I Don't Wanna Talk, If It Makes You Feel Sad, And I Understand, You've Come To Shake My Hand

Yesterday morning I received the date for my court appearance on charges which amount to ‘we’re doing you for committing blasphemous vandalism’ really.

Over breakfast of scrambled egg and carrot juice this song was playing on some AM station between stations on a narrow hair’s breadth band width (and the announcer was French):

Somewhere halfway through the track my surroundings were carried off like rickety stage scenery in a twister and I am left with Agnetha standing before me, shimmering in white against a dimensionless black eternity behind her.

She sang the rest of the song majestically and with a pious divineness and every lyric held a paranoid schizophrenic’s significance and logic.

When the song ended the kitchen reappeared and I boked what I’d eaten of my scrambled eggs into my big pint glass of half drunk carrot juice. I held up the mixture and examined it for a minute or two to get my head straight then got up and emptied it into Boke the Cat’s food bowl. I wanted out of the house, to empty my mind of my delusions and worry. So I went round to Kimba’s granny’s to get a fuck off her (off Kimba).

When I got to the Kimba’s granny’s house then I found the front door open a little and the bony grey ankle and the scuffed red leather kitten heel shoe of granny sticking out.

I pushed my way in, forcing granny’s knees up and stepped over her. I noticed she’d a big cut on her head.

From the grand front room I could hear Kimba rhythmically screaming in sexual ecstasy. Between screams were the deep and varied multi-tonal guttural hoorays of a rutting masculine cock. Cock-With-A-Body-Attached (C’Waba).

I went in there and the guy, a big cross-eyed spide, chucks Kimba off him and gets up walking toward me with his hand out to shake it.
- You’re Danny Pongo, You’re Danny Pongo, - he said over and over.

I took his hand, alright. Took it and pulled him toward me and stuck the head in, breaking his nose and knocking him clean out before he even hit the deck.

Kimba lay curled up on the sofa in the foetal position naked and quivering like a pale newborn hatchling. I picked her up and smoothed her out and prying her open took all the strength I had. There was a big old fire going in granny’s big ugly no-taste fireplace and I got her on all fours right in front of it and shoved her in there head first and give her a good boot up the hole for good measure making her bang her head off the back of the fireplace knocking her out too and so I left her lying face down in there, in the fire, getting her face melted off.

And I wasn’t done yet.

I went back into the hall and opened granny’s mouth and took a big shite in it. I got the big black latex dildo Kimba and C’Waba were using and shoved it right up in her old cunt, up between her old stage-curtain-wrinkly labia, which shook as I did so. I took some of the shite that was in granny’s mouth on the end of my fingertips and went back in the front room and rubbed it in C’Waba’s wounds. Then I turned him over and filled his hole up with Poly-Filla that I found in a cupboard under the sink in the kitchen.

On the way out I give granny a good old kick in the cunt sending the black latex dildo right up into her fragile body like a missile from a submarine shoots out into the ocean.

Smiling I walked down the crunchy gravel drive satisfied I’d done a number on those that had betrayed me.

On the way home on the bus I had a wank over Agnetha outta Abba and got a text message from Bogdan,

“Am sik of having no woman. Need 2 squeeze a tit. Have thought of piercing holes in my nibbles so’s someone can blow them up like balloons 2 be like tits. So need u 2 cum over there4.
PS, have u ever been 2 San Francisco? They do this there.”

So I texted back,

“Can’t come over. Busy. Yes I have been 2 ‘cisco, but u know wat Bogdan, I’ve never been 2 me...”

You Can't Just Shoot Your Way Out And Go

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Sex Guru Wank Race

When the song ended I endeavoured to do my best to calm Bogdan and try to convince him not to worry about his toasted skin.

I read through the article in the paper and noted that it mentions near the end that toasted skin is pretty harmless and only in very rare cases do you get melanoma from it. Bogdan was relieved at this and observed, as much for my benefit than for his, that he had no moles on his legs and as “its moles that are the main things on your body that are infected by things like sunlight and UV light and general heat like from a microwave then I’ve nothing to worry about. And if I’m about to buck a girl for the first time I’ll tell her the burns are from saving a whole family, 3 generations, from a house fire.”

Bogdan then went on to rant and rave in a generally unfocused monotone about moles and people with moles, taking in Cindy Crawford, Enrique Iquelzies and Robert De Nero. In order to get him off the subject I suggested we go online to look for Porn-a-Likes...

So today’s Porn-a-Like is Denise Robertson the terribly moany, makes-everything-sound-worse-than-it-actually-is by-the-way-she-draws-out-her-sad-sad-words This Morning agony aunt.

So me and Bogdan made some time inventing a story for Denise Robertson and her foray into the world of vice and concluded that what had happened to the poor old duck was that she were taken in by some New-Age sex therapist guru who schooled her in the ways of “cognitive sexual workings out of the problems of the mind” as Bogdan put it. After she left the guru’s enclave in South America Denise went back on This Morning and began to use the guru’s teachings on the bevy of young men that ring into her helpline looking for ways to spot genital warts and AIDS.



Here she is photographed in a sting operation set up by the News Of The World who have hired a rentboy and give him journalist credentials (Like Jeff Gannon). When the story broke Denise set up an elaborate ruse where a recording of her own voice was rung into her helpline live on This Morning. Her recorded voice went through a list of the terrible things that’d happened to her since the story broke and Denise live in the studio’s eyes glazed over and she began to cut herself with a switchblade that she pulled out from her substantial cleavage. Scoffield and Holly Willobry go apeshit and Denise, thrown by their thespianic startled-ness, proceeds to stick Scoffield in the Adam’s Apple and cut both Holly’s tits off.

