Author Archive

Today

Today I fell in love with the wonderful Pharrell Williams – or maybe it’s his friends here.

Such a joyous tune – try not dancing to it – also great to see the gorgeous Miley making an appearance. Between being a child actor and a pop brat, she took a little time to do this…

You can tell she’s Dolly’s god-daughter.


Act One

SCENE ONE

FADE IN:

INT. LIVING ROOM – MORNING

AKISHINO (KIKO) big boots, black jeans & T: sitting on sofa, exhausted, rolling a joint. There is a splash of blood on her top. BBC News on the TV can be heard indistinctly in the background.

LILLIAN looking like she’s just stepped off the set of ‘Call the Midwife’: enters carrying shopping, sees KIKO looking shattered and immediately puts the bags down and sits next to her. They sit in silence as KIKO finishes the spliff and lights it, leaning back and exhaling with a sigh.

                    LILLIAN
          What’s that on your top dear?

                    KIKO
               (not looking up)
          Arsehole.

                    LILLIAN
               (leaning back disgusted)
          Ewww!

                    KIKO
          Not literally. [BEAT] I don’t know what body part it is. I meant that he was an arsehole.

They both watch the TV in silence.

                    NEWSREADER
               (continues clearly)
                     … controversially  released yesterday on parole after just 12 years for the rape and murder of two 15 year old girls, was found brutally beaten to death just hours after release. The police are saying that they have no… [CLICK].

LILLIAN who has switched her gaze to KIKO, reaches for the remote and shuts the TV down. She then wraps her arms around the girl and holds her.

                    KIKO
               (relaxing into the hug)
          Touch me again without permission and I’ll break all of your fucking fingers.

LILLIAN smiles and kisses the top of KIKO’S head.

FADE OUT:


Please Masturbate Responsibly

I love the way she dresses and I love that she seems to have as many pairs of glasses as she does outfits. Today they are super cool – I dunno know how best to describe them – like black and retro-sexy?

“Do they make me look a bit like a librarian?” she asks when I compliment them.

“Hmmm?” I pretend to muse. “Maybe like a librarian in a porn movie.” I immediately realise what I’ve said, and I can’t tell from her expression if I’ve amused or shocked her. “I wasn’t thinking of you in a porno.” I blurt out, making it worse. She just smiles. Shit! “Not in amongst the action.” I add. What’s wrong with me?

“Do they have librarians in pornos?” she asks innocently, probably trying to help.

“I don’t know.” I lie. “Maybe just to shush people, you know, if they’re climaxing too loudly.” I try to read her face, see if I’ve gone too far. Nothing.

“Shhhh!” she tells me.


Voila

I watched Eurovision on Saturday. I was going to vote for Malta but I was enchanted by the French entry. They ignored all the Eurovision tropes. There was no glitz or glamour, no fancy stage props, no singing in English. It was just one woman (Barbara Pravi), under a single spotlight, singing. It was beautiful beyond words, and I cried like a drain.

She sung with such passion that, even though I  didn’t understand a word, her words touched me. I looked up the lyrics and translated them from the French, expecting some tragic romance. They were shit.

I watched it again, and it still made me cry though.


No Longer

Was showing off my new phone to my mate Karl and saying how I loved it more than my own mum, and he says
“I no longer believe you when you say that.”

No longer?!


Polly Jean

Today I fell in love, obviously, with the fantastic PJ Harvey.


Nothing

I was brought up by my gran. She was a very old-fashioned lady and once told me that ladies did not enjoy sex. Ladies, she said, only had sex to have babies and to please their husbands, who did enjoy it. Even as a child, I remember thinking what a shame that was.

I was nearly 18 before I discovered that women did like sex. It was life changing. And not only were they were enjoying it, they had orgasms too and some, apparently, even masturbated. It was, without doubt, the most wonderful information I had ever received, and nothing could have made me happier.

It still is and nothing has.


That’s Love

As a man, I admit that sometimes I have trouble recognising and identifying my own emotions. Honestly, if I’m not hungry or horny, I don’t have a clue what it is I’m feeling. So when she wants to know how I feel about her, I’m at a bit of a loss.

She definitely makes me feel horny, and she definitely makes me feel happy. Sometimes she makes me feel hungry, especially first thing in the morning but that might be breakfast and I’m confusing her with bacon. Ignoring the hunger then, that leaves happy and horny.

