Runnin' around robbin' banks

So it was my birthday this weekend and I turned 23. Isn’t that fucking excitng? No? I didn’t think so. It’s all kind of a blur after 21 I suppose til you hit like 30 and start realising that you don’t actually feel old, but that you are actually an old bastard. Anyway, it got me thinking in a weird kinda way about coincidences. Or perhaps signs. You see I turned 23 this year. And 2 + 3 is 5. And it’s the year 2005 And next year I’ll be 24. And 2 + 4 is 6. And it’ll be 2006. Or in 2015 I’ll turn 33, and, you guessed it 3 + 3 is 6 as is 1 + 5.

It seems like I shouldn’t have been sober when I had this revelation but I wasn’t. It’s a shame really as if I had been in any sorta altered state of mind I would probably have found some sort of cosmic significance in the relation between my age group and the 3rd millennium AD. Hmm. It coulda been just like that time I realised that 4 to the power of 4 is 256. I was freaked out that day, but in retrospect, there was very little reason why.

In an entirely unrelated note, I read today that if you eat a little bit of lettuce than it makes you sleepy, but if you eat a lot than it has erotically stimulating effects. That’s pretty goddamn freaky. I mean lettuce as an erotic vegetable? If it is a vegetable that is. I’ve had a strange kind of love for those leafy bastards ever since I lost the power of taste due to excessive smoking a few years back, and realised that without any flavour in my life, lettuce was the best thing to eat. It crackles on your tongue. Yum yum! It is pretty shit if you can taste it though. Imagine eating a whole lettuce like an apple. I doubt it would be an especially satisfying experience.

On another unrelated note, I was in the toilet taking a piss when a guy called out behind me “Hey is that a Fun Loving Criminals t-shirt?”. I was wearing my lucky t-shirt which is FLC based so he was talking to me. I was a bit freaked out as I obviously couldn’t turn around to check who was trying to get my attention. I worried needlessly though as it seems as the guy simply wanted to tell me that his wife used to know them and that Steve, the old drummer, had left the band because he was fleeing the law due to his persistent harassment of members of an all ladies gym up north. I was always told that it was because he was the get away driver in a bank robbery. But as my main man Fred said, “Either way, he’s still a Fun Loving Criminal”. Damn straight.

Summertime, and the weather is easy

So this heat is making people crazy hey. Yesterday I was on the train minding my own business, trying to chill out in the stifling heat when suddenly an unnatural scream hits everyone. I turn around as fast as anyone to face the danger, and there was nothing there. Just a lot of people staring intently whilst sweating intensely. But what were they looking at? Then the mumbling starts. From this old guy. I thought that maybe he was just the first to speak after that horrific sound, but the mumbling makes it clear that the sound came from him. Such a frail old man. Such a frail old stinky drunk man. What had made him make that noise?

“Sit down” a man says to him in a not unthreatening manner. Just leave him I thought. He’s just old and fucked up by the heat. If you ignore him he’ll give up. Or get funnier. But the guy had been ignoring him and the old man hadn’t given up. In fact he was mumbling more. And threatening. And clenching his fists in preparation. “I can stare at you all night” the old man cries as the sun crashes through the window behind him, making it hard for any one to look at him, but we’re all still staring anyway.

“Sit down” the man says again. As much as everyone on the train is staring at the old guy, everyone on the train are also pointedly not looking at the other man. I look though. He looks mean. He’s got sweat pouring off his brow as if his blood had been boiling for a long time. The old man swings his fist in the air as if it was a punch but his arms aren’t strong enough to fully extend. He hits nothing, but swings up his other hand weakly to hit his fist and make a dull slapping sound. Some threatening mumbling accompanies it. The man grabs him and tells him to shut up, but doesn’t realise how tiny the old man is and throws him to the floor between the seats opposite. The women who are sitting there climb up onto their seats like any elephant would at the sight of a mouse.

The mumbling grows louder and a hand waves around lamely above the seat, maybe trying to help him up, maybe trying to defend him while he’s down. But the mumbling, it’s like shouting now, and the man doesn’t seem satisfied by his victory and is slapping his hands away so as to get a clear blow through. He does. From where I’m standing there is no effect, as the mumbling carries on. The people who are crammed in around this scene aren’t looking any longer. They’re looking towards the door. We’re at the station now, but they haven’t opened, and it’s hot on this train. Really fucking hot. And we’ve been on this train a long motherfucking time.

