I left through Mrs Mulberry’s back gate as arranged and ran up to the top of the entry to take a juke round the corner onto the street to look for that peeler. Just as I did he exited my house with Kimba following close behind. She was nodding non-stop and really quick. She smoked her feag right to the cork and lit another one. I stared at her hard, nearly stared a hole though her, and tried to telepathically communicate with her to stop acting so strung out. A look of concern and pity passed over the peeler’s face and when he turned to head back up the street again I noticed that it was unmistakably Pigcop Stevenson who done me for blasphemous vandalism a few weeks back.
I ran a little way back up the entry again and hid behind a wheelie bin. I peeked my head out over the top of the bin to see that he passed. Once he was halfway across the top of the entry he stopped, put his nose in the air, and breathed in deeply. He did it again then shook his head and walked on.
I let a couple of minutes pass then ran round to my house. Kimba was out the back sitting on her arse on the grass with a big Minnie Mouse towel between her spread legs that were placed at a 90degree angle. There were blood all over the towel, over Minnie especially. It was as if Goffy had come up and, with a revolver, blown Micky’s brains out all over her face.
- What’s the matter, you silly cunt? – I asked.
- I’m bleeding out, Danny! I think you may have really done some damage to me. I think you’ve tore my innards out.
- Don’t be darft! The bleedings stopped now. Look. Sayin that it’ll take more than one of your tampons to stem that flow if it comes again. You’d probably need to stick one of your Ugg boots up there.
- There’s nothing else goin up me that’s bigger than a dick, or at most a fist.
She started to cry then.
- I think I might really miss them as well.
- Miss them? Our babies? - I said. – You can’t miss what you never had.
- But I’ve had them forming inside me for so many months and weeks, I feel like I’ve had something removed. Something vital.
- Nah. Wait till your later years. When you got tumours attached to your kidneys like limpets on a rock. Then you’ll put things in perspective.
- That doesn’t make any sense.
- What I mean is tumours on your kidneys are gonna kill you. Children, 3 of em, and all they’ll cost you, you may as well be dead, especially with your prospects. So both things are better removed. The difference between tumours and children is that the host attaches an undue amount of emotional attachment to the latter.
- Here, - I said, - listen to this, - I said putting my I-pod in her ears and putting it onto a track she liked:
Then I said as I turned up the volume for her, - After you listen to that I’ll tell you all about my morning with Mrs Mulberry.
Thursday, 30 September 2010
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Meeting Mrs Mulberry
As expected, our exploits did not get a mention on BBC Newsline, but Kimba was still mad that I ripped my jumper.
- You’re a fuckin’ dick, Danny Pongo - moaned Kimba. – They’re gonna get your DNA of that. You’ve been inside for fucks sake. They’ve got your DNA on profile.
I felt like I was going to boke. I left, headed toward the bus stop on the main road, when a peeler appeared at the top of the street, coming round the corner. I turned on my heel and pulled my peak cap down over my eyes before remembering the other end of the street was a dead end and I couldn’t go back into my house as I was afraid John Law was going to pay me a visit.
I got to the house on the corner, number 49 with the neat blue numbers painted on the gate. Who lived here was a kind old lady called Mrs Mulberry who stood at her front door all day stroking her cat and staring off into space and who also put her Christmas Tree up in September.
I found an old student card in my wallet and in an officious way opened Mrs Mulberry’s gate and (in the same manner) walked up her short path that was bordered delightfully with colourful and well kept flowers.
- Mrs Mulberry, I’m from The Government, - I said quickly flashing my student card before her faraway eyes. – I’m from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the power source for that Christmas Tree.
- Come in, - she said, bemused.
I went into her small front room. Everything from the carpets to the curtains were stuck in the ‘50s, including a very old fashioned tele where you could pull two slidy doors across to meet in the middle so’s to hide the screen. I reasoned that in the olden days it was considered that you had ‘no class’ if you owned a tele.
I got down on my honkers and looked at the plug for the tree lights for a good minute or so. I nodded my head now and again like I were having a conversation with it and it & I were agreeing on the facts of something. When my knees began to get sore I shot up turned to Mrs Mulberry and said,
- That’ll be all for in here. Now I need to go and check your oil tank.
