Scrotville,
San Marino
Tuesday, May 9, 2006
another crappy day in my deadbeat apartment, the sounds of sirens and muggings outside as the smoggy sun wavered through my patchy curtains. it wasnt always like this, back then i had dreams i had passions i had belief. but that was all taken away from me in that horrible ostrich racing accident. how was i to know that dangling my testicles infront of their eyes would make them go crazy...these are the facts of life they never teach you kids. lets just say that big birdy saw red and bit my strumming fingers off and ended my career as a studio guitarist. i was the biggest thing since steve vai and now the only solo i could play was the caatchy one from the sultans of swing by dire straits, and that dont earn you a loving my friend. drowned my sorrow with another bottle of bourbon and 7 hours of animal porn. getting up i realised i hadnt had my protein shake and hadnt even pumped my guns, so i called my brother and asked him for a lift to the gym. i dialled and dialled but no one picked up. something wasnt right, and i had to find out why. i quickly bathed myslelf in yaks milk and applied ground tiger bones to my anus to increase my pitifully low sperm count and headed off using my slymobile. why didnt i take that to the gym i may hear you ask, and the answer is this. i wouldnt have an interesting story would i you stupid fuckers! i called frazier and told him to have the reports of the financial crosscheck on my desk by friday or we would be having serious discussions of his future in the telemarketing business. having tracked my brother using the bug i planted in his skull as a child i found him sprawled out on his car bonnett having smashed through. a car infront sported a man dismembered...his top half in the back, his legs on the road infront of him. i took my brother and performed an emergency tracheotomy and double valve liver transplant to keep him breathing. it was a little messy with not all capillaries being in tact and his amneotic fluid being slightly solute, but all in all a good job. i called 999 and fled the scene, talking to a copper whislt being on the FBI's most wanted list is about as good a combination as non dairy ice cream and heroine.
having got back home i decided to pay lauren a visit and get my fill as it were and headed round her pad via the matter transporter i created. i turned up missing a knee cap and my left buttcheek and testicle but i could explain that after the roasting she was to recieve. i knocked. no answer. i knocked harder. no answer. i blew off the door with a C4 explosive. her parents looked frustrated. Fuck i thought, her old man was the chief of intelligence at M16, sloppy Sly, real sloppy. i couldnt let him talk so i dabbed chloroform onto my delightful silk hendkerchief and brought him down. still, laurens mum was there and i knew she would talk. not without a mouth she wouldnt, so lets just say its a little hard to speak when you have part of the turin shroud sewn over your mouth and your fingers glued together with Pritt Stick "the glue that keeps on sticking" to stop her tampering with the perfect stitching. but this still didnt answer the question of where lauren was, and i was a man who needed answers. i came across her in intensive care whilst volunteering in the burned orphan unit. she didnt even recognise me, of all those times we had picnics in the park and danced with the sprites and sang with the goatmen...she didnt even know who i was. she only pointed to my face and laughed at my mediocre penis. who did this to you i cried to the night...who did this! like simon weatherbey in his cameo role in peak practice, i ran home whilst crying in my hands, and lay down on my bed and poked red hot pokers into my eyelids to get myself to sleep. i will find him lauren...i WILL find him!
