“Well Ruth, I’m never ever going to see you or hear from you ever again am I. I hope not. Thank fuck for that, you nearly killed me you fucking cold-hearted evil bitch. You knew what I’d been through with that stupid poison dwarf Moira and how she tried to take me on and destroy me and how I had to drag the stupid bitch to her edge, not my edge of course, and scare the fuck out of her, she asked for it and she got it and will never speak to me again, but the daft poisonous little oaf has the fucking brass-neck to come into the pub tonight with ***** my dutch ex-mate (they are now an item) and sit there and laugh and sing, so I sat in the back room with ***** who calmed me down ‘cos I was trembling like fuck and ready to kick off, but no need ‘cos I already proved me point the other day in there when I fuckin kicked off at her but managed not to hurt anyone especially myself, which is most important of course even though I forget that a lot ‘cos I’ve been to the place of razoring my arm and I’m not going back there and also, only, therefore I couldn’t give a fucking shite, anyone wants a go, I’m here, disturbed, frustrated, on the razor-edge of nowhere, lost it, slipped away thru my fingers, do me a fucking favour, put me out of my fucking misery but oops, you slipped, saw you, silly, silly, big mistake – YOU’RE IT. Why don’t you all just fuck right off you fucking set of fucking stupid cunts and take me with you for fucks sake ‘cos I’m the fucking daftest of the lot. I’m so… dah dah dah dah dah dah dah (Archers theme) etc, bollocks, lard, geese, shiny, shiny, crazy fucker, overwhelming sexual urges, no female to help and enjoy with, I’m ok now but I won’t be later after another sleep ‘cos that did me in, such an urgent sense of doom and loneliness I don’t know where it’s coming from, felt so awful today but managed to pull it all round in the end and laugh at those stupid fools leaving the pub as I got into the taxi with ***** but what the fucking hell am I supposed to do apart from cry – nah; want to fuck that fucking stupid Sarah right up her arse and teach her what is what but she won’t look at me anyway ‘cos of Moira and she’s strange ‘cos one minute I think she looks ok, and if she could see thru all the shite and the way she’s being manipulated we might have a spot of fun, and the next day or whatever she looks like a total fucking Munter! and I think “Shite the fucking-bastard-bed brother I wouldn’t touch her with yours”… I’m a GOON. Yes, I’m tense, stressed, wound-up, on the fucking edge and ready to smack the first silly little piece of shit that pops in me way today but it’s not worth it, I’ll just give it all to JAH ‘cos I can’t deal with it and while he’s at it he can have all the Ruth shit ‘cos it’s fucking killing me and I’m a big strong lad and it shouldn’t be a problem for my broad shoulders but I can’t cope with it or deal with it on my own, it’s the sort of thing only an amazing woman can provide the magic formula for and release me but I don’t know where she is ‘cos I’m in no fit state to go out and look for her and by the time I’ve festered me fucking bollocks off here waiting for her it’ll be too late and I’ll be dead and she and I will never enjoy the great gift that we both deserve, half of which is between her legs right now and half of which is between mine and the pleasure comes from the sharing of the two and doing what comes naturally. But here comes the shite and the shite and I’ve fucking had enough of that to last me. Bollocks. FUCKING DOUBLE BOLLOCKS. Blood today, not mine of course, but i can feel it flow, smell it on the wind, hope not but the moon is rising and I’m totally unstable and ready at a moments notice to shoot some cunts limbs off, torture their torso and then cut their fucking head off to put them out of their misery ‘cos I would be feeling sorry for ’em. fucking hell for fuck’s sake what sort of monster d’ya think I am, I’ve got a fucking sensitive caring side, I’ve got a heart, aint I? Yes, I know I have, it’s in the fucking fridge, actually it’s in the freezer but that’s another story, please don’t let me kick-off today ‘cos I’m full of fury, full of anger, full of hell, full of fuck and I don’t want to hurt anyone, quite the opposite, that’s why I would like to find a nice female to help me funnel it all through our pleasure channels ‘cos right now it’s killing me and will result in someone else getting seriously hurt ‘cos I’m starting to flap and I can’t hurt anymore than I do already and if i thought that chopping all my limbs off would make me feel a tad better I would have done it a long time ago and become a sort of TORSO TORTOISE PARADISE so fuck off now ‘cos Ive had enough.”