- I don’t have an oil tank.
- I’ll need to check your grass then. I am from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the back of your property to establish its suitability for a wind farm.
- You could inspect the back of me, check my suitability for a wind farm. The smelly gusts that issue from my mud hole! – said Mrs Mulberry slowly waving her hand in front of her face and pursing her lips in mock disgust.
I stifled a laugh and said, - Maybe in the year 2525, Mrs Mulberry.
Outside I arbitrarily walked round her garden bending down to feel the grass every few steps.
- This house is excellent for a wind farm. Now, Mrs Mulberry, I must get going. Do you mind if I leave through your back gate. Just I saw a dangerous looking dog out on the street earlier and I don’t want to go out the front.
- Of course, son. But if you wouldn’t mind, its, you see I’m very lonely after my husband passed away a few years ago, and I especially miss our dancing. I haven’t had anyone to dance with since he died. If you wouldn’t mind stepping back inside with me here to dance to my favourite record...?
Inside she put this number on her turn table. I took her hand in mine and gently placed the other on her frail bony right buttock. Then, as I began to notice the smell of TCP rising from her old body, we swayed slowly to the music.
- You’re a fuckin’ dick, Danny Pongo - moaned Kimba. – They’re gonna get your DNA of that. You’ve been inside for fucks sake. They’ve got your DNA on profile.
I felt like I was going to boke. I left, headed toward the bus stop on the main road, when a peeler appeared at the top of the street, coming round the corner. I turned on my heel and pulled my peak cap down over my eyes before remembering the other end of the street was a dead end and I couldn’t go back into my house as I was afraid John Law was going to pay me a visit.
I got to the house on the corner, number 49 with the neat blue numbers painted on the gate. Who lived here was a kind old lady called Mrs Mulberry who stood at her front door all day stroking her cat and staring off into space and who also put her Christmas Tree up in September.
I found an old student card in my wallet and in an officious way opened Mrs Mulberry’s gate and (in the same manner) walked up her short path that was bordered delightfully with colourful and well kept flowers.
- Mrs Mulberry, I’m from The Government, - I said quickly flashing my student card before her faraway eyes. – I’m from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the power source for that Christmas Tree.
- Come in, - she said, bemused.
I went into her small front room. Everything from the carpets to the curtains were stuck in the ‘50s, including a very old fashioned tele where you could pull two slidy doors across to meet in the middle so’s to hide the screen. I reasoned that in the olden days it was considered that you had ‘no class’ if you owned a tele.
I got down on my honkers and looked at the plug for the tree lights for a good minute or so. I nodded my head now and again like I were having a conversation with it and it & I were agreeing on the facts of something. When my knees began to get sore I shot up turned to Mrs Mulberry and said,
- That’ll be all for in here. Now I need to go and check your oil tank.
- I don’t have an oil tank.
- I’ll need to check your grass then. I am from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the back of your property to establish its suitability for a wind farm.
- You could inspect the back of me, check my suitability for a wind farm. The smelly gusts that issue from my mud hole! – said Mrs Mulberry slowly waving her hand in front of her face and pursing her lips in mock disgust.
I stifled a laugh and said, - Maybe in the year 2525, Mrs Mulberry.
Outside I arbitrarily walked round her garden bending down to feel the grass every few steps.
- This house is excellent for a wind farm. Now, Mrs Mulberry, I must get going. Do you mind if I leave through your back gate. Just I saw a dangerous looking dog out on the street earlier and I don’t want to go out the front.
- Of course, son. But if you wouldn’t mind, its, you see I’m very lonely after my husband passed away a few years ago, and I especially miss our dancing. I haven’t had anyone to dance with since he died. If you wouldn’t mind stepping back inside with me here to dance to my favourite record...?
Inside she put this number on her turn table. I took her hand in mine and gently placed the other on her frail bony right buttock. Then, as I began to notice the smell of TCP rising from her old body, we swayed slowly to the music.
Monday, 27 September 2010
A Midnight Host, The Dismemberment Of Corpses
We spent the following afternoon, me and Kimba, separating out all the different parts of our babies. Kimba’s instructions were to stretch the limbs out a little and put the heads in the freezer.