The man lamps him again and then walks off the trains with the rest of the passengers. The old man scrambles to his feet and chases after him still mumbling. Everyone else continues to breath heavily.

I told my friend that there was a fight on the train. He asked me straightaway “Between an old guy and big motherfucker?”. Common story apparently. The heat makes everyone crazy.

You can never go back

Hey kids, it’s been a while, what with this whole ongoing story thing, but it’s over now, so I’m back goddamnit! So many things I wanted to say but couldn’t because I just wanted to get that stupid story finished. And now I’ve forgotten it all! Fucking typical. It’s just like that time that I…. uh…. well sometime anyway.

So what have I been up to then…well I went to Green Day in Milton Keynes. That was pretty fucking wicked. Except for the fact that I whiteyed pretty much solely through the power of that great big fucking ball of fire in the sky. But I perked up just before they came on and it was great. Milton Keynes bowl is a surprisingly nice venue. It’s like a stadium, but it doesn’t feel man-made because of the lack of seats. I suppose the stage doesn’t exactly look natural, but then I think if Green Day had played up a tree it might distract people from their actual performance. Hmm. What does Green Day mean anyway? Anyone know? It sounds like something to do with drugs, but I have a strong feeling that’s not right.

Milton Keynes must have loved this weekend. They’ve probably never had so many people come to Milton Keynes and stay that long. Or more precisely, they’ve probably never had that many happy to people come to Milton Keynes for so long. Although I wasn’t happy going there. I swore to myself last time that I would never go back, and I hadn’t even intended on going there in the first place that time.

You see I was up visiting some friends in sunny Manchester, and as is common practice, we got really fucking drunk on the last night I was there. Or maybe just I did. Well I can’t remember anyway, but the point is that when I left the next day I was motherfucking hungover like a bitch. And it was hot. FUCKING HOT. Just like Saturday was. It was like sun suddenly realised it was made out of fire and thought that it should try and evaporate all the water in the solar system, just in case. So I got to the train station barely alive and climbed onto the supposedly fast train that my friends had told me to take instead of the slow comfy ass virgin train.

So this train was all fucked up from the start and was baking it’s passengers inside like discount ready made meals. Been using a lot of similies today. Or is it metaphors? Anyway, after this train taking an extra 2 hours to get pretty much nowhere, we were finally told that we had broken down and were stuck at Milton Keynes and that on an unrelated note, there had been a minor derailment nearby so there would be no trains leaving from Milton Keynes either. So I ran out of the train, trying to get into the fresh air at last before trying to figure out just what the fuck I would do. But the air wasn’t fresh, and there was no outside because I was swept up with the masses of people towards the un-air conditioned coaches they had scraped together for us. I was just about on the bus when I thought I’d see if a friend would save my life, because if anything is gonna kill my motherfucking ass, it’s the heat. My blood is too thick for hot climates. He he.

Luckily I had one of the nicest things ever done to me happen that day, and I was saved by Dee who came and picked me up. Of course it did take her like 2 hours to get there because I was making her drive from Chiswick to Milton Keynes, so I was stuck there for fucking hours, dying a really pathetic death. So after they carted my carcass home, I swore I’d never go back. But then I did go back, and the same thing happened. Maybe Milton Keynes is sunny all year round.

(vi) I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

My hands were shaking when I woke up this morning. I had that dream again. Well I guess I shouldn’t say ‘that’ dream, because they’re all different. It was this young girl last night, running by me in this skirt similar to one I was wearing who got me killed. It wasn’t her fault, it’s just apparently I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Fucking hell, get a grip, you were asleep. You weren’t in the wrong place, at the wrong time, they’re just dreams. They’re just dreams. Or maybe nightmares I suppose. Somehow, something always feels right about them though. I mean, I didn’t start wearing dresses until that first one I had when I was tripping off my nuts in Mexico. It seems so natural so have my genitals hanging free. What do women have which needs so much space between their legs? They’ve got a lack of flesh there, not a surplus. Hmm.

Well anyway, off to work as usual. Flying to Rome tonight. Won’t that be great! They got some designers there which will really have taken advantage of male frame in these womens clothes. Well I hope they will. I’ve never been to Italy before. Never really liked pizza enough to warrant it. Or maybe I’ve just never had the time. I have been flying to Mexico and back far too often to go other places. I wonder why I stopped that. It was only last week I made my last flight wasn’t it? Anyway…

“Single to Heathrow please” I ask the girl behind the counter as nicely as I can. She looks frightened, and not in the way that a man in a dress frightens people.

