A poem about Essex

Celebrate meaty hooks,
celebrate the bellies round.
Celebrate intolerance,
celebrate the English paand.

Celebrate the bully,
celebrate the orange tan,
celebrate spreading hate
about your fellow man.

Winning is just shouting louder.
Said the skin-head to the runt.
When you said that i've never been prouder.
Said the father to the cunt.

Celebrate Essex

Lenny the Hat

A little while ago now i used to know this guy, lets call him Lenny. I wouldn't say he was a close friend, just one of those people you know for a while but never really find out anything about them.

But I had to know one thing.

What his head looked like.

Ever since i'd known him i'd never seen him take off his hat. Never.

Now a normal person could accept that this is how he is, delicately sweeping the issue under the Carpet of The Unsaid.

Not me.

I have to know what a mans head looks like before we can truly be friends.

What if he was one of those people with a really small forehead? Or worse, one of those people who's hairline comes to a vampire-esq point at the front. And if he is bald, what type? the island? the receed? thin all over? These questions need answering.

So I invited him round for a catch up.

My suspicions were correct. He came in the hat.

I turned the heating on full blast... Still he wore the hat.

I fed him vindaloo... Still he wore the hat.

I waxed lyrical about my recently developed excema of the scalp and its relentless and unbearable itching...

Still he wore the hat.

Time to pull out the big guns.

I went to the toilet and secretly rang my friend Nick (a charming boy who'll do anything i ask for a bourbon biscuit and a stroke of the nipple). I told him the plan. Shortly afterwards he arrived.

ding dong!

I opened the door to find Nick in full drag. He put on his best Norwegen accent

Kieron Darling! Its been so long. Give your auntie a kiss.

He grabbed my head and placed his chin lightly against my forehead.

..and this is my good friend Lenny...

Nick went to remove Lenny's hat...

what are you doing!... said Lenny

Just a Norwegen custom Lenny.

well you can't!...

I looked at Nick, he looked at me. I couldn't take it anymore. I don't know if it was the heat or what... But I lost it. I went for the hat-

To my surprise it came straight off.

And this is whats weird. You think i'd look at his head, but i didnt. I was still looking at the hat. I'd never noticed before how old it was. Or how weird.

The inside of the hat was dark. I mean really dark. No light at all. I couldn't see anything. Not the lining, nor the stitching. Not anything. I looked up and noticed Lenny looked a lot older then before. I couldn't say how exactly, just older, and there was a slightly regal air to him.

what have you done?!.... he said

Thats when we heard the rumble.

The room changed. The light looked a different colour.

You've unleashed the frapolites, you fool.... said Lenny with a whimper. He didn't look so regal anymore.

I am gatekeeper to the Frapolites. My people have kept them at bay for thousands of years.... and you went and ruined everything!

The rumble grew higher in pitch. It was at this point when i blacked out.

When i awoke from the living room floor everything seemed back to normal. Nick had awoken too and was currently masturbating into a houseplant. It was like nothing had ever happened.

But it was at exactly this point in history when i started noticing something appearing everywhere. Taking over the world. An unstoppable force.

Starbucks had landed... and it was all my fault.

I never saw Lenny ever again.

But it didn't bother me too much.

Nick said he had a really small forehead.

An Epiphany (of sorts)

I'm not religious and i think most people would agree that there is very little evidence of the big man himself (i'm gonna say him for the purpose of this hypothetical rant).

But there is some.

I was thinking about people i've met in life and then suddenly it struck me, actually there is evidence everywhere.

Its subtle, but the idea came to me during casting. Allow me to elaborate.

If human life was developed by evolution then their contsruct would be made from a finely honed collection of dna. Re-designed and improved upon with each generation over the course of time.

Each person beautiful and unique.

And to be fair most people are.

But what about 'the Extras'? You know who i mean, the vacuous vessels that float around with a perpetual air of pleasantness and indifference. Conversations that arise in their company are met with a blank face and a series of generic responses. Some will push the boat out and utter an opinion that they read in Heat or the Daily Mail, but most will merely nod, grunt or sigh in agreement.

This is not the work of evolution.

Its too lazy.

Its exactly like the work of a human. And if there is a god, and he made us in his form, then that would make a lot of sense. Him being the casting director in a very large and complex movie of human life.