- For what we’re going to do – said Kimba --
- May the Lord make us truly thankful, amen. – I said butting in.
She laughed and said – No! Fuckrag! For what I got planned this is what we need to get done, - she said stretching a limb out like a Mr Stretch.
We waited a couple of days till September 20th for the Autumn Equinox to come round.
- A date of great significance on the Luciferian Calendar, said Kimba, - a midnight host, the dismemberment of corpses...we cut off their hands, - she said.
That night that’s what I did. I cut off all 6 little hands from the 3 shrunken and wrinkly little corpses and put them all in a Jiffy bag.
We drove up into the country then, into the Knockbracken Hills to where Mistress lived in a “wee, cute Hansel & Gretel cottage, far away from anything,” as Kimba put it. Out front in her brown and overgrown lawn stood this big menacing and spideresque Weeping Tree.
We waited till it got dark and drove in silence out into the country. I killed the lights when we turned onto Mistress’s road and Kimba directed me down a lane, about 100 yards up from Mistress’s cottage. We snuck across the road then climbed over a fence into the field facing the cottage. All dressed in our blackest gear and with Boke the cat’s shit rubbed onto our face for camouflage. Kimba called the cops and told them she’d found baby parts hanging from the branches of a tree at Mistress’s address. Soon as she hung up she turned round quickly and I unzipped her backpack and took out all the baby parts. I have to say I felt like I were in a feminist A-Team TV show.
The big Weeping Tree was situated at the front of the garden and one long sturdy branch stretched over the narrow sad road like a footbridge in an Ewok Village. I took the babies heads then put the limbs back in her bag then I give her a footy onto the branch and she made her way across. Her tight, svelte bod’ shimmying along, serpentine.
She hang dropped into the garden and took the long stretched out 6 legs and 6 arms out of her backpack. She threw them over various random branches and they hung there swinging like Octopus tentacles.
She made her escape through a hole in the hedge that bordered Mistress’s garden and ran up toward the car. I pulled myself out of the tentacle daydream and ran across the road vaulting the front hedge hurdler style, 2 tiny baby heads in each hand and one in my mouth. I felt like a grenade totting Marine bounding toward an enemy lookout tower. Two heads went through the front window and the 3rd I threw to Mistress’s big Alsatian that jumped up and caught it like a old tennis ball.
I went through the same hole in the hedge Kimba did, scratching my face up and ripping my jumper and ran to the car. Kimba had it started already. We sped off tires screeching and Bogdan's beats pumping out the speakers as the high beams of two unmarked cop cars appeared on the brow of the hills behind us lighting up the tarmac like a tractor beam from a hovering UFO.
- For what we’re going to do – said Kimba --
- May the Lord make us truly thankful, amen. – I said butting in.
She laughed and said – No! Fuckrag! For what I got planned this is what we need to get done, - she said stretching a limb out like a Mr Stretch.
We waited a couple of days till September 20th for the Autumn Equinox to come round.
- A date of great significance on the Luciferian Calendar, said Kimba, - a midnight host, the dismemberment of corpses...we cut off their hands, - she said.
That night that’s what I did. I cut off all 6 little hands from the 3 shrunken and wrinkly little corpses and put them all in a Jiffy bag.
We drove up into the country then, into the Knockbracken Hills to where Mistress lived in a “wee, cute Hansel & Gretel cottage, far away from anything,” as Kimba put it. Out front in her brown and overgrown lawn stood this big menacing and spideresque Weeping Tree.
- I’m gonna throw the babies’ arms and legs over the branches of that tree. And you throw the frozen babies’ heads through her front window. It’ll be like a bomb hit a butcher shop, Hawr Hawr Hawr, Danny – but before we do that we’re gonna ring the peelers about 10 minutes before hand. And on the drive home we listen to this tune (handing me a Bogdan Racynski cassette) while Mistress is getting her ass hauled to Hydebank!