“Um.. here you go…. Sir?” she asks tentatively. I’ve been getting that a lot recently. People never seem to know what gender to give me. I suppose I don’t either.

“Yes, sir will do. Which platform is it please?” I know which platform it is, but I’m afraid if I leave this poor little thing alone too quickly she might burst into tears. Something has fucked with her head today, and today I know how she feels.

“It’s just that one there.” She says non-comittally. I linger a second longer as her lips look like they want to form more words, but they can’t be bothered in the end. I walk away, feeling the cool air on my balls, when I hear her call out “Be careful!” but I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or herself.

Some days it’s like this. It’s not a good sign anyway. I gotta face my boss for the first time today over my “alterations” to the uniform they’ve given me. Apparently The Man doesn’t like my dress. Doesn’t inspire confidence in the passengers he says. Fuck that. It’s the hat which inspires confidence, considering they can only see the back of my head over the chair. And I never take this hat off. Except when I’m wearing a wig… wait a minute, I’ve never worn a wig, but suddenly flashes of fake hair appear in my mind and in my eyes.

And then I see her. The girl from my dreams. The most innocent out of the whole guilty lot. She’s staring onto the train at the tears falling from another pretty face. She probably wants to help her. I do to, but I can’t because I’m frozen. I’ve been inside that girls head. I know what her tears are about….. my death. She killed me. I want to scream, but all the other faces on the tube have killed me too. Those lesbo’s somehow together at last. Those stupid fat fucking yanks. No! They were just dreams. They were just dreams. They were just…

“Mind the Gap”. Breaks my reverie. I hear it for the last time, but this is the first time I’ve listened. Mind the gap. Not this time. I step purposefully towards the train, but miss and fall. Maybe I’ll never stop falling. Maybe I’m still dreaming. My feet feel hot, like they’re touching the surface of sand. I wonder about a police man I never knew.

(v) The cat in the hat

Dee ran like the wind and left a scream trailing behind her.

“STOP! THAT’S NOT YOUR 2 ½ PINT GLASS BITCH” the security guard chasing her cried out. He seemed pretty quick on his feet, but the people in the street were getting in his way.

Terrified, Dee looks at the box under her arm. “Damn, I thought it said 215 pint glass”. She frowned for a second, oblivious to her imminent capture, before the inevitable “2 ½ pints though, that’s still pretty big” ran through her mind and she was off again. She didn’t know why she wanted the glass, as 215 pints is too much for anyone to drink in one session, but still it seemed like fate that she take it.

Oh wait, I mean fun. It seemed like fun to take it.

“Got you, you fucking thieving bitch!” Dee froze. Where was the bastard? No-one was touching her, in fact she had gone so far that she had doubled back to fool him, so how had he caught her?

“Take off that hat”. A hat? Dee tried to remember whether she had put on her top hat accidentally this morning, and this had all been a case of mistaken identity. Before she had finished checking her whole head, just to make sure, Dee’s ear drums were shattered by shouting and gunshots. She always hated that combination of sounds.

Dee span round to meet her fate, or at least hit this fucker with the glass perhaps, when she discovered that it wasn’t her own dramatic death that she was witnessing. A small man bleeding through holes in the dress that he was wearing was lying on the floor. His wig, which was not unlike Dee’s hair in that it wasn’t dreadlocks, was attached to his pilots cap, which was soaking up blood fast.

The security guard was nodding his head frantically to himself.

“It was a good shoot, it was a good shoot” he repeated to himself a few times, until the law turned up and told him that it wasn’t. Especially as even if it had been the right person, it was still only a 2 ½ pint glass that she took. The cop too had thought that it was a 215 pint glass, so he felt like he had a score to settle with these people.

Dee watched all this happen from the other side of the road with total confusion.

“They don’t let security guards carry guns in this country, what was that all about?” she thought as she skipped down the road and into the pub.

“Happy Birthday Fred man” seemed to be echoing in this place, and somehow it all seemed to suddenly fit.

“Hey, I got this for you. Happy Birthday” she said. He looked at the glass with disappointment. He had already seen these and knew they weren’t as big as everyone thought. “Thanks” he said with a voice that smelled like Christmas. This was all beginning to make sense to Dee, but she didn’t really get why the transvestite had to die.

