwave for 45 secs so they’d smoke when I lifted the lid off the platter I’d shoved under her nose. I also put them in her teapot and her slippers. After 8 weeks of this she had a stroke at 59. I don’t know why I did it. I thought somehow at the end of it I might get some money.

So I told this tale to Aloysius as he was coming up and, understandably, he was very annoyed I’d tainted his high.

Tuesday 4 August 2009


Today was a good day. Even the disapproving gub on the woman that works in the offies had softened a little today. Aloysius exited the sho
wer today in the nude. He has a habit of doing this. When he’s in there I have to go round the house closing all the curtains so the kids playing out on the street don’t catch an eyeful and I am subsequently labeled a paedophile. So he exited the shower and I’d a cup of coffee waiting for him.

I was feelin’ round my bollocks there and I thought I felt a lump, then I realized it was just my other bollock. It’s Robbie Williams fault. When we were in school they showed this health video to educate you on how to check for testicular cancer. That pug faced little shit appeared camera left wearing a pair of fake tits over a England football jersey. He pointed at the tits and said ‘most men spend too much time thinking about these,’ then the camera panned down and he grabbed his nuts, ‘when they should be worrying about these.' I was not a fan, but something about his delivery, the graveness of his message touched my soul and I’ve been checking my nuts ever since.

In the afternoon we went to visit our mutual friend Bosco. Bosco says he has a plan for infiltrating the Scientologists, but he can’t tell me it yet as he hasn’t finalized the details. He wonders if Bogdan will count himself in too, but as I’ve heard Bogdan is back smoking pot I told him his mind mightn’t currently be equipped to deal with a barrage of personal and psychological questions and myriad evaluations,

so we should count him out.

We stayed in Bosco’s and watched Eastenders. Aloysius noted that Max Branning looked like a down-and-out Mick Hucknill, while

Tanya’s face was like a crusty moon.

Before we left Bosco played us this song:


and he returned to fixing a pair of shoes in his capacity as a cobbler.

I came in tonight from a drugs run to find Aloysius watching eccentric talkshow Guilty. Guilty hosted by Carole Malone is a tough thing to absorb. You’re never entirely sure if it is all some rudimentary exercise in mind control aimed at warping the minds of insomniac out-of-work no hopers. Aloysius wouldn’t class himself in this category but this last year or so I would.

That guest in the brown jacket is like Wogan’s discarded half brother, said Aloysius. Then his brother who’s been cheating with his sister in law Aloysius describes as looking: boring and weird his weirdness not necessarily exclusive from his boringness. Then again he is like a Brookside spectacular character – like someone Phil Redmond brings in to return Brookside to its working class roots – a trade unionist to spar with Jimmy Corkhill.

The conversation progressed to how a character from Brookside appeared in Hollyoaks, the same character, which was a first for British soap;

The Americans, however, says Aloysius, have been doing it for years...remember The Colbys? It shared characters from Dynasty – some might say it was the same show but viewed through different reality tunnels – what is true is that the characters in The Colbys either are or are related to characters from Dynasty.

Remember Fallon is abducted by aliens, I noted. From the big final season grand finale?

What do you think would be worse? Raping a 12 yr old girl or a 99 yr old woman?

...God I don’t know Aloysius...

I’ll tell you. The judge would look less favorably on you if you raped the 99 yr old woman. Her chances of survival are much slimmer than that of the 12 yr old girl...

Thank you Aloysius.