We waited till it got dark and drove in silence out into the country. I killed the lights when we turned onto Mistress’s road and Kimba directed me down a lane, about 100 yards up from Mistress’s cottage. We snuck across the road then climbed over a fence into the field facing the cottage. All dressed in our blackest gear and with Boke the cat’s shit rubbed onto our face for camouflage. Kimba called the cops and told them she’d found baby parts hanging from the branches of a tree at Mistress’s address. Soon as she hung up she turned round quickly and I unzipped her backpack and took out all the baby parts. I have to say I felt like I were in a feminist A-Team TV show.
The big Weeping Tree was situated at the front of the garden and one long sturdy branch stretched over the narrow sad road like a footbridge in an Ewok Village. I took the babies heads then put the limbs back in her bag then I give her a footy onto the branch and she made her way across. Her tight, svelte bod’ shimmying along, serpentine.
She hang dropped into the garden and took the long stretched out 6 legs and 6 arms out of her backpack. She threw them over various random branches and they hung there swinging like Octopus tentacles.
She made her escape through a hole in the hedge that bordered Mistress’s garden and ran up toward the car. I pulled myself out of the tentacle daydream and ran across the road vaulting the front hedge hurdler style, 2 tiny baby heads in each hand and one in my mouth. I felt like a grenade totting Marine bounding toward an enemy lookout tower. Two heads went through the front window and the 3rd I threw to Mistress’s big Alsatian that jumped up and caught it like a old tennis ball.
I went through the same hole in the hedge Kimba did, scratching my face up and ripping my jumper and ran to the car. Kimba had it started already. We sped off tires screeching and Bogdan's beats pumping out the speakers as the high beams of two unmarked cop cars appeared on the brow of the hills behind us lighting up the tarmac like a tractor beam from a hovering UFO.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Ran Out Like Red Slush Puppy
The wise Tupac Shakur in one of his songs once alluded to the pleasure to pain ratio between the moment of conception (pleasure) and the ensuing 9 months of pain. Even with all his wisdom though I bet he could have never imagined the pain of trying to perform an abortion with a leaf blower. Brenda’s got a baby ain’t even got shit on that!
My sis’ Micheesha ran us up to Carryduff to a big garden centre where we hired a leaf blower. Afterward Kimba said she felt bad cos Micheesha kept going on about how she couldn’t wait till Kimba had the triplets. As she had three kids herself she liked to imagine that one day when ours were big enough they could all be friends, her kids and ours. Kimba had to pretend like she was all excited too.
- You’re a good little hustler, I told her. - You had her well convinced.
- You don’t understand, Danny. She’s all excited. She told me she’s getting all broody again.
- Well that would be a mistake, her havin another one. She better not think she’ll be getting more benefits from the government. Derek’s gonna stop all those benefits for single mothers. Knowing Derek he’ll make it that any child born to a single mother will be fed into a massive incinerator producing clean ’green’ energy in a grand magick ritual in honour of Gaia.
- Your type of fella.
- Away and fuck.
When we got home and got the leaf blower out of the box we were pleasantly surprised to discover it had a ’suck’ as well as a ’blow’ function.
- That’s good, said Kimba. - That means we can suck their brains out like that website about Bill Clinton says what happens in partial birth abortions. I didn’t know how it was going to work anyway if it could only blow up there. Would’ve blown me up like a balloon, Danny…hawr hawr hawr!
- Your eyeballs would’ve popped out and bobbed there like a fish on a hook. I would have gently tapped them back and forth with my finger tips, like a kitten with a ball of wool.
I got the bowling pin Bogdan give to me (that he’d got from his uncle who used to manage the Superbowl) from under the bed while Kimba smeared her cunt with Vaseline. I’d already racked up a couple of lines of Mephedrone that she hovered up, so’s to give her the horn. I kissed her deep and she got her tongue right in my mouth and I closed my lips round it and sucked, sucked it like I was sucking dick. She groaned and I shoved 3 fingers up inside her, everything squelchy as her fat gelled meat curtains yielded loosely and swelled in the middle like 2 slugs in transit.
Soon my fist was pistoning, wrist deep, in and out of her and she was arched and groaning deeply like Exorcist Linda Blair. Her head twisted sharply to the left and she eyed urgently the bowling pin that lay on the pillow beside her. I handed it to her and quickly withdrew my fist. She shoved the pin up there (Setting the cast, she squealed) and I got the leaf blower (sucker) turned it on and stuck it in an inch and a half or so. Her squeals instantly turned to agonised, convulsive wails.