Project Christmas

So it turns out that I used to have Rampart on the Atari when I was young. That’s strange isn’t it? Well it’s not strange to you because you don’t know what I’m talking about, but it’s pretty fucking disturbing to me. See Rampart is this old school computer game, and i been playing it on one of those retro game compilations recently. But when we started playing it, I was like “Rampart hmmm….. that sounds familiar but I never played it”. And so we started playing and even though I had to work out what it was about and how to play, I seemed to have a natural aptitude at it. I thought maybe it was just my unnatural computer games skills kicking ass on my behalf again, but no, apparently I had it when I was about 6 and played it a lot. I don’t remember it, but that’s fucking strange.

Apparently when you are 6 years old your brain is like a sponge. You can be taught intense amounts of shit and learn new skills in a way that really makes me now feel like a moron for talking to that little Microsoft paperclip bitch. This means that whatever you were doing when you were six is imprinted intensely on your personality, because whatever you did mainly is what you’ll be good at. I was kind of hoping to find out that I had been studying kung fu or some useful motherfucking banking skills at least. But no, I was playing computer games which are now obsolete. Woo.

If I did have a residual skill though, I wonder what it would be like to use it. I mean, I have a really incredibly bad memory formed through prolonged excess, so I can’t really remember Christmas without thinking hard and long about presents. It follows that my memories of being 6 have been pretty much wiped clean, so if I retained a skill then it would be out of the blue. Like that piano bastard. If he had drawn a picture of some drugs and some women, would they have brought him those things? Or at least a piano and some cigarettes. Though I suppose you can’t really play the piano while smoking. Hmm…yes, that’s what’s strange about that story, the lack of cigarettes.

I bought my first 10 pack in years today. Such a motherfucking waste of money and packaging. If it was up to me I would only allow sets of 100 to be sold and they’d be wrapped in an elastic band with a lighter. And none of those motherfucking health warnings. I mean, fair enough, it probably does save some dumb fuckers lives by informing them of the dangers of what they’re doing, but mainly it just pisses us addicts off. I mean, especially the one about ‘cigarettes containing other things than tobacco such as arsenic and plutonium and shit’. If those things are so bad for us, then don’t let that Marlboro bastard put them in. It’s as if in Super size me McDonalds had said “ok, this shit isn’t healthy, we admit it, we put poisonous shit in our food” and then just putting a warning on the boxes.

Damnit I want a Quarter Pounder with cheese now. And a cigarette.

(iv) Lost

No not now. Please not now. I don’t understand why this is happening. Why this can happen. Please. I can’t deal with any more. Just please, give me a break, someone. I don’t know who. God? Are you there? If you are, are you listening? Do you care? Why would you do this to me? I know you didn’t do it. I did it myself. But why are you doing this to me? I can barely keep myself upright. I can barely keep myself from screaming the world into oblivion. The more I try though, the more you fuck with me. THE MORE YOU FUCK WITH ME. You fuck! You absolute fucking….. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I think I can blame anyone but myself. I’m such a piece of crap. I can’t believe that I lasted this long without anyone fucking me up like this before. I just can’t believe. I just can’t fucking stop thinking. I just can’t. Please just give me a moments rest. Please. I was so happy now i can’t remember how to smile. I think I’m going to be sick. Bleuuu……. No. not even that. Can’t even purge myself. Can’t even get rid of all this shit inside me. If only I could. Those toxins. Those fucked up bits floating inside. I don’t think they caused me to be this way though. I don’t think I could just throw them out of my mouth and out of my life so simply. Just by sticking my finger down my throat. Well maybe my middle finger. Say fuck you to me. Fuck me’s not right though. No one will ever want to fuck me again will they. I’m such a fucking mess. I’m such a piece of crap. I don’t think that anyone ever wanted to fuck me in the first place, it was just because I was there. It was like an animal thing, they needed me, they never wanted me. No-one has ever wanted me. I don’t want me, so I don’t blame them. If only I could make myself change. If only I could make myself a better person. But I don’t think people like me get that second chance. I don’t think people like me get to be different. We don’t get to be better. We? Who’s we? It’s just me. I don’t think that I get to be better. I don’t get anything given to me, and I’m too fucking shit to ever be able to change myself. All my friends have changed. It’s amazing to see their lives just get better and better and mine to just stay the same. Mine to just stay like a cess pool in which I swim around, pretending i’m happy, calling out to the others walking around as if I’ve got a great life. But I don’t I’m in my own shit just barely keeping my head above the surface. I’m not fucking waving, I’m drowning. Why can no-one tell the difference? Why is no-one out there to help me. Why does no-one say, fucking hell, you’re swimming in shit, want some help? I would probably say no anyway. Always being needlessly polite. Always letting other people do what they want even though if I’d just stuck up for myself for a minute then my life could have been so much better. Oh well fuck it. I don’t care. I’m going to keep on being the same piece of shit, but from now on if someone fucks with me then I’m going to fuck with them too. Yeah, I’m fucking going to do what I’ve always wanted. Like spit in public. Yeah, I liked that. Oh shit I got that old lady. Fuck her, just keep walking. Maybe a bit faster. What’s she gonna do? Run to keep up? Haha. Wait that’s not funny. But it was nice to laugh. My headache faded for just a second. I think I’ve cried all the liquid out of my brain. It feels like it’s condensing. God damn that hurts. Need to laugh. What’s funny? Two dyslexic guys walk into a bra. Ha ha. That’s not really funny. It’s like those fucking mice I saw on TV. You can’t make yourself laugh. Maybe if I spit on another old lady! Ha ha. Oww. That was just mean wasn’t it. What about this guy. I could spit on him. Yeah, he’s some cross dressing sky captain is he. Well sky captain this. Ha ha, right in the face. Oops, best move down the platform before he clears his eyes. Wooo. That was fun. Maybe I should just be a bitch then. That was pretty funny. Life would be much simpler if I just spat in all those fuckers who fucked with me’s faces. What’s all that commotion? Excuse me Officer, what’s going on? Someone fell on the tracks? Oh, that’s terrible? Were they pushed? No they seemed like they were blinded? Oh fuck. Swiftly moving on. Oh no. Oh fucking no. What have I done? I’m such a piece of….

