Tag: fridge

Head / Shed

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Mrs R.,

My fucking mate has got a fucking head in his fucking microwave, he keeps taking slices off when he needs them. There are two fucking more in his fucking fridge. Mind you he cooked us up a nice bit of snap in the galley tonight, I don’t quite know what was in it but it was nice. The spider on my lamp has just caught a fly twice the size of it and has taken it home to have a scoff. He was on about making a film about us lot, the firm, psycho’s etc etc but I can’t remember much about it ‘cos we were off our fucking maps. The thing is that you can’t improve on reality in a fucking situation like that, I mean, two fucking heads in the fucking fridge.… Read more

Topping Up

Reading Time: 9 minutes

Sirrah,

Twenty one, twenty three, me and you, you and me. The Sky. The Sea. The clouds are loud, and in a crowd. Dead house. And now for the shipping forecast, before we join the weird surface. Kidney stream. Bint. On a tripod, a glove. Wash the glove, bacon. Annex the coast t’ toaster. Wish it down with tea from’t china c’up. Had Pentangle on, now it’s a Platipus comp. (vol. 3). Iffy, iffy, let’s get squiffy. Put it yon side of temptation. Cider sensation. And now… Moo, belch, of course, it’s, (phonetic equivalent of), (speeded-up, farted-out, slowed-down), Meditive. U Wot? Fish issues, percolate. Horlics horticulture. * Mr. Gall. (The). Yo-Ho. The oven is on, ready for the bread, and maybe a fish-cake if you are lucky.… Read more