So now put yourself in his place.

Billions and billions of tangled plots to keep up with.

You can understand why even a higher being would need extras.

The story is just too hard to follow without them.

The Phils

I once spent an entire summer on a small rock in Bermuda. What happened was I became swept up in the hurricane of 1994 and spent seven months swirling around the outer atmosphere accompanied by two frogs called Phil and one that prefered to be called Philip.

During the seven months the 2 Phils became like brothers to me. If i had wind burn, they'd lick it. If i had moon rash they'd wee on it.

True friends.

But Philip became jealous, he'd always dissapproved of the inter species relations and would never speak to me unless it was a snide comment or snappy remark.

Anyway at last the gales subsided and i was dropped in the sea and swam to said rock.

Apon arriving i found Philip sitting there looking smugger then ever.

"What happened to the Phils, Philip?" I said.

"I ate them" he exclaimed.

I was furious, and with a vengeful rage I decided to tell a passing Albatross that he called it the son of a terrorist whore. This vexed the bird terribly and it completely flipped, pecking and plucking at Philip until it ripped out his treacherous tongue and flew off with it.

We sat in silence for several months until a passing boat eventually picked us up. I havent seen Philip since but i hear from a friend that he sometimes sells the Big Issue in Bromley.

Mr Wong

Being unemployed a lot I get excited when it comes to free stuff.

Some might say too excited.

I often frequent an all you can eat chinese at lunch for £3.50. Now the food isn't great, but its £3.50 and its all you can eat.

But one day, in my haste to create fatty deposits for rainier days, i grossly over-estimated my digestive capabilities.

The next day the resulting poo blockage was one of biblical proportions.

I ransacked the medical cupboard for a laxative (shut up, i could have a medical cupboard) but to no avail.

My housemates were now banging on the door with their pleas for loo vacancy.

"You don't care about my plight you villains, with your sprightly jig and free flowing colon. Pass me some dates!"

I ate the whole pack.

Now i play the waiting game.

What seemed like days past when all of a sudden i heard some commotion and awoke from my feverish glaze. There was a new knock on the bathroom door. An optimistic and somewhat overly respectful knock.

"Mr Woe"

"Yes" I cry feebly and flick the lock.

"Oh Mr Woe, where you been? I was tewwibly worried Mr Woe!"

To my unadulterated joy it was my good friend Mr Wong from the chinese.

He took me strongly by the hand

"Push Mr Woe, Push"

"Aaaaargh!"

The pain was unbearable. Tears rolled freely down my bloated cheeks.

"Breath Mr Woe"

"Shut up! I hate you Mr Wong!"

"I love you Mr Wong!"

and suddenly, i was free.

Lessons were learnt from that day.

From that day forth i didn't go anywhere without dates ...and Mr Wong.

Man's best friend

Makes me sick.

Primitive Man finds his best friend in the animal kingdom. A creature with high intelligence, huge loyalty and a genuine love of a good scrap. Life long hunting partner and protector of the home.

Primitive Woman becomes jealous.

So what does she do?

She takes mans friend to one side, entices him with promises of unlimited cave privelidges and man-food.

Then gradually, over time.

Reduces him to a fucking handbag accessory.

Women's relationship with dogs is so unhealthy it's untrue. And what's more it's a harrowing insight into their warped and disturbing mental states. They lavish it with highly excessive amounts of affection, pampering it to within an inch of it's life. Letting it get away with anything it likes because 'he's so cuuuuute'. Eating at the table. Sitting on the couch. Sleeping in the fuckin bed!

Before you know it all you're left with a dog that thinks it's a baby for it's entire life.

A mentally retarded animal.

It's human equivalent would be given privilaged parking positions at Tescos and get called spaz-boy by small children.

It's not funny. It's abuse.

Selectively breeding out every masculine characteristic and forcefully inducing a retarded mental state in a vain attempt to try and fill emotional voids arisen from lack of relationship skills or a clinically obsessive mothering instinct.

I'd rather watch baby seals being clubbed in the head then a woman chatting baby talk to a rat in a handbag.

Huuuaaargh

The Tandem

I am a machine. In my whole life my body has clung on to NOTHING it didn't absolutley, fundamentally require. That's why when i dump, i dump big, i dump hard and i dump once a day, 10:30am, like fuckin clockwork.

