bigot, much?

if you hit my knees, i'll bite your head...if you call me rubbish, i'll steal your shoes. etcetcetctec...tic for tac and scratch for scratch they are all pretty shameful at times...
but all that aside, calling the woman a bigot?? what an odd choice of word for her actions. is it really an apt lexical choice?! hm, erm DIM.
you do make me ponder, Brown.

dimdimdimdimdimdimdim,

vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house.vicky needs a house. vicky also needs a new football, rabbit food, and to stop thinking.

muddy tunnel.

Between two headrests, standing tall

Lies a tunnel.

Mercedes is smiling. Disney-pearly-white,

a bendy, busty, blonde.

Apparently.

Windows do not keep secrets –

you smile straight back.

“Tickets Please!! A slight flinch, maybe?

But the laptop still beams out a teasing glint.

My eyes fall upon your index finger,

as it circles around your cherry chin.

Lick your lips and crane in closer,

then tear away your eyes

for,

just,

maybe…

Three seconds

…of private possibilities.

But falsetto chirps and plastic trembles,

prick and screech.

Through corduroy trousers

Reality Intervenes.

“Baby, yeah, I will be back for seven,

and yeah, I’ll grab some bread.”

loser d'wi.

acrobatically dangling,
with a coat that is spangling
my ham makes me happy
(and so does Fluff)
i am pet-sappy
but now i will shush.

nos da xxx

latex gloves please.

Faye was in kitchen humming along to Radio Two when he came in, slamming the door with a little more force than what was necessary. Her short plump arms were wading through the sea of white and blue Tesco bags that covered the work top.

“Bleedin’ stupid they are. I mean, how hard is it? How hard can it actually be?”

The plastic rustled as her hands dipped in and out, putting away the various tins, vegetables, multi-coloured and multi-sized boxes with an air of swift grace. Her pace in her own kitchen however had come very much at the expense of all the other shoppers who had been waiting to pay behind her - she always organised her shopping with acute precision as she packed it up. Long-dates, short-dates, the savouries, the sweets. And, of course, she had to double check the receipt too. And her ClubCard points. Not much is free in this life, you’ve got to milk what you can.

“Would you like a cuppa, love? I bought some more teabags when I popped out before - we were running really low, you know” she said lightly, but Howard chose to ignore her as he continued to vent his frustration.

“…They must be colour-blind or something. But even if that was the case, surely they are capable of reading instructions. I’m sure it says what to do on the actual flippin’ box!”

“I thought we’d try those decaffeinated ones this week” she continued, “Dr Hodgson was telling Julie about them when she went to see him last week – apparently they are meant to be miles better for you… they’re even supposed to be good for getting your blood pressure down and helping you sleep properly – “

“It’s not exactly rocket science thought, is it?” Howard muttered in a low tone, seemingly oblivious to his wife.

“You can still have normal if you want though, sweetie. We’ve got a couple left at the back of the cupboard I’m sure”, Faye tried. If thirty years had taught her anything it was that responding to his grumbles, even with sympathy, would only fuel them further.“These were on offer you see, all those for £1.50” she continued, gesturing to the pale green box as she turned to face her husband. “And I picked some of those nice biscuits up too, the ones with the jam centres…”

Howard moved towards the pine dining table, thumbing through a pile of loose paper. “And to think, they come down here doing all them fancy degree things.…Studies of ology this and computer that…Waste of bloody time if you ask me. Don’t have any common sense though do they…Is any of this completely blank?” he snapped.

“That’s just scrap for Anna and Nina to doodle on when they come over. The writing paper is in the dresser”

“No, no. I don’t want the lined stuff, just plain white”

“Oh, that’s in there too I think. Why love?” she asked with a curious intonation.

As he put on his glasses clutching a thick black marker he met her eye for the first time since he had come in. “I’m writing them a note. And it will explain that paper goes in the blue, glass, tins and their infinite number of cans in the green, plastic in the red, and only domestic in the black.”

“I…see” replied his wife, sounding slightly cautious, “but make sure it’s polite Howie, after all, they’re only youn-

“And if they don’t start doing it they’ll have me to answer to.” His voice rose up as he cut his wife short.

“Now Howard listen, please be polite. I don’t want any trouble…not like, well, you know…

“Please Faye, don’t start. Those kids had no right trouncing onto my land, screaming like they were feral or God knows what –

“Oh for crying out loud, they were getting their ball back! She snapped. Her calm temperament was momentarily lost. “If anyone had spoken to the our girls like that when they were that young then I’m quite sure you wouldn’t have liked it”

“Our girls had more manners than to go sprinting through someone’s flowerbed…”

“But even so, that feud with Kevin when we lived on Orme Street was awful. Please, please, please don’t go starting another one here, especially over a bit of recycling.”

“ ‘A bit of recycling?’ A bit of recycling? You’re as bad as they are sometimes!”

“Stop being ridiculous, Howard. Do you want a tea, or not?”

“I’m not being ridiculous. Look at all them bags you brought back today, again.” He stated as he averted his gaze towards the pile of unpacked and smoothed out carrier bags.” What about using some of the old ones for a change, ey? I’m sick and tired of seeing them - there must be thousands under the sink! Like I said, they will have me to answer to.”

Irritation fizzed up through her arms and her face became flushed. “In fact, forgot it. I’m going out to walk Bobby.” He was tiresome to argue with, his stubbornness was so draining. She knew he wouldn’t respond to her now, after the storm he was always a silent sulker. She grabbed her coat and called out for the dog, her voice uptaking a faux-joy tone; he didn't have to know how much her husband could vex her.

Bobby. Bobby, Bobby. Bobby.

