Pretty Paper, Pretty Ribbons Of Blue, Wrap Your Presents To Your Darling From You

As featured in Third Sunday Blog Carnival

After that scatty little detour – haha! – I’m back functioning to the best of my abilities again and putting all the words in their proper order. Praise be! 

Christmas didn’t turn out too bad after all despite Mother inviting Uncle Dudley, who, at this time of year, gets pissed every day from the night of Children In Need onward till he’s stone broke a few days after New Year’s and he can drink no more. I would suppose that he is drunk more so between this period as it is fair to say he is drunk generally most the year round. 

In this very drunk state he tends to antagonise people, crossly accusing them of engineering plots to bring about his downfall. Trying to get them to own up to these conspiracy’s – or he'll at least, finally, pleadingly, request some abstract clue as to how to avoid ruin.

As well in attendance were that fucking holyjoe moonbeam Nirab, who before Christmas Dinner tried to fucking rap grace, then gimmie a wink after like I’d think he were fuckin boss of the bus or something. Earlier to that, to freak Nirab out, Uncle Dudley held one of Mother’s many crosses over the flame from the cooker in the kitchen then stuck it into his forehead upside down branding himself with it, like Glen Benton outta Deicide. All through dinner Uncle Dudley sat staring out Nirab trying to freak him out with his mad upside down cross, but that dirty snake Nirab, cold and barren as a nun’s cervix, didn’t take him on at all – making me think it mattered to him neither way the wanton sacrilege of the Gentle Jesus’ Club pin badge.

After dinner Micheesha, Stupid Peter and their kids came in. Micheesha’d told Mother on Christmas Eve Eve that she was on some special diet and that she couldn’t have the usual X-mas fare. But that was all lies, cos she told me, in secret, that Mother’s turkey when she did it it was like plasterboard garnished with sawdust and wrapped in sandpaper going down, which is exactly how I’d described it last year, and was exactly how it were this year. That selfish cunt Nirab went through a jug and a half of water on his.

Over brandy and Christmas pud’ Nirab turned his attentions to Uncle Dudley and beat him in the staring out game. Uncle Dudley began to cry like he does when drunk/emotional and got the better of. Then Nirab nearly choked on the penny in the pudding and everybody laughed, apart from Mother, who beat Nirab’s back rapidly, squealing and trying to get it up…

We retired into Mother’s lounge to get pissed and I asked Micheesha what she’d had for dinner instead.

 - We stapped at thuh fuckin Muck’Danalds over utt Connswater!

 - Lucky packa cunt’s, - I went. – You have any burgers left in the motor?

 - Do I fuck! – Went Micheesha. - Fuckin kids gobbled em up like Hungry Hungry Hippos. Me and Stupid Peter only hod a carton of chips between us! I'm'Ah be starvin, Danny! And so'll Stupid Peter. And he cant hold his liquor at thuh besta times, nevur mine when he's boozin! 

I went outside and got into Stupid Peter’s car and sniffed some empty McDonald’s bags to get my taste buds working again after getting them terraformed by Mother’s dry bird. After that I found one of the children’s Heat Magazines and pulled one out over Tina from Corrie going to some X-mas do all dressed to the 9’s. When I were done I stared into the sky and resolved to get some authentic muff in 2012. Then I went back inside.

In the short time I’d been out Nirab had recruited Stupid Peter into his God cult. I tried to renounce Nirab and his fairy tales and tell Stupid Peter that Christ the Messiah was most likely a prototype EBE*, a forerunner of common man – now broke from the shackles of apeman impulses by being imbued with Space Genes, transforming us into the fast thinking, imaginative and above all compassionate specimens we are today…

 

But Stupid Peter was well gone, all the way along Nirab’s Yellow Brick Road. I give up on him then ruminated on Nirab’s powers of persuasion, his stealth and speed and cunning in getting the simple minded to get on his side. And I also begun to wonder had I found our front man in me and Party Time’s Credit Card Fraud scheme…if so, the first stop was getting to see if he were in any financial dif’s one way or another…Maybe a drab, hopeless Christmas and a ominous New Year were beginning to look up, the fortunes flipping, an inversion of fate, as in like Uncle Dudley’s upside down God’s cross stuck into his noggin.