Talking to me. About me, you fucking what. An awful lot of drugs and violence has just gone down centred round me but I want more and more ‘cos it’s so fucking addictive and the mate who looks after us won’t let us near our fucking guns ‘cos he knows we’re all fucking crackers, but I’m getting afraid ‘cos nothing scares me. I’m the bloke who wants to fuck the fucking VIRGIN MARY right up the arse and make her cum and cum as I slit GODS throat but I’m so frustrated ‘cos none of these stupid, false, phoney cunts actually exist including me. you wanted a rant, you got one, now fuck-off while i try to blow me fucking brains out one last time on me last bit of skunk till… Marjorie Doors. Feed the birds – tuppence a gallon. My right arm really aches now ‘cos I’ve written these two pages almost straight off to get it down but there’s a muscle in my arm that’s gone rock hard and hurting and I need to stop at about 7am, fuck it all anyway, not much skunk left, blim of Morrocco, 1/3 of bloody mary and no more vodka, surely there must be 1 lady who wants to talk to me and fuck me, the law of averages dictates you must exist, not that I pay much attention to the law, but where are you and if you ever get here, which I doubt, where the fuck am I? As one deflates another one inflates, it has to, it’s a law, “Oh really?” says I, stood there, arms folded, cocky look and giving the swagger that you can even do stood still which usually stops knobheads trying to start and which goes “Come ‘n ‘ave a go if you think you’re fucking hard enough.” Ooh there’s some sport with someone in particular, but I’m putting the word out so that hopefully he will avoid me and I won’t have to hurt him for a bit, but I will eventually ‘cos the little dwarf thought he was big enough the other day in the street to have a dance with me and i don’t mean our ‘dancing’ (fighting), he was running around and doing what I can only describe as a girly dance round me as I got more and more annoyed and shouting “you fucking little twat, cunt, you fucking little piece of shit etc” and before I could grab the little non-entity to knock him out and teach him a lesson in PAUL the cop van came round the corner and I was shouted back to the pub before doors were locked and no prob leaving me mate with three of ’em ‘cos he didn’t and never will need any back-up but there were loads ‘o’ levels to this and I was there, but alls O.K. ‘cos their conspiracy to provoke violence by incitement is shot full of holes and the police haven’t even bothered (Babylon Man!) to take our statements ‘cos they know exactly what went on and these stupid nobody’s who are not from Whitby (obviously) have made a really, really big mistake and we both laughed ourselves even stupider than we already are in the pub the other night about it ‘cos who those two think they are I will never know. There were two lovely ladies (well, lasses really, they were only 21) in the pub, both had fellas at home obviously, but we had a real good laugh and walked ’em back to their B+B, which was on my way home, in the pouring rain but ***** had to go back across town in it. Wo wo wo, what fantastic lasses, made ’em promise to come back with their fellas and we’ll all have a real good laughing night out. But fuck all that, shit rising, noises on the horizon, I want me fucking gun, me mate wants his fucking gun too but ***** won’t let us have ’em ‘cos he knows we will only go around shooting people. But what he won’t listen to (you can’t reason with him sometimes) is the fact that these people that we both wanna shoot really fucking do need shooting mate and it needs doing and we want to do it but he’s only being careful I suppose ‘cos there’s still 2 heads in the fridge and 3/4’s in the microwave and he’s waiting for the organic flow to take care of those (nod, nod,nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more), but for the size of this town, even with our skills it will start to get hot and be time to move on, out of England this time, I hope, once and for all, thank fuck. Rampage Day Looming, 2 hours.
Peek-A-Boo-Man just banged on my door and shouted at me to stop burning my ‘incence’ ‘cos he can’t stand no more, well, I can’t stand any more of him, he reckons I’m stinking the place out. I ignored him but he’s just made a big mistake. BIG. So I’ve put a notice on the notice board saying:-
Open Letter to Peek-A-Boo 4.1.04.
“If you don’t stop scaring me I will be forced to obtain a legal injunction to prevent you from coming anywhere near me. I don’t know what your problem is but I will not tolerate you banging on my door in the middle of the night and will phone the police immediately if that situation ever occurs again.”
