Achieving Financial Solvency: Part Three

As I escorted some geriatric punters into the confines of my Ford Transit, I honestly felt like I was on the brink of accomplishment. First of all, these old timers would be getting hot and intimate with the fairer sex. Which would be the first time since god-knows-when and that in itself was reason enough to be cheerful. But as they moved in unison, bonded by chains, there was a real sense of team spirit. Of course, one gentleman insisted on taking his medication and feeling generous, I allowed him some party pills to kick start his arteries.

For most of the journey, it was quite lively, particularly when they started clapping and singing their jovial war anthems. This I didn’t really mind. What I did mind was when one of them moaned incessantly about his weak bowels, advising that I pull over immediately. Do you think he listened when I said we were nearly there? No, of course not. And I made every possible effort to point out that if a toilet was unacceptable, he could always use one of the girls, at an additional price of course. I consider that to be a very fair offer.

Unfortunately, some people aren’t open to compromise. Some people just sit there, soiling themselves and ruining my van. And after everything I had done. Well, I wasn’t going to tolerate ineptitude of any sort, that’s for sure. I said that work would set him free or if he preferred, he could pay double the amount with one of my girls. Refusing to lick up his mess, he reluctantly handed over the last of his pension. Well since he had learned his lesson, I figured he should be the lucky one who gets to play with the twins. So I helped them out of their chains and walked them into the condemned building.

Now despite their slutty attire, it was hard work getting any of my girls to act lively, even by means of car battery and jump cables. So to compensate – and to spice things up a bit – I handed out free party pills to all the elderly patrons. But despite initial exuberance, it didn’t do much good. One man clearly worn out from his time spent with Candi simply collapsed to the floor, shaking and clutching at his chest. And as for Lotti…well, her head snapped off mid-fellatio. I was beginning to wonder whether this was really a good idea.

I mean, it was a lucrative business opportunity and I’ll be able to stay out a bit longer this weekend. But on the down side, what would I do if one of these geriatrics ran off, spouting negative reviews about my business? I’m not sure if I could handle that, not after all the effort that went into it. Disappointed, yet being realistic, I eventually settled on the idea that that some things are better off dead and buried. So bearing that in mind, I grabbed a can of petrol from the van and did the next best thing.

Achieving Financial Solvency: Part Two

I’m no stranger when it comes to a bit of hard work and after unearthing some of Hull’s finest working girls at the local cemetery, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was raking in the fruits of their efforts. After loading the van up with those cock crazed cadavers , I made my way to a disused factory on the outskirts of town, ready to help those decomposing poseurs apply a little style and panache. After all, I didn’t want to present myself as someone scraping by on the bare minimum. Oh no. I’ve been doing that for far too long. So after helping them into the changing room, I took the opportunity to unleash my hidden talents as a high brow fashion designer.

I figured that they should all have names, for work purposes, I mean. Pippa was a cute little number in her St. Trinian’s outfit and her saucy pig tails really helped to compliment the open eye sockets. And of course, the twins, Lottie and Dottie. Those bi-sexual stiffs were nothing more than bones but in their raunchy nurse outfits, would anyone even care? I took some time to get acquainted with those two personally. And finally, there was Candi, who was a dirty little minx in her revealing black corset and matching wig. After preparing the girls, I started work on the boudoir, complete with amateur bondage equipment and a flea infested mattress.

I acquired the mattress from a nearby vagrant; of course he objected at first but following some aggressive negotiation with a length of barbed wire, he reluctantly surrendered his belongings. And his head. But whilst rooting through his pants, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that he was incredibly well endowed. I mean, I’m sporting a fair bit of length myself but sometimes, eight inches doesn’t do it for a woman. Sometimes they need a bona fide John Holmes to really blow their minds. Well, all these ideas were alright I suppose but what’s really important is getting these ideas off the ground. So for the rest of the evening, I decided to start training the girls. And they sure loved their training, I can tell you.

Achieving Financial Solvency: Part One

They don’t call Edinburgh “The Athens of the North” for nothing and when I chose to unwind at The New Gentle Touch massage parlour, I knew I’d get to experience a bit of Greek. Tanya, one of the lesser wart ridden employees, escorted me by means of hand joining from the waiting area to the clients-only section. One door was slightly ajar and I swear I caught a glimpse of our Prime Minister being held under considerable duress by a woman dressed in a flimsy cat suit. I could tell she was excited by the way she continued to stroke her phallic attachment, saying, “who’s been a naughty boy?” But I ignored the political fiasco and continued the journey through to the back room with Tanya.