*EBE: Extraterrestrial Biological Entity

I Miss The Comfort In being Sad

Christmas is coming and there was no even hope to get the cunt, my mother, even a token. I got her a false witness wrapped in a bow; a disease covered pungent sound...Nirab's hirab-ed 3-stage blender mulcher was one thing even her life never spread to, but provided for little cousins' md nephews and shifty eyed peadophile

There were this blotchy cunt came up to mah in the Garage round the corner from me, there was this reatard, this Educationally Subnormal who told me he'd recurring dreams abouts canine fucksex falling zitpoppped, spewring ,splewhing, but really dri'ven from the root and splashed across the fucking mantle offfffffffff...

I don'tknow what else to sat. there is some evl in this world. There are children that will tesify to: 'They tortured my penis...' and girls' that say: 'they ate mah clit...'...Evil, horrible cannibalistic shit; shit beyond the survival I believe, shit beyond occult, routine, occult/routine?....Be you sacrificing yir foxes or yir orphans I am pulp-palp-In

No, but you gotta keep yer eyes open, 'if ye wanna sling, sling for what yih slingin fir,' says Party Time, and 'keep yir eyes peeled 4 those'll try'an fuck'you!!!'. ' Samw as in J_______, or C_______ T____ or B__________ or U__________ or G__________ or wherever, but what I got plannned, beyond these weekend gangasteres yir all so annomoured with is them fearful shut-in's, those wierdo's and oddballs who don;t just quite get it in the here&now but who will do when its all too late but (and its all in the downlow from here on in) then I hopr we'll be: baricade behind our door, with: a wardrobe, a cache of tinned goods, a source of light, a source of radio, a baracade and weapons ands weapons and weapons and whatever Mad Otis can exchange, cos that's the limits that I think the controlllers will bring us to.........

Gideon's Words Will Not Save Them

I tried hanging myself the other day as Party Time's gone and done a bunk and I was left to go round to the shop to buy heating credits, something I just couldn't be bothered doing – and so I thought to myself, 'instead of having to go outside into the cold night to buy heating and thus being left to freeze to death here at home I may as well just get it over with and kill myself by hanging.' But, would you credit it? The fucking rope I got outta the cupboard under the sink were too long and when I threw myself off the upstairs landing I landed smack on my ankle right in the front hall, the rope still well slack. And now that fuckin ankle's massively swollen up and aches dully and continually.

Party Time and I hit a little impasse in our Credit Card Fraud scheme by the fact that we learned that a few online transactions require a Billing Address + we still can't come up with good cover for snapping folks' cards on our phones (ideas here would be appreciated).

Ju-Ju Brush moved out after a week and a half or so after he met some ex of his in the Slimeshite (The Limelight) who took pity on him and brought him home to nurse him back to wellness, sorta like you would a wounded cat you'd found on the road.

I am glad of this, his moving out, as his Harmonium playing was getting right on my goat. As well as this he had started doing my nut in with his autistic recollection of Top 10's from the last fifteen years. He'd shout em out (Bruno Brooks/Tony Blackburn styli) sounding like a right Head Spastic – like those lags in prison who recite, verbatim, horse racing commentary out loud to keep their mind busy.

Still, I miss having company, and that cat, who I've named Worf (cos he's a clingy little cunt – a little Klingon), has some unidentifiable learning difficulty and as a result is no fun at all. He is robotic in his movements and completely unresponsive to stimuli. I even caught a little mouse in a trap out the back and tied him to a piece of fishing line, dangling it in front of Worf, but he didn't even display a disinterested contempt, just a...nothingness. Definitely a retarded feline...

I am reminded of Kimba's birth mother by this halfwit cat. She used to live in a very tiny bedsit on India Street off Botanic. As her quarters were so small she couldn't have what she wanted most in the world, which was a 'Cute little Puddy Cath' as she put it, irritatingly, with fake lisp and all...So she went and bought this robot cat outta Argos, some child's thing, what did a few tricks. One trick was it could respond to this trinket-y mouse shaped lazer pen thingy by following it with its eyes very slowly when you shone it on the wall. It moved its head like an elderly woman with arthritis in her neck and its miaows sounded like the wails of those abandoned Romanian orphans you see on the news every so often. She finally got sick of it and took it apart, hanging its head and other bits of it from her Christmas Tree one year.