After me and Bogdan decided we were happy with the parallel life we’d created for This Morning agony aunt Denise Robertson we went to look for some real porn to have a wank race over, which hopefully, by the end of, we’d be tired enough to go to sleep to.

Toasted Skin

The next morning back at my place Kimba put me off my breakfast again by going on about the bit of my jumper that ripped off in Mistress’s hedge.

I became too nervous to eat. My tongue dried and became sandy and I couldn’t swallow the big gobful of pancake I had worked back into my mouth.

I went upstairs and boked into the bath. I decided not to wash it away and let her find it instead. With her gag reflex she’d probably boke too, adding to the gross and noxious pallet. And being depraved as she is as well she’d probably climb in there are get washed in it.

After I cleaned myself up and ate some toothpaste off the end of my dirty yellow fingers I did a bit of Luke Rhinehart dice therapy and give myself the following 6 options:

1. Go round to Bogdan’s

2. Go round to Bosco’s

3. Go for a walk. Which direction would be also decided by the dice.

4. Go buy a suit to go to court in.

5. Go to Whetherspoons to get pissed.

6. Sit here in the bathroom and look for spiders to feed to Boke the cat.

I cupped the dice in my hands loosely like I were holding a newly born bird, then shook it violently like I were trying to kill it. When my wrists got sore I blew on it like they do on ‘Love Boat’ and things like that, then threw it against the wall. It bounced all over the show: off walls, the ceiling then down off the floor again in that same pattern, as it would as it was made out of the same material bouncy balls are. It landed with a splat in the boke. It read: 1 (Go round to Bogdan’s).

I reluctantly took myself into town to Bogdan’s grubby house, then. I had been hoping for 5 (Go to Whetherspoons to get pissed) and took the bouncy dice with me, throwing it up the pavement going along Castle Street making up options in my head as I went along when this auld soak came out of a bar and kicked it up into the guttering of Poundland, so I decided going to Bogdan’s was what I was meant to do.

- Sometimes, when I’ve driving back from a weed hookup, I like to put this track on and imagine I just shot the dealer and am driving away with his loot and his stash. – said Bogdan filling a bong and hitting play on his cassette stereo.
- I never think that – I said.

We both took a hog of the bong and I tried to adjust my poise to fit with the heavy antsy bassline of Biggie Smalls. After I got myself comfortable Bogdan got up of his beanbag and pulled his baggy jeans down. I reared up a little expecting his ¾ erect red cock to flop purposefully, like a falling tree, from his boxers.

- What are you doin, you freak, - I yelled at him over the rap.
- Look at my thighs. I think I got ‘toasted skin’. I read about it in the paper today. I sit with my laptop on my knee all day wanking over porn and reading David Icke. I think I got ‘toasted skin’.

I took a look at his legs and true enough they were red, mottled and spongy at the thigh.

- What am I gonna do? Screamed Bogdan, near tears.
- I can’t hear you over the rap! – I lied.

Then I sat back, closed my eyes and wished another number had come up on the dice.

Oil Paintings Of X-Rated Picnics

I have been laid up with my leg in plaster. Today Bogdan turned up in his ace Ford Capri and he suggested I get some fresh air, as there was more than the faint whiff of cum and farts of me.
You stink, Danny Pongo, is what he said.
So we went for a run to the forest for a smoke and a picnic. Again his favourite topic of sex came up.

I’d like to know what it feels like to get fucked as a woman. Not like a woman, because I wouldn’t, but as one.
Why?
Because when they come they feel it all over for ages. When a man comes its quick and it’s all centred round your member the sensation. But it’s strange, as it feels so much better for them that women want it less often than men. Men want it all the time.
Maybe cos it feels better for them they need it less. For men as its more blink-and-you’ll-miss-it they have a greater need to recreate that transient state.
Makes you feel that the oversexed man’s just got a bad rap and in fact can’t help themselves. I’d just love it though, have a big man loom over me and slide it in. and fuck me quick.
I know what you mean from my porn viewing. A woman coming’s like a major tectonic shift, compared to a man, which is more like an ant’s sneeze in comparison.

Which brings me to my porn-a-like for this post.



Today's pornalike is Michelle McManus. Poor Michelle McManus. After her lacklustre crooning pursuits came apart at the heaving seams she turns her hand to porn to keep the kindling of her stardom going, with messy results.

Recently I have borne witness to many strange and otherworldly phenomenon while laid up in my mother’s. How I came to be here is a long story winding up in me falling off a house and shattering my kneecap.

In my mother’s, which is haunted, I have over a series of nights witnessed orbs, shadow people, objects moving of their own volition, wisps and black balls of malevolent energy.

One morning years ago we came down to find a little fire burning in the middle of the kitchen. Another time the scraggily bodies of 3 dead crows were found in the fridge. Back then mother thought it was me acting out in a surreal turn of adolescent rebellion. But as the time went on she came round to my way of seeing things and admitted there was a strange and not necessarily good force in her house.

I have a hankering for getting in a medium whenever I am back on my feet. When I mentioned this to Bogdan he warned ‘mediums can do more harm than good. They can provoke a spirit into greater acts of evil. They’re like the occult equivalent of agent provocateurs!”