For the Childrens (anyone under the age of 20)

I don’t think all of you are really all that “bad”, using that word in it’s proper sense but also, cleverly, in it’s street slang sense too. If anyone of you younglings are confused, frustrated or anxious about life I’m here for you.

My drop in centre’s doors are open 24 hours and we can talk about sex (I’ve fucked everything that movsd and a few things that couldn’t), parents (they’re such a “drag, man”) I hear you, or drugs (I’ve done the frigging lot) then don’t be shy.

Come to me children of England, partake of my wisdom and suckle at my breast!

My Life as an Outlaw

Had a rather entertaining this morning, I accosted a couple of young ne’er do wells who were decked out in full tracksuit and trainers and in the melee managed to deal a powerful blow to one of them with the hammer I carry for self defence.They soon realised resistance was futile and handed over their possessions: 2 mobile phones, 17 Benson and Hedges, a lighter, 4 condoms (unused) and half a Greggs pastie. I feel…like a man.

Heaven is a Place on Earth

Wuuurggghhh man tha’ve stopped me fucking benefits cos ah’ve been inside two fuckin months fuckin fa tekkin key rings from tha fuckin shop in toon ah’m fuckin sick as a fuckin cunt tha fuckin paki lezza doon the dole warnt helpin me an all with me fuckin bairns ah’ve got ta gan and get me self fuckin sorted oot but ah divvent knaa, wor lass wants a new fuckin telly an all an a cannat afford that an me fuckin smack an all ah fuck it.

My Nephew went on holiday to Thailand and all he got me was this ungrateful wife

A Nature Day

My faithful friend and long time companion Azturk and I went for a little nature ramble earlier today as the sunshine was so glorious and the council were fumigating my caravanserai again where I am currently residing.

There isn’t anything as glorious as the English countryside on a lovely day, apart from the countryside in some other country which is less pox ridden which means almost all of them. Azturk had a productive time of it, spotting a pornographic magazine in the bushes while I was delighted to find a lucozade bottle half full of piss (I think).

But the highlight of our ramble was, for both of us I’m sure, the number of cows we saw. Azturk insists we saw 3 but I mantain it was 2 cows and a stocky horse or pony, believe me when I say our argument will go on for quite some time over that.

I managed to take a picture of the cow before it saw us and timidly climbed into it’s warren to escape our intentions.

Jennifer

The Face on the Bar Room Floor

The Face On The Bar-Room Floor
by H. A. D’Arey

‘Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there,
Which well nigh filled Joe’s bar-room, on the corner of the square;
And as songs and witty stories came thru the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.

“Where did it come from?” some one said. The wind has blown it in.”
“What does it want?” another cried. “Some whisky, rum or gin?”
“Here, Toby sic’ him, if your stomach’s equal to the work
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s filthy as a Turk.”
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact he smiles, as tho he thought he’s struck the proper place,
“Come boys, I know there’s kindly hearts among so good a crowd-
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud.

“Give me a drink-that’s what I want- I’m out of funds, you know,
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow,
What? You laugh as tho you thought this pocket never held a sou,
I once was fixt as well my boys, as any one of you.

“There, thanks; that’s braced me up nicely; God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I’ll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out, and my longs are going fast.

“Say!! Give me another whiskey, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do-
I’ll tell you a funny story, and a fact; I promise, too.
That I ever was a decent man, not one of you would think;
But I was, some four or five years back, Say, give me another drink.

“Fill her up Joe’ I wan to put some life into my frame-
Such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame;
Five fingers-there, that’s the scheme- and corking whisky too.
Well, her’s luck, boys; and landlord, my best regards to you.

“You’ve treated me pretty kindly, and I’d like to tell you how
I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame and health.
And but a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.
“I was a painter-not one that daubed on bricks and wood,
But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.
I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called the “Chase of Fame.”
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added to my name.
And then I met a woman-now comes the funny part-
With eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my heart.

“Why don’t you laugh? “tis funny that the vagabond you see,
Could ever love a woman, and expect her love for me;
But ’twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine it carried me to heaven.
“Boys , did you ever see a woman, for whom your soul you’d give,
With a form like the Milo Venus too beautiful to live;
With eyes that would beat the Koor-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so ’twas she, for the there never was another half so fair.

“I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way,
And madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
Said that she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.

“It didn’t take long to know him, and before the month had flown
My friend had stole my darling, and I was left alone;
And ere a year of misery had past above my head,
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead.

“That’s why I took to drink, boys. Why I never saw you smile,
I thought you’d be amused, and laughing all the while.
Why, what’s the matter, friend? There’s a tear drop in your eye,
Come, laugh, like me; ’tis only babes and women that should cry.

“Say, boys, if you give me just another whisky, I’ll be glad,
And I’ll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score-
You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the bar room floor.”

Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the vagabond began
To sketch a face that might buy the soul of any man.
Then as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
With fearful shriek, he leaped and fell, across the picture, dead

Here is Wisdom

I once heard that to keep a woman in your thrall forever all you needed to do was make her come like she’d never come before. After you’d done that, it was suggested, you can treat the woman like dirt and she would stick by you.

This is of course incorrect, women aren’t that stupid and if they love you they’ll always tell you you’re the best anyway whether you are or not.

The Wild Bunch

I wish I was a cowboy. Not a real cowboy but a movie cowboy, someone like William Holden in The Wild Bunch who doesn’t take any shit and who spends all his time with his friends robbing and whoring and drinking.

Then’s theirs a kind of elegaic atmosphere to that kind of life as shown, that time for the likes of the “Bunch” is passing and they will shortly be obsolete and who hasn’t felt that at some point? I know I have sometimes felt like that, usually when I hear younger people converse amongst themselves; I literally do not understand what they’re talking about, nor do I want to and I’m only in my 30’s, not old by anyone’s standard except by the standard of the stupid, ignorant youth who’s only virtue is that they don’t realise how average they really are.

Even dying in a whirlwind of Mexican gunfire seems like fun when you think about it.

A Declaration

I hereby announce that from henceforth I shall no longer class my self as a British citizen. No one event has broken the camel’s back here, I’ve just simply had enough of this silly, money grabbing country. I declare my house a free state and will no longer pay council tax, instead I shall live as an outlaw, ambushing gangs of youths and stealing their drug money to spend on bottled water and art.

A Solution to the Energy Crisis

Why don’t we make our own oil and coal rather than root around in the dirt for it like truffle pigs? It should be simple enough: cut down lots of trees and kille thousands of animals then simply squash them all together very, very hard until they turn into coal or oil or something. Surely this makes sense?