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...”

So Messed Up I Want You Here

Day before yesterday I finally tracked Kimba down. She’s been staying in her granny’s greenhouse the last week. Her granny won’t let her in the house because she knows what kind of girl Kimba is and she doesn’t want her to contaminate the sheets. But she has let her set little fires outside the greenhouse to keep warm by and she tells Kimba that if she’s still with her come next summer she can grow whatever she likes in there. I wouldn’t count on it.

I played this song on the stereo on the way over to see her:

She’d texted to tell me where she was:

“Danny. So horny. Am staying in granny’s greenhouse. Sik of friggin’ me’sel with only me fingers or tings held therein. Come over and do it do me Danny!”

So I give her a ring. For the address and exact directions and what her granny was like to speak to.

Turned out she were a very neat and very straight grey coloured old stick with tightly pursed lips always, which made it look, out of the corner-of-your-eye, like she had a button for a mouth.

So I passed her graciously in the hall, giving her a little curtsy as I went, something I always do when deferring to betters.

I went outside into the garden and over into the greenhouse to find Kimba sitting reading the Fred West strip in Viz.

- Remember I said me and you were like Fred and Rose, - I said quietly over her shoulder making her jump. - Killing our kids and all. Granted ours hadn’t actually been born yet, but why split hairs.
She turned out white as a sheet, teeth chattering – Remember you brought me home a McDonald’s Big Mac box with a kinder egg capsule (that you got the toys in) inside. I opened it. Inside was your cum. You said Fred used to do it for Rose all the time bringing her home little mementos, like sweet wrappers and ice lolly sticks, that he’d found in bins and skips and things like that.
- That’s right baby. That’s right, - I said closing in on her.

So I frigged her like she wanted. It put a bit of colour back in her cheeks.
Afterward she said, - Your nails are too sharp, Danny. When you stuck em up in there it was like driving a harvester through a field of sunflowers. That’s a very delicate passage, Danny. Probably the sweetest, tenderest passage you’ll ever move through.

I stroked her hair. – Get the fuck outta here, - she said blankly.
I walked a bit up the garden then turned to see if she were watching me go. She wasn’t so I looked at her back for a bit, which looked like an unmade bed and said, - I’ll call you in a day or two? But all I got back were the jumps of her bony shoulders as she heaved her tears and her sadness out.

So in the way pack in the car I played this:

and ruminated on the extraordinary versatility of human wickedness, and wondered on the sadness of Karen Carpenter.