Tanya made me feel comfortable during my trip to Scotland. She didn’t seem to mind lying on a stained mattress, torn to bits by its current occupants. In seconds, she removed her garments and rubbed her hands seductively across her flabby mounds of pleasure. There was no denying how much she wanted me; her varicose veins pulsed with energy and the way she sucked on her cigarette told me that she could really show me a good time. So after some idle chit chat and a mutual interest in home-made smoking paraphernalia, we both got down to brass tacks.

Well, a few hours eventually passed and Tanya was truly worn out from a night of wild passion. She just lay there in my arms, happily clutching the ten pound note for asshole tax. Mind you, I’ve had my fair share of girlfriends before now and most of them have left me disappointed. But Tanya was something else, that’s for sure. She didn’t even flinch once, not even when I shoved my clenched fist in her mouth and ripped out her tongue. I think it was the heroin, judging by the used syringes decorating the shag pile carpet and the belt tied around her arm.

In any case, I ploughed away relentlessly with my cordless power drill, screaming at the top of my lungs. Streams of carnage and visceral joy emanated from the beautiful world I had created, mainly from the remains of Tanya’s entrails. Hours of fun was had in redesigning Tanya although when I was about to pump her mouth with my thick salty gel, I had an epiphany. A plan formed in my head, concerning working ladies who don’t quite work any more but are still available for discrete encounters. The possibilities were endless! Then it came, like a flash of inspiration…

“PRIVATE POST MORTEM ESCORTS”.

Okay, not that catchy, I know. But still, it was something to work with. And speaking of things to work with, I figured that the janitor for this place should be given a pay rise. How else would he or she justify the work load I created? So I slipped a note in the suggestion box and hoped for the best. I mean, all I wanted was to make a difference in society and as waves of ingenuity crept all over me me, I decided to throw caution to the wind by making another monumental offering all over Tanya’s face.

Inebriated; Incovenienced

Leeds, as one dedicated reader put it, is home to more incest than the Garden of Eden.  The HIFI Club was of no exception to this rule. Many of its inebriated patrons draped themselves suggestively across the tables, keenly displaying their time weathered rectums.  As local alumni attempted to mark their mating territories, current students upheld the strictest of campus traditions.  One teenager attempted to set the benchmark by using a couple of straws to get through two large pitchers of unidentified fluid.

After he completed this gargantuan rite of passage, he belched profanely, thumped his chest akin to a gorilla and demanded that all females were to display their clitorises immediately, whether they wanted to or not.  Of course, he wasn’t quite as articulate as yours truly; as a matter of fact, his use of English was sloppy, contrived and devoid of merit.  It was a wonder that staff continued to serve him, in his current state of flux.  In the chill out room, the silence was yet again broken.

“FF.F.FFUCKKIN GIRLSH…G..GET Y’F.F.FFUCKIN GASHHH OWT….F.FFOR THE LADSH.”

It was at this point where I was going to do something about the disturbances.  However, the fiancée of one troubled girl sat up and demanded that the offender revoke the remarks about his woman.  Then there was this tension; the room was so thick with it that you could’ve literally sliced it wide open.  But there was no need to.  As those two drunkards seethed with rage, it was mere seconds before the tranquillity was disrupted by the noise of violence and all out war.  Their valour was not entirely without merit.

Pint glasses lost their sense of purpose when they found themselves embedded in someone’s face.  One man lay there screaming, a bloody arc pumping out of his face, his hands attempted to yank out the shard of glass that had narrowly missed his eye.  He retaliated by clutching the leg of some woman who attempted to fend off her assailant with a leopard print hand bag.  When she failed in doing so, she let out this deafening screech for help.  In seconds, fake fingernails were digging into fake breasts and poorly applied make-up ran down faces smeared with blood and tears.

Then the self important security guards burst into the room, taking down the unwanted chivalry one drunkard at a time.  One man, who was urinating into a gambling machine, was pulled aside and subdued with a choke hold.  His stream of urine managed to offend one of the guards who responded by pummelling him into submission.  Well, there were a lot of people screaming that someone else started it all but in fairness, I think they can all be blamed equally.  And since the situation was being dealt with, I took the opportunity to see if the girl with thick bruising across her face was okay.