That’s love isn’t it?.


Try This

Next time you’re watching a show with a sign-language interpreter: turn the volume down and imagine that they are describing a series of sexual acts.

It’s hilarious and, at times, quite disgusting. Honestly, I was genuinely shocked at some of things the woman interpreting the lunchtime news was suggesting. some of which I’m sure is still illegal in some southern states.

Ignore the subtitles (but not the facial expressions) as you watch the clip here, and tell me she’s not talking dirty.

 

And she looks like such a nice girl!

Of course, no offense is intended to anyone who has a hearing impairment or who uses sign-language. In fact I’m actually very jealous of all the great sex you guys are having.

 


You DIDN’T Come From My Rib?

Today I fell in love with the gorgeous Lauren Mayer.


The Vagina Tax

MINISTER ONE:   OK hear me out on this. [PAUSE] How about we put a tax on vaginas?

MINISTER TWO:  You want to tax vaginas?

MINISTER ONE:   Well, not the vaginas themselves, just anyone who has one.

MINISTER TWO:   You mean women?

MINISTER ONE:   Well that makes it sound like we’re discriminating. It’s just that these stats show that the owners of vaginas are far more productive and creative, both economically and socially than any other group. It makes perfect fiscal sense. Vaginas are a gold mine.

MINISTER TWO:  It might seem a little fairer if we taxed penises as well?

MINISTER ONE:  WHAT!? Tax people for having a penis!? That is literally the stupidest fucking idea I have ever heard in my life! The fuck is wrong with you!? Seriously!? Tax people for having a penis!? Have you got a brain tumour or something? Listen to yourself man! I mean, WHAT THE FUCK??!!


The Sun Has Got Its Huff On

I’ve decided to only fall in love once a day from now on.

Today it is the gorgeous Helen Arney talking out of her Uranus.

 


Since I Met Him…

I’ve smoked cannabis,
Cheated at poker,
Lied to my husband,
Danced naked under the stars.

I’ve slapped him,
Kissed him,
Told him a dirty secret,
Blamed a fart on him.

I’ve been ticked off by the police,
Seen a hole in the sky,
Convinced some people I was psychic,
Lost £10,000.

I’ve stood up to a bully,
Called her a whore.
Been kicked out of a library.
Broken into a cemetery.

Since I met him I’ve
Lost my religion,
Found my faith,
Fallen in love.

It’s been quite an afternoon.

A.


Rotten

I Watched Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride last night. It was delightful and very sweet. I fell in love with Emily here: the titular corpse.

The maggot in the eyeball made for a challenging wank at first, but I leaned into it, and I have to say, I fancy her something rotten.


Signs of summer

Today was the warmest day yet. I saw my first butterfly and heard the sound of the first ice cream van of the year – I hate those noisy bastards, and I don’t like ice cream vans either.


Is this why women don’t stick around?

“i see there’s no milk in the fridge!”
“how can you see what isn’t there?”
“what?”
“if it’s not there, how can you see it?”
“i can see you haven’t bought any bloody milk!”
“how?”
“’cause it’s not there, fuck nuts!”
“i know, i forgot, but what does no milk look like?”
“like no milk!”
“but if it’s not there, how can you see it’s not milk? it might be not eggs that you’re looking at.”
“did you forget the fucking eggs too!?”
“what does it look like?”


Old Gay John

I bumped into an old mate today, someone I haven’t seen in years. He told me that Old Gay John had died. Old Gay John was one of the guys that used to hang around on the corner, way back when I first moved here. He wasn’t gay, we just called him that because he hated it so much. He wasn’t old either or called John.


You give my soul a hard-on

you give my soul a hard-on,
you make my heart erect,
my being throb and pulsate,
my very core erupt.

you make my psyche tingle,
you make my mind inflate,
my life force squirt and dribble,
my spirit ejaculate.


All Sticky

when i taste your flesh,
i want it all sticky.
when i kiss your breasts,
i want them all sweaty.

when you fuck my face,
i want you to stink.
when i lick your arse,
i want you to reek.

when i kiss your tits,
i want to taste your cunt,
and when i lick your lips,
i want to taste my cum.