Bits of our babies ran out like red Slush Puppy onto a big hotel towel Kimba had nicked from the Europa Hotel especially for the occasion. I wrapped all the parts up like a parcel and put them in a laundry basket.
Kimba lay mumbling on the bed. Her blood wet little stick legs were stiff with tension and wiggling. - Leave them there. We’ll divvy the parts up tomorrow. That fuckin bitch Mistress won’t know what’s hit her.
My sis’ Micheesha ran us up to Carryduff to a big garden centre where we hired a leaf blower. Afterward Kimba said she felt bad cos Micheesha kept going on about how she couldn’t wait till Kimba had the triplets. As she had three kids herself she liked to imagine that one day when ours were big enough they could all be friends, her kids and ours. Kimba had to pretend like she was all excited too.
- You’re a good little hustler, I told her. - You had her well convinced.
- You don’t understand, Danny. She’s all excited. She told me she’s getting all broody again.
- Well that would be a mistake, her havin another one. She better not think she’ll be getting more benefits from the government. Derek’s gonna stop all those benefits for single mothers. Knowing Derek he’ll make it that any child born to a single mother will be fed into a massive incinerator producing clean ’green’ energy in a grand magick ritual in honour of Gaia.
- Your type of fella.
- Away and fuck.
When we got home and got the leaf blower out of the box we were pleasantly surprised to discover it had a ’suck’ as well as a ’blow’ function.
- That’s good, said Kimba. - That means we can suck their brains out like that website about Bill Clinton says what happens in partial birth abortions. I didn’t know how it was going to work anyway if it could only blow up there. Would’ve blown me up like a balloon, Danny…hawr hawr hawr!
- Your eyeballs would’ve popped out and bobbed there like a fish on a hook. I would have gently tapped them back and forth with my finger tips, like a kitten with a ball of wool.
I got the bowling pin Bogdan give to me (that he’d got from his uncle who used to manage the Superbowl) from under the bed while Kimba smeared her cunt with Vaseline. I’d already racked up a couple of lines of Mephedrone that she hovered up, so’s to give her the horn. I kissed her deep and she got her tongue right in my mouth and I closed my lips round it and sucked, sucked it like I was sucking dick. She groaned and I shoved 3 fingers up inside her, everything squelchy as her fat gelled meat curtains yielded loosely and swelled in the middle like 2 slugs in transit.
Soon my fist was pistoning, wrist deep, in and out of her and she was arched and groaning deeply like Exorcist Linda Blair. Her head twisted sharply to the left and she eyed urgently the bowling pin that lay on the pillow beside her. I handed it to her and quickly withdrew my fist. She shoved the pin up there (Setting the cast, she squealed) and I got the leaf blower (sucker) turned it on and stuck it in an inch and a half or so. Her squeals instantly turned to agonised, convulsive wails.
Bits of our babies ran out like red Slush Puppy onto a big hotel towel Kimba had nicked from the Europa Hotel especially for the occasion. I wrapped all the parts up like a parcel and put them in a laundry basket.
Kimba lay mumbling on the bed. Her blood wet little stick legs were stiff with tension and wiggling. - Leave them there. We’ll divvy the parts up tomorrow. That fuckin bitch Mistress won’t know what’s hit her.
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Momma Don't You Cook No Fish Cos Daddy Gonna Bring Home Enough Crabs
So we spent the last couple of weeks, me and Kimba, but Kimba mostly, devising ways to induce the oncome of our triplets before she reached full term. We’re not too sure but, if what I’ve read about Bill Clinton and his views on partial birth abortions are anything to go by, then as long as the ‘triplet miracles’ (as Kimba has come to call them in an ironic poise) are still in utero, and you kill them while they’re in there, then you can’t be done for murder.
The first idea we had was mine which was that Kimba would eat a hankie I’d sneezed into while I had the flu. The germs would go through her system and the triplets would eventually become infected due to their weak little flowering immune systems not being able to withstand them. They would thus die in utero and she would miscarry them absolving us of murder if questions were ever to arise.
