Tag: whitby

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

FUBAR

Reading Time: 9 minutes

Ey Up Chupa Chup,

Dream and reality are merging and I can no longer distinguish one from the other. Mind at the end of the tether! Can’t prise last-night apart from itself to discover what was dreamt and what was not. I was rigging a vacuum-cleaner up to P.A.B.M’s door handle and he opened his door, saw me and shouted, I ran upstairs laughing. I was warming up rice-pudding in the nude when Keith knocked and walked in, I put a towel round me. All that is real, it happened. It’s the next bit that’s shaky, trembling like. Did he try it on or try to pull the towel off and did I grab him by the throat and say “If you ever do anything like that again I will fucking kill you,”?… Read more