(iii) The man with the hat said I’ll stop when I get some crack

“So where is it then? I’m tired of trekking round this stupid fucking country. I don’t even care what time it is. If we don’t find it in the next twenty minutes then we’re giving up”

“Twenty minutes! I though you said you didn’t care what time it is. Anyway, we’re still like 8 hours ahead so that twenty minutes won’t expire until tomorrow”

“Why did I ever agree to this? You said London would be fun. Better than Thanks-Giving turkey you said. All we’ve got so far is hungry and lost.”

“Well that’s because you won’t ask for directions and you got us kicked out of McDonalds for complaining and you’ve got that thing about not betraying Ronald with the Colonel so don’t blame me. Oh wait, there’s someone, maybe they can give us directions. He’s wearing a uniform so he must know. Excuse me! EXCUSE ME!”

“Uh yes… are you talking to me?”

“Yeah I was. I was wondering if you could help us. Me and my husband were looking for a museum, but we can’t seem to find it. If you just give me a minute I’ll get my map out of my fanny pack and maybe you can try and help us…”

“I’m sorry sir, my wife doesn’t know what she’s saying, we’re not lost, I was just taking a break from navigating for a minute. You know how it is don’t you buddy, when your wife is nagging you and won’t let up”

“Um… no not really…. Wait a minute that’s your wife? Oh! I thought her tits were rolls of flab! Oh sorry mate. I thought you were just a really badly dressed gay couple”

“Yes I’ve got the map now. We’re looking for this giant clock that London is so famous for. Giant George or something. Which museum is it in? We’ve been to the the Tate, but the guy at the…. Stop that right now! Let that poor man go! I know he’s English but still honey I think you’re hurting him…”

“Damn tootin I’m hurting him. He’s lucky I wasn’t allowed to bring my gun with me. YOU SNOOTY BRITISH! YOU’RE ALL THE SAME! THINK YOU’RE SO SUPERIOR!”

“P l e a s e siiiiiir reeeeelllaease meeeeee. Itttttsss nooottt giiiannnt geeorrgge itttsss biiiiiiiiiggg beeee…….”

“He won’t tell us where it is now. Oh lord, I think he’s not breathing. Let’s get out of here. I saw on Nightline that the British police aren’t near as deadly as our boys, we can make a break for it”

“I saw that too. I’m not sure that is an official uniform anyway, it just doesn’t look right with that skirt, even if they do call it a kilt here. No one will miss this limey”

“Stop! Police! Oh fuck it. I can’t be bothered to chase those fat fucks. Let’s see who they’ve roughed up. Oh no…. not you again…