Tonight I am considering whether to put a tree up or not. Thinking of Kimba's birth mother's robot cat I am inevitably brought back to the memory of Kimba herself via the mother. Thoughts wrought sadly thinking that the company I'd like most of all this time of year would be her's, and on Christmas Day, opening presents with her sitting under our big grand colourful Christmas Tree that she always made up so pretty, we'd tell blue jokes to one another from outta the latest Viz Annual and get drunk on Vodka shots...ah, the technicolor memories strung with blinking plastic lights.

They'd Dance To The Rhythm Of The Rain Falling Down, In A Northern Industrial Town

Ju-Ju Brush, me and Party Time have been getting on famously.

He cooks and cleans and plays us little Irish ditties on his tin whistle after supper.

Still, he hasn't been much of a help on mine and Party Time's scheme of Credit Card Fraud. I think it is to do with his personal morality stopping him from thinking creatively or intuitively about it. Sort of like when the Puritanical lot ran the show, nobody could think of any way of fucking outside of the missionary position – then, with the gradual casting-off of mores – from the advent of the printing press to Nietzsche and the pill, people tried it different ways, thought about it more imaginatively, leading to porn & snuff, what we got now, turning a profit more or less.

So that was why Ju-Ju had to get over the morality hump and think about things more imaginatively. If sexual liberation < snuff were any indication then amorality > self enrichment were the way to go. And I knew he had creativity flowing through his organs – his musical prowess proved this – but he had to harness this Gog/Magog given power, give himself over to it and abandon this self imposed morality, only a earthbound false construct anyway...

So I said to Ju-Ju, - Ju-Ju, look man: There ain't no sin been committed in Credit Card Fraud. Nobody gets robbed, nobody gets hurt. The bank pays out, baby! What you got actually is a very moral act. We rob these people and the bank pays em back, so in effect we robbin the bank, y'know?!

 - Well you still are sort of robbing somebody...-

 - You fuckin serious? Really? I suppose though banks and corporations got status as peoples now, don't they? But they've robbed from the public purse in a massive transfer of wealth. And now they aren't paying back their debt, but giving their bosses big fuck-off bonuses again. If you lend your pal a fiver you expect him to pay you back right? Well these fuckers aren't...so what we're doin is beginning to re-right the balance of things.

 - Yeah...but that's not really my point...I mean some bank manager might get demoted, or a cleaner might get laid off, -

 - Fuck em...you not been listening what I'm saying? Some bank manager gets the chop – he's a legitimate victim...so to speak...

 - And what about the cleaner? What about him or her? That's the thing, ain't it? I mean I been fucked plenty and it ain't pleasant, so I made a vow to myself never to fuck anyone else....

 -Fuckin hell then man. OK.

Boy's gonna take some work...

I took a walk out to clear my head and think of new ways to talk Ju-Ju round when I found I'd dandered right into town without even noticing. I began to wonder then about the new Titanic fervor bubbling round here: the 'Unsinkable Ship' now never sunk, always rising from the depths, exhumed from the deep deep sea in the shape of models, and scale models, and life like models, and Hollywood (Mafia $$$ backed) Motion Pictures. I thought to myself: this phenomena, this cultural attachment to a tragedy and a disaster, costing 3000 souls, celebrated/commemorated and turned into a theme park attraction, a Spielbergian vision of mass perishing. But we here seem to get beset with tragedy and disaster, and while the Titanic was a tragic act of God our latest run of tragedy and disaster in the shape of “The Troubles” was completely man-made and also cost around 3000 souls and (but also) pulls in the tourist pound. There has also been Hollywood Motion Pictures made about The Troubles too, and no doubt when everything, the rest of the 'Dirty War', gets swept under the carpet entirely and occasionally apologised for, there'll be models, and scale models, and life like models done in action figurines, and video games, and nerdish reenactments, respectively.

So, I thought, if 3000 souls lost on a sunken ship calls for a theme park, then 3000 souls lost to bullets and Semtex can, too...and how much more fun that would be....sure, fuck, it'd be like a day out at the LazerQuest so it would!!!!!!!!!!!!

And so I thought if some Freemason developer can build his Titanic Theme Park, then fuckin, me, Daniel Pongo can build his fuckin “The Troubles” LazerQuest....but first....but first....you gotta spend money to make money – and when you gotta spend money you gotta have money – but when you don't have money you gotta steal money – and who we gonna steal money off? The banks. And who's gonna do it? Party Time, Ju-Ju Brush and Daniel Pongo...