Bobby could be the perfect remedy.

They weren’t the only couple in the street who owned a dog. And it is fact all dogs shit, it could never definitely be traced back. Well it maybe it could, but they if they were too stupid to sort out their recycling then they were almost definitely too stupid to click that it was Bobby’s faeces smeared across the handles of the black bin. ‘That will stop them bunging everything under the sun into it every five minutes’ Howard mused to himself, screwing up his list ready for his own blue box. Maybe some would go through the letterbox too, at least that way they’ll stop being rowdy on the porch… ‘Pesky little brats, they’ll get what’s coming alright.”

word of advice....

Mr sheen you smell amazing...

Flippin go get some.
that's all i'm saying.

marw themed sadness.

‘Thanks for leaving the porch light on, Bri’ Helena mused to herself silently as she opened the gate, walking into the completely blackened driveway. He was a stickler for power saving, she presumed he must be asleep which was perhaps worth the thirty second dash through darkness as she walked down the long flag stoned path; a silent blessing really. She had got her key ready in the taxi, the fatigue of a long day kicking in making her eager for home comforts. Overall tonight had gone far better than expected, none of the speakers had over run, the photographers from The Post had made an appearance afterall - much to Richard’s delight - and the Bob Dylan tracks she had picked created a nice ambience, playing softly in background. She had felt good tonight. Postive press has been such a rarity of late – well done Helena, well done. Pyjamas, a cuppa, and an hour or so of trashy TV to wind down was the plan.

It was certainly not the outstretched arm grabbed her firmly by the collar.

“I’m going to punch you in the head. Hard”
“Oh god, I’m sorry…please…please, I’ve not done anything, I’m ju– “

“And do you know why?” He loosened his grip on her left arm and covered her mouth, interrupting the flow of the trembling and panic stricken words falling from her mouth. “Because I want your brain to bleed. Honey, you’re a stupid little fuck with stupid small brain, so I’m going to have to smack you hard to get at it.” He dragged her towards the house, his slippers dragging on theground as he paced forwards, his ability to pick up his feet as he walked was almost as bad as his posture.

In her head she was running away. She was kicking, shouting and screaming out loud, and it was light and bright and loud and safe. She shut her eyes to take herself away but his chubby warm fingers pressed down hard on her face; an unwanted and sweaty reminder of reality. Regret, fear, and dread swirled awkwardly together around her stomach. Why had she ever thought she could have the best of both worlds; a job, friends, and a marriage? It was such a maxed-out delusion. Why had she ever thought she could have it all?

“Force is the key, babe”, he chuckled to himself, “to get a bit of colour on that pretty, white blouse…a nice fat punch and ‘taa-daa’ some nice red dots straight from your piggy little nostrils. Show you for what you really are, dirty little whore.” She could feel the breezeblocks grazing her skin as her body was held rigid and tight against the garage of their detached home. A quiet, peaceful and private property for the two of you to grow old together - a good selling point at the time, maybe. But that was before. There was no redundancy then, nor boozing, and no iron burns on the thigh, or quick knuckle digs on her spine

The pace of her breathing picked up as he dragged her backwards around the side of the garage, still clutching her firmly. “I know you fucked him, I know it…I’m sick of you. Your head, your body. Your filthy stretched out pussy.” His stale breath lingered in her face as angry, cold whispers were spat put into her face. “Derek this, Derek that…You shit. You’re cheap, vile, digus-“
“Brian, I didn’t, I’ve not…I’d never. Not whilst we are married I prom-!
“You can’t even admit it. Lying bitch. That’s how weak you are, how fucking spineless…”
“I never…I never touched him. Brian please, you don’t want to do this. You love me, and I, I love you…I want this to work, I want us to be together.”

feign devotion and live to see tomorrow through?

“Don’t bullshit me Helena. And even if you did, I don’t. I love sex, yes. And I love the wage you bring home. But I don’t love you.” He bent down to pick something off the ground, easing the pressure on her shoulder for just a second.

mpulse, bravery and stupidity fizzed up in her arms and she swung round to hit him on the arm, but at eight stone and five foot two, she was no match for the 6ft ex-builder.“You stupid woman” he growled under his breath, turning to seize the back of her neck with real strength. “Ha, this is best off all round really” he said lightly, “your life insurance will cover this place. No one will ever know; the cheap little whore ran off – that’s what I’ll say. She never came home, went out partying for 'work', and just never came back. Someone else must have done this when she was walking home from shagging around… And everyone will believe me - because my wife is a mucky little slapper.”
“Brian, no, no…please, listen. I’ve never…”
“Stop lying Helena. Stop lying to me!” Poised with a hammer in his left hand it was now clear what he had leaned down for. There were two different men in front of her; his head and hand did not correspond; tears filled his once kind eyes, but callous, unfeeling words escaped his mouth.

“I just want to see you bleed, I must. I want to feel OK again...I need to see you die.”

petpetpet me uppp

Deep down I dream of nothing more than living on a boat (you don't play council tax and big blobs of unmeasured-water are fit.) Company is always good, and what better than a lovely marine pet...
OF A CRAB!
sourced from,
THE SEA!
(Really, crabs are pretty amazing creatures.)

*I will find you, i will find you,
pick you up, and take you into my boat...
I'd keep you happy, joyous and sweet too
and, make you a bed, a chair, and even a crab-coat.
...
And, if your claws got cold i'd sew you eight shoes,
red ones, or greens ones, oh! Whatever you choose...

I have bacon,
you love bacon.
I have bacon,
loads of bacon.

meaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat-treat!

so please don't scuttle away.

...i can always obtain bacon,
whole pigsworths of bacon.