- I’m not doin’ that, Danny. Feelin all that dry tissue goin down my throat, I’ll gag. I have a very sensitive gag reflex, said Kimba.
- Maybe you might boke them up then, I said.
- Don’t be stupid! That’s nearly as stupid as your hankie idea!
So sure was I that my idea would work I waited till she was asleep one night and tried to shove the hankie (which we’d kept in an old Durex box) down her throat. She shot up in bed, as if her frame were being driven by demonic possession, and boked her ring up all over my chest and face. A liquid rainbow of bile hit me right in the bare eyeballs blinding me and a lot of it landed in my mouth. I inevitably boked my ring up too covering her in near-fresh blue wicked and pastie.
I slapped her about a bit and she reached behind her getting a iron and clattering me upside the head with it. I fell off the bed backwards head over heels and landed right smack on the top of my head, rendering me dumb for a good minute. I tried to speak but it felt like my throat were clogged up with cotton, and I thought maybe this were an instance of instant karma where the suffering and torture I were to inflict upon Kimba was revisited on me.
We made up afterward and she gimmie a hug and I hugged her back taking the opportunity to stick my thumb up her bum into the bargain. She flinched, then she said:
- Show me that stuff about Bill Clinton, again?
- What for?
- I’ve got an idea. You seen those adverts for those leaf blower machines? They’re aimed at old men who can’t rake up the leaves themselves cos they’re too old, depressed or sore? She said, autisticly...
Well if I can stretch my fanny wide enough I think I could fit one of them up there, she said trying to stretch her labia far enough so’s to fit round her above average sized fist (for a woman).
- Lets go, she said urgently as a woman going into labour ---- - Get me a bowling pin from somewhere. You’re on a full strike tonight, Danny. Fuck the Dundonald Ice Bowl!
Later when she explained her reasoning to me (which I’ll post at a later date – maybe tomorrow; maybe not) I put this track on the turntable and let her enter me through the VIP entrance (take me up the arse) with her strap-on.
The first idea we had was mine which was that Kimba would eat a hankie I’d sneezed into while I had the flu. The germs would go through her system and the triplets would eventually become infected due to their weak little flowering immune systems not being able to withstand them. They would thus die in utero and she would miscarry them absolving us of murder if questions were ever to arise.
- I’m not doin’ that, Danny. Feelin all that dry tissue goin down my throat, I’ll gag. I have a very sensitive gag reflex, said Kimba.
- Maybe you might boke them up then, I said.
- Don’t be stupid! That’s nearly as stupid as your hankie idea!
So sure was I that my idea would work I waited till she was asleep one night and tried to shove the hankie (which we’d kept in an old Durex box) down her throat. She shot up in bed, as if her frame were being driven by demonic possession, and boked her ring up all over my chest and face. A liquid rainbow of bile hit me right in the bare eyeballs blinding me and a lot of it landed in my mouth. I inevitably boked my ring up too covering her in near-fresh blue wicked and pastie.
I slapped her about a bit and she reached behind her getting a iron and clattering me upside the head with it. I fell off the bed backwards head over heels and landed right smack on the top of my head, rendering me dumb for a good minute. I tried to speak but it felt like my throat were clogged up with cotton, and I thought maybe this were an instance of instant karma where the suffering and torture I were to inflict upon Kimba was revisited on me.
We made up afterward and she gimmie a hug and I hugged her back taking the opportunity to stick my thumb up her bum into the bargain. She flinched, then she said:
- Show me that stuff about Bill Clinton, again?
- What for?
- I’ve got an idea. You seen those adverts for those leaf blower machines? They’re aimed at old men who can’t rake up the leaves themselves cos they’re too old, depressed or sore? She said, autisticly...
Well if I can stretch my fanny wide enough I think I could fit one of them up there, she said trying to stretch her labia far enough so’s to fit round her above average sized fist (for a woman).
- Lets go, she said urgently as a woman going into labour ---- - Get me a bowling pin from somewhere. You’re on a full strike tonight, Danny. Fuck the Dundonald Ice Bowl!
Later when she explained her reasoning to me (which I’ll post at a later date – maybe tomorrow; maybe not) I put this track on the turntable and let her enter me through the VIP entrance (take me up the arse) with her strap-on.
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