Just while i finish…

i had to go to the doctor’s today – i hate it, the depression of the waiting room, the risk of catching a cold, all the posters reminding me of all the horrible diseases and afflictions, i could, and probably will end up getting. most of all, i hate the wait. i know they’re busy and the service is stretched, but to be surrounded by miserable looking fuckers, coughing and sneezing over me is just a shitty way to spend the best part of a morning – thank fuck i’ve got minecraft on my phone, at least.

eventually, i get to see my doctor. she is a hot young asian woman, and, thanks to the recent mild weather, is displaying a cleavage that i could happily spend six months in. this makes discussing personal matters rather awkward, and after several minutes watching her staring, uncomfortably, at her computer display, she turns to me and breaks the news. “i’m very sorry mr mew, but you are going to have to stop masturbating.” i’m flabbergasted.
“what?” i exclaim, “why?” my world collapsing around me, “forever?”
“no, not forever, mr mew,” she sighs, almost scowling, “just while i finish examining you.”

 

 


He who laughs last

i was brought up in a small coastal town in kent and was a teenager during the seventies there. it was a very violent time and place, more violent even, than my time in the army. there wasn’t a single day when someone didn’t get beaten up. sometimes i got beat up and sometimes i beat someone up. sometimes both in one day. it was how things were: the hard guys got the girls, and the weedy ones didn’t. it was a culture driven by hormones, by violence and by pussy.

the other day i was down there, when a guy called clive approached me in a pub. he recognised me after nearly 40 years, and he wanted to apologise for having bullied me at school. i remembered instantly how he had once dragged me behind some shops and kicked me to the floor and carried on kicking until i vomited with pain. i remember the pleasure he got from it. i remember how he’d made my life hell for a whole summer.  he grew up with two drunken parents, and every day, at home, he witnessed and experienced violence. he saw his mum punched in the face. he got worse himself.

there was never any violence in my home. it was a peaceful place. once, my granddad slapped me across the face with a rolled up porn mag he had found, hidden, in my room. i was 5 inches taller than him at the time and 15. he was in his sixties. it stung for a few seconds and left a mark for a few minutes. it was nothing.

i got my own back on clive by pretending that i didn’t recall him. he’d spent serious chunks of his adult life regretting things he’d done as a child. all he wanted was a chance at redemption. it would have been so easy to forgive him but so much more rewarding to have him think that i didn’t even remember him.


The party

so, the party is in full swing. everyone is having a good time. the music is rocking, the booze flowing and the smoke billowing. i’m playing a game of acid chess with a hot italian chic. it involves no pieces and no board and i think i’m winning. everyone is having a great time, that is until he shows up.

“oh fuck!” i hear someone mutter and i look up and there he is, surveying the revelry. you can feel the atmosphere drain from the room. most of us try to pretend we haven’t seen him, but it does no good.
“quiet everyone!” he shouts, “there’s something i need to say.” as the sound dies down, a few eyes roll as we reluctantly look his way. “i just want you all to know that i love you. all of you.” there is a general murmur and a few ‘thanks mate’ and ‘that’s nice’. hoping that’s it, everyone tries to get back to the fun, but i’ve been here before and i know there’s no chance of that, not now. “excuse me!” he barks, drawing all our attentions back to him,” but didn’t i just say something?” you can almost taste the collective sigh.
“we love to too man.” someone says and the rest of us nod and utter in agreement.
“well then,” he demands, “don’t you think it would be a nice idea if you all starting singing some songs about me, about how cool it is that i love you all so much?” everyone realises that this cunt is way too boorish to be ignored and somebody starts humming.

the italian chic and i sneak out the back, unseen, with a couple of others, and as we’re waiting for a bus she asks me “who was that asshole?”
“oh him,” i say, “that’s god.”


The power of thought

I think of you often.
I think of you,
Long and hard.
Thoughts rise up,
Ideas bubble,
My imagination tingles
With electric visions.
My mind throbs
And then erupts,
Thoughts fly
And flow,
Dribbling down
And over my soul,
Thoughts so
Hot and sticky
I can taste them.


What a cunt!

“cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt. cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt? cunt! cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt… cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt! cunt?”

“and that’s supposed to be what?”

“modern art, apparently”

“seriously?”

“seems so.”

“what a cunt!”