She said her name was Alice and that she wanted to go home.  I insisted on a hospital to which she reluctantly agreed.  I hadn’t drank that much really, four or five pints at most.  So once she was sitting comfortably in the back of my Ford Transit, I assumed the role of “Doctor”, ready to give out a stern examination.  Oh, those university girls up in Leeds are game for anything and I really enjoyed probing her innards to locate the root of the problem.  Well, as you probably know, one thing led to another and all sorts of things happened.   I also managed to decorate my party van and I must say that thick crimson is really starting to grow on me, it really is.

Christian Youth Arts And Crafts Workshop

Last weekend, I volunteered to help the Christian Youth with the running of a local arts and crafts workshop.  And although we ran into an obstacle when we weren’t able to hire out a venue, I did manage to make the most of an abandoned quarry on the outskirts of town.  Secluded, away from prying eyes; it was the perfect place for me to concentrate on my art.

After taking in the idyllic scenery, I went to the back of the happy van and let three blindfolded teenagers run off into the wild. I also suspended their elderly mentor from the back of my Ford Transit, so that she could offer a fair and balanced appraisal of my work.  Well, she objected at first; perhaps she was being modest.  But after stuffing an old sock into her screaming mouth, the modesty soon subsided and she was able to offer a full, unbiased assessment with helpful pointers where needs be.

Speaking of pointers, I was fully erect right then and ready to give those sweet sixteens a real glimpse of the art world.  It didn’t take long to round them all up after their early morning jog and chaining the lucky artists to a piece of disused scaffolding was all it took to get me in the mood.  But before I could show them my Jackson Pollocks, their mentor spat out her sock, screaming for her life.  Infuriated, I went right back there and stuffed the sock further down her throat before getting on with my work.

Oh and what work it was, readers.  One lad soiled himself, begging for Christ to intervene.  I managed to capture some dribbling faeces and used it as face paint on the other two lucky lads.  This, I felt, was deserving of inclusion in the Tate Modern but as I was getting into it, the elderly mentor spat out her sock and began crying out again.  For Christ’s sake, we were supposed to be helping each other but that insipid cunt was only thinking of herself.  I couldn’t take it any longer.  Eventually, I snapped.

I grabbed some broken scaffolding and drove it into her chest, a flurry of broken ribs and gore erupting from the gaping wound.  She moved her withered hands around the scaffolding in an attempt to save herself, but the only redemption she received was my boot connecting with her face.  As she bled profusely, she knew who was in charge here although at this point, the love of art had left me.  The only thing left was to burn everything down and forget this awful day had ever happened.

And as I sat in my Ford Transit, sucking back on a bottle of Russian Standard, I tried to think of tolerance, of how fickle it is and how it affects us individually.  The flames roared on, as did the dulled teenage screaming and as calming thoughts entered my head, I drove home, ignoring the terrible failure behind me.  They’re all in God’s hands now.  Best of luck to him.

Yuletide Roast Made Simple

When preparing for a traditional Yuletide roast , it’s crucial to plan ahead. Things you always need to take into consideration are how many people you plan to cater for; from personal experience, it’s always best to make more than the required amount, just in case unexpected guests turn up at the last minute. In regards to seasoning, I’ve always favoured spices such as cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg as these really bring out the fuller flavour in a proper Christmas roast. Last year, I made an absolutely mouth watering meal and with a little bit of guidance, you’ll probably be able to do the same. Of course, the first item on your list should be the meat and there’s nothing more festive than Jolly Saint Nick.

From personal experience, council employees are of a higher standard when compared to those employed by corporations and independent shopping malls. At first glance, they may appear to be the same but your council employed Santa will wear a cheaper attire. If you’re lucky, he’ll also be marinated with liquor as means of coping with fickle demands of ignorant children. When I made my first roast, I started by toughening up the meat with my festive crowbar; that really helped the juices get flowing. After a good ten minutes of tenderising the flesh, it was time for the festive stuffing. As Santa lay there, blood pumping out of his quivering body, I took the opportunity to pack a few layers of sage and onion stuffing into his anus. I can’t recommend that enough; a good stuffing really brings out the flavour.

What also works is basting the meat with a good blend of herbs and spices, particularly nutmeg and ginger as mentioned above. Ideally, you’ll need to bind Santa’s arms and legs with some thick rope, as to resemble a stuffed turkey and then rub the spices into the skin. Massage as much as you can, to try and get a thick, juicy coating and when done, garnish lovingly with parsnips, potatoes, onions or whatever takes your fancy. The main thing at this point is to start roasting your meat as soon as it is ready. Don’t go too crazy with the petroleum though – you’ll only need enough to slowly cook throughout. To stop Santa from screaming (and to add a bit of classy décor), why not add a cooking apple? One cooking apple down his throat and your Yuletide Roast will be the centre of attention.