The fucking Knobhead is a proper title and too good for the little twat. In the bucket with you. I’ve been so out of my tiny mind or rather in and out of it both at the same time, fucking hell it’s been a fucking good X-mass and New Year and even flirted with a couple of women. Had terrible mentalness coming back here alone most nights but nice talk one night with one of my good female friends and a few drinks and being able to talk about being lonely (‘cos we both are) and do the problem shared is a problem halved bit for each other ‘cos she’s a great mate. She’s a fucking diamond, oh yes. Okey dokey zippy I need to release some more of the Peek-A-Boo saga, After he’d done that I had to fucking torture the cunt, banged on the most resonating wall (a stoothing wall, or dividing wall to the kitch(en)) a certain number of times at intervals, banged and tapped around my ceiling (his floor) in a mentalist stylee. Oh no, they’ve called in the mental squad. I put music on quiet, then turned it up a bit, then down, then I started blasting it a few seconds at a time by twisting the volume control up and down rapidly and violently. Then I waited till he was asleep or daren’t fucking move anymore and pinned the notice to the notice board. There’s a big fire-extinguisher in the hall and I leant it at an angle on his door in such a way that when he opened it the F.E. would crash into his room and hopefully crush one of his fucking feet. He heard me come out of my room the next morning and waited on the stairs, he tried to, fried two, two fried eggs sir, toodle-pip old boy (in a Scottish Borders accent). He tried to say something and I held my palm out to him at arms length and said “Don’t talk to me, I’ve informed the police (a lie) about you.” I walked past him and went out the door, opened it again ‘cos I knew he would still be stood there and said “You’ve just made a really BIG mistake.” Saw him later on the street and he went into a shop to avoid me and it was a fucking Estate Agents, the fucking stupid cunt.
I’ve done the edge of the edge of the edge and pushed and pushed and heaved and so called ‘reality’, the very ‘fabric’ of reality bent ‘n’ buckled ‘n’ heaved ‘n’ twisted as I flexed a few numb and forgotten muscles out there on the BIG EDGE of drugs, madness, heartbreak, despair, a hand full of chickens and me fucking wig’s fallen off, cats eaten t’ dog, there’s no kippers and I’ve lost me leg, and I took it all, everything that came flying at me from all angles and with varying degrees of velocity, but I didn’t break, it didn’t snap and I’m still here to shell the snail, phew. Ruth, you fucking stupid, evil, cold-hearted bitch,you would have enjoyed all this beyond your wildest dreams, I hope you had a shit one ‘cos you are shit, a worthless piece of shite and there’s a few of you isn’t there. You fucking set of false, phoney cunts, flame on you. Oh, o.k., it’s all gonna be ok ‘cos me mate wants to fuck some women in Brazil, anywhere hot really, anywhere with loads of gorgeous women and I’m going too, you fucking bet ‘cos I’m totally sick to the back teeth of the lack of sexual activity rendered upon my being by both the local female population and any visiting ones. Need a change of scene, a break, “Certainly Sir, which leg?” No mate, need to assemble some structures on rock, proper foundations yeh! Will take a good few months to assemble us both, my head’s recovering, my body is sound, his body is recovering, his head is sound, then we’re off, here’s to the Whistler from Brazil! I reckon ***** is up for coming too ‘cos he’s just smacked a couple of ‘Babylon’ (pigs, coppers, old bill etc) and the adventure will do us good ‘cos none of us want to come back. Have you noticed that your/head her/head my/head our/head their/head no/head ‘the’/head, is on back-to-front but it doesn’t really matter. And I talked to P-A-B-M ‘cos I knew he could hear thru his floor/my ceiling and I laughed at him, and ’twas a frightening, manic laugh I pulled out of the bag especially for him. Ruth was like being addicted to the strongest, most powerful drug ever, the bad times start to outweigh the good times and you know you have to stop but you can’t and then everything gets totally out of control and you have to stop or die, or die trying to stop. Well I nearly died a few times ‘cos the craving and the yearning got so intense. You had to obliterate any nice memories with all those horrible, nasty ones didn’t you, you fucking stupid alki whore. This is the hardest, longest cold turkey I’ve ever had to endure – NINE FKN MONTHS AND STILL FKN COUNTING, YER HAVING A FKN LAUGH! Feels like a hedge being dragged backwards through itself over and over again, forever. Me. And my sad go, a sorry tale of woe. Betrayal hurts. I know exactly where I went wrong, I should never have had anything to do with her after I’d fucked her stupid that weekend but we fell for each other. Then something slipped, she pushed me and I’m still falling but am nearer to saying “Yes”, if George ever asks “Is everything under control, Paul?” Yes. The yes that doesn’t mean no, but you wouldn’t know anything about that would you Ruth, Goodbye Ruth, eat shit + die Ruth.
-Wet-Me-Whistler! X.