So after years of being unemployed/studentified/bone fuckin idle, it was my horror to aquaint myself with work... and the Tandem.

You know the Tandem. It's when you have to take the brown baby to the pool at work and someone walks in the toilet just as you're about to let rip. You can't hang on to this bad boy any longer. It's ready. And there are only 2 cubicles. So face it, he/she's gonna be with you every step of the way.

OH MY GOD, WHAT IF IT'S THE BOSS?!

fuck!

shit!

You try and wait it out. Maybe they only need a wee, you tell yourself. But they never do. And what's worse is they have had the exact same idea as you, so your both waiting it out together like a couple of fucking poo bombs.

Somethings got to give. You can't both sit there forever. You think about trying your chances. Maybe it won't be that loud this time, you tell yourself. Maybe you'll be lucky, but then there's always the chance you've got Mount St Helens plugged with a Malteser and then all hell breaks loose.

You're starting to sweat.

You hear a rustle of movement next door. A little foot shuffle from your partner in poo.

Shit, that was loud! It fucking echoed round the whole room! What's it gonna sound like when i unleash a depth charge in this mutha fucker?

Suddenly the door opens again.

Shit, now there are 3 of us.

But wait!...

They only need a piss! ....YESSSS!

But in the exitement you accidently start the ball rolling!

Fuck!

You're past the point of no return. You're just gonna have to face it up.

It won't be that bad, you tell yourself. It's natural.

There it goes now, easy does it. But, by some miracle of chance the pisser finishes washing his hands and starts the dryer.

SOUND COVER! You think. And drop it fast.

You did it.

It's over.

Or is it?

Now there's the wiping.

What if they think you're some overwiping freak?

Bollocks.

Damn the Tandem.

Dreams

Some people don't remember their dreams at all Ever. That's a bit fucking weird init? What happens to their memories then? There has to be an explanation. Y'see, I've tried erasing my memories before and it takes highly fucking advanced forms of alcohol abuse. And even then I still maintain patchy recollections, vague flashbacks and an underlying ache in my belly that I've come to recognise as my old friend guilt.

So what kind of extreme brain damage are these people doing to themselves while they sleep? I have made it my mission to find out. For the last year I have been sneaking into my housemate Adrian's room at night and watching him sleep. He doesn't know this as I must maintain complete scientific objectivity of the subject. Any knowledge of the experiment may subconsciously affect his natural sleeping pattern.

I was amazed with what I found out. The night began normally, I put my balls in his mouth and held his nose until he went blue, then vigorously took his temperature with my patented penis gauge. Pretty standard stuff really. Then the waiting began. Nothing for the first few hours. The odd twitch, an occasional grunt, then THERE, the rapid eye movement I'd been waiting for. This was the magic happening, I'd seen enough daytime TV to understand that dreamage was at work here. I quickly ran to his head and shined my torch in his ear, but I could see nothing! I couldn't understand. Where was the dream?

But then I heard something, a faint cackle. It was coming from inside. Inside his ear! "Hello" I whispered. The cackling stopped. Then I heard the sound of a thousand tiny footsteps approaching. "Who the fuck are you?" I whispered at the thing coming out of his ear. It looked like what can only be described as a kind of centipede made of human dna, eye-lashes, finger nails, bogeys, bumfluff, you name it and this thing was made of it. "I am the dreamcatcher, who disturbes me while I catch my slumber dust?" "my names Kieron" I said "this is my house". "Mmmm" said the dreamcatcher "Kieron eh, never heard of you." I ignored this blatent insult to my thus far invaluable contribution to humanity and said something which I thought I would never say again after escaping the confines of county Essex

"Dreamcatcher, that's your lot mate, you're taking fucking piss, coming in ere, in my mate's fuckin head, takin all his fuckin dreams, without askin, NOT IN MY FUCKIN GAFF MATE!"

and then I nutted him right on his stupid finger nail chin. "NOW JOG ON BEFORE I DO YA!" and with that the dreamcatcher gave a disgusting little yelp and fled into a vortex in the wall which I have to admit I'd never noticed before. With that Adrian gave a groan and awoke.

"What the fook are yoo doin in my room you fookin queer?"

Ungrateful Northern bastard.