Speaking of attention, be careful not to overdo your meat, taking it out of the furnace periodically to turn, poke and generally ensure that all the natural juices flow quickly throughout. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as a proper Yuletide roast. In fact, something on this scale will last a few good weeks, provided that the meat is well refrigerated after use. With the left overs, one could easily make a curry, a casserole or a few short crust pastry dishes. The possibilities really are endless in terms of what you can accomplish when you really put your mind to something. Bon appetite!

My Teenage Diary: The First Time

Abridged from “My Teenage Diary” by Derek W. Smithers (aged 16)

November 16th 1994

My best friends at the moment are Karl and Lori.  Whenever I was getting my face shoved into an unflushed toilet, getting punched in the ribs or if the bullies teased me and called me “orphan”, Karl was there to help me out.  He’s really been like a brother to me.  Lori’s a year older than me and Karl and although she looks like a vampire, we both think she’s cool, especially when she freaks people out in town.

Last week, Karl managed to steal some beer from Mr. Patel’s Convenience Store.  I know he wasn’t a successful thief because Mr. Patel came running after us, threatening to slit our throats and burn our houses down.  I was too scared to do anything although I made a mental note to go back and pay for the stolen beer.  I felt like it was the right thing to do and besides, I really didn’t feel like having my throat slit or being burnt alive.

Anyway, we all got back and I showed Karl and Lori some of the magazines I found under dad’s bed.  We all sat around, drinking beer and talking about idiots at school.  Lori laughed because some stupid gang keeps trying to get with her but she’s not that into them, even if one of them is cute.  Karl said he’s getting Super Mario All-Stars and even though I was interested, Lori wasn’t.  Instead, she started looking through my dad’s magazines.

I’m not sure how it happened but somewhere between me and Karl talking about comics and films, Lori started moaning.  When we both turned to look at her, her hand was down her skirt and moving around.  Karl nudged me and walked over to Lori, unzipping his jeans.  Then she giggled and asked us to get our things out.  Of course, I had plenty of experience with dad so I wasn’t too embarrassed but I didn’t expect her to lean over and put it in her mouth.  My god, it was incredible!

Karl started laughing and put his fingers inside her, which she also seemed to like.  Before I knew it, I was having my first time with my two best friends.  Lori really knew how to make someone like me happy, especially when she said that she loves to swallow.  Sadly, dad caught us and demanded that Karl and Lori go home.  After they left, I felt like I had done something terribly wrong.  But dad said I could have them back over, as long as he gets to watch.  My foster parents sure are weird.

United By Music Workshop

Over the weekend, I volunteered as a tutor for “United By Music”, a workshop set up for disadvantaged teenagers. I suppose the main reason was to help kids understand what it meant to be a real musician or DJ. You know, as opposed to obnoxious video games like DJ Hero which come with plastic controllers and virtual crowds.

In any case, I arrived at the outdoor workshop and had a stroll around the camp site. I had no idea what I had let myself in for. All I could see were makeshift wigwams and hippy mentors singing “Love Shine A Light”. Lord, give me strength. But I let the anger subside and quickly set up my equipment using a small generator whilst braided vegans banged away on their tambourines.

The first hour of my set was truly epic; I started off by dropping some classic DJ SS, mixing in a few reggae samples with pitch shift for good measure. The ecstasy was intense; waves of euphoric bliss crept over me like tiny insects crawling all over my skin. It was wonderful.

Still, some of them could’ve left their wheelchairs for a minute to come and have a dance. It’s true that I haven’t had much practise like I did back in the day but still, was it too much to ask for? I grabbed one of the kids and prised her mouth open. I knew right there that she was gagging for it, from all the drool around her lips. “Reach for the lasers!” I cried, emptying some pills down her throat.

From that point on, it was legendary. We had some thirty or so youngsters in a field, all high on life, loving the music. One guy stood there shaking his arms as frothy saliva oozed from his mouth. But others, notably the aforementioned hippies, resented my participation and tried to shut me down. All I was doing was trying to make a difference and when they clambered up with their healing crystals, I snapped.

I grabbed one heathen vegan by his dreadlocks, slitting his larynx with a piece of broken vinyl. With some help from the cripple massive, arcs of blood and gore sprayed out in each and every direction. As the bass lines rolled, so did the severed heads of all those pig ignorant hippies who didn’t understand the meaning of tolerance.

And neither did I, for that matter. I guess you can’t please everyone although I did make every effort to compensate for the unwanted disturbance. But the purpose of that workshop was understanding how these kids felt on the inside. Well, the one-on-ones took a few good hours…but it does feel good to have done my bit for charity.

Fourth Annual East Riding Cosplay Convention

Before spilling the details of this get-together, I should perhaps divulge a little history.  Back in 2001, students at Humberside University were welcomed to join “Campus Cosplay” and although the name sounded camp, it was a great success.  The first live convention, however, was a shambles.  We eventually settled on Final Fantasy VII as the basis of our first ever live re-enactment although constant squabbling broke out over who got to be Cloud or Sephiroth.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the re-enactment failed to become a re-enactment when one of the group members (dressed as Tifa) veered away from the story of Mako Energy destroying the planet.  Instead, and after much tequila, she slammed her breasts down on a table and yelled, “you don’t get many of these to the pound.”  Naturally, this killed any chance of a live version of Kazushige Nojima’s masterpiece; group members, myself included, were busy impaling Tifa on a pool table with our Ultima Weapons.

The second and third outings were far more successful, with live re-enactments of Katsuhiro Otomo’s epic animation, “Akira” and the 1984 cult comedy “Ghostbusters”. In the latter, we recreated the library opening sequence with cereal boxes as makeshift proton packs.  Sadly, the East Riding Cosplay Convention has since been banned from libraries in and around Yorkshire after causing one elderly patron to convulse.  Apparently, screaming “GET HER!” at the top of my lungs was inappropriate.

This year, however, was to be a return to our love of the Final Fantasy series witha live re-enactment of Final Fantasy XII.  Although the local Tesco was not a perfect Bhujerba, many of the store clerks could have easily passed for Bangaa and Seeq wayfarers alike.  Feeling positive, I assumed the role of Vaan as I quickly ran down the frozen vegetable section, yelling, “I’m Captain Basch of Dalmasca!” and “Don’t listen to Ondore’s lies!”

Well although this year was successful, I regret to inform that Tesco’s security guards failed to share our enthusiasm.  In fact, after their involvement with the group, I seriously doubt any of them had ever played Final Fantasy XII in their life.  After all, it is common knowledge that the prison break scene in Nalbina is well before the events in Bhujerba and not before.  Obviously, Tesco’s security force is comprised of idiots.

Hijinks In Hertfordshire: Part Two

All good things must inevitably come to end.

The morning following my arrival at Vision Mental Health was spent getting to know the orderlies, the waiting staff and the patients respectively. Whilst something of a klutz with names, I did manage to remember Nicole and her voluptuous cleavage. The orderlies claimed she was a victim of rape although after our discrete one-on-one in the communal shower block, I begged to differ.

Now as any self respecting bachelor will tell you, there’s nothing quite like valium to help set the mood for romance. So after issuing Nicole with her morning medication, it came as little surprise to find ourselves playing “Doctors and Nurses” in the shower block for a good half hour. She seemed to love my impromptu outbursts of “Say Ahhh!” and “Open Wide” and it wasn’t long before I opened Nicole up and gave her a thorough examination.

Mind you, it was at this point where we were both interrupted by Ted, the Vision Mental Health janitor, along with other unwelcome guests. Apparently, Ted missed his lunch time appointment with Nicole and the banging on the door, coupled with retarded mumblings of, “are you done with that slut?” did little to calm my nerves. I was trying to make a difference here. Was it too much to ask for some privacy?

So I snapped.

Enraged by Ted’s inaptitude, I shoved my fist in his mouth and ripped out his tongue, waving the bloody thing above my head. Riots ensued in the wake of the carnage, with cripples fighting one another in the hallway, mainly to get a piece of Nicole. I tried to calm the spastics down; I even offered them some vodka but the ungrateful bastards kept defecating on themselves.

The only thing left, I thought to myself, was to burn it down to the ground. So after raiding the supplies cabinet, that’s exactly what I did. Well, what we did. You see, Nicole helped out by tying up the orderlies whilst I doused them all with flammable liquids. It was great to make new friends and Nicole really enjoyed making out near the roaring inferno and its dying screams. It was beautiful.