There, eel entered – it was tall and mean and by Jove it was insane and meaty.
When I heard its first words I thought I was a fool, but just then I said to myself – why the fuck have you come to me in my moment of glory you fucking cunt!
You are a barbarous bore you fancied dumpty. You have absolutely nothing to say except banishments and Bohemian messes. By god you should be executed and dined at the same time – welcome to your dinner party.
These men.
They prance upon the heather.
By JOVE they are
The Worst.
Could GOD,
In all his mightiness – and by GOD HE IS MIGHTY, devourer of all things; light without lantern; shadow without moon; dark force surging in all things and judging all things, making all things lesser except himself. Bringer of fine wines for his son. But no-one else. Kind god of greatness you come to me and you say that I am to be your saviour? No. Shouts the dark sky (of which this did not occur, because it is impossible). I am but a voice in your head making you feel as though you have felt god’s thrust and spear! Have you had any wine tonight? Only a few. Well that is a shame – but also glory. We shall glory together later – is this god? Yes, you fucking idiot, this is god you stupid desert rat – get a grip! Do you know all things and can you tell me if my wife has but betrayed me in lying with another man? No. No bloody way. She is pure and mighty – a sainty upon your shoulders, that Jewish minx! Then it is you, dear lord. Will you comfort me with all knowledge that you have? Yes, I shall comfort you through dance. Stand back. I am about to launch myself into a sway of beauty and thrill! Then god danced – god, I love you.
First God died.
Then business died.
Then America died.
And we all thought it was a waste of time and a waste of money – we will all hope to see they don’t blow us into little pieces.
Darn the frizzy hair, toupées, and game theory!
Shout at a German.
Get an answer.
Tell a joke about the war.
Pretend you don’t care.
Do the Hitler moustache.
Laugh.
Drink.
Leave.
Regret intensely. But still be suspicious of The Germans and their Middle Power Problem.
If there was nothing except shame, we would all expect to be in the same boat.
Jove once said to me that there is nothing else out there except the flashy nature of boring men who have nothing to say and more to show.
I thought about this for a while and then became aware that I was sitting in my Porsche 911 2001. It was red and shiny and I looked really good.
I stamped and tramped and pulled my pants down – but I did it in-front of everyone and made sure I cried.
Everyone else sympathised, and I did it again next week, only this time for lots of money because they brought a camera.
In death do we depart – no, no, I can still see the body and I have your voice stuck in my head.
Those fucking traffic lights.
They have no right to be there!
This is what they spend their time and money on.
They have absolutely nothing to do.
They sit around all day and pretend they’re the boss.
They have absolutely no authority over me.
I am far more intelligent.
I have written 10 books, and one of them was recommended for the Puzitzer Prize.
I am so angry at them.
They must be punished!
So, I entered the internet.
I made my conclusions.
I made up a story – I pretended I was a reporter (I am well versed in this because I am a writer and won the Puzitzer Prize and have a lifetime Rapscallian Award).
I call them up.
I say that I am reporting, from The Daily Mail (a most terrifying and peculiar establishment – I raise my fist and dam them all to the hell, due to the celebrity insights section of their website giving me many a sleepless night from my eternal infatuation with Kim Kardashian and her perfect bottom!), and state that I am investigating a misallocation of public funds with an accusation of corruption and public monies syphoning.
I continue to share a proof of identity by going on to explain the many prizes I have won as a writer (I have, in fact, won many. I have won the Puzitzer Prize (I have written over 10 books), have a lifetime Rapscallian Award (from drinking with Reginald and Vic), and have been known to sink 4 shandy pints in under the minutes – this is not quite an award, but I have been locally recognised for this outstanding ability).
They continue their line of questioning to me; I suspect they are trying to suss me out. The fools don’t seem to be quivering whatsoever. I, however, find it quite difficult to hold myself in one place. The phone is now flailing through the air as I lose control of my limbs – from a combination of excitement, nervousness and fear. This is when I start vomiting all over myself – I am now supremely scared of the consequences of my actions and simply cannot go on pretending to be someone else.
I, therefore, must state who I am; everything from my full name, to address, drink preference, age, blood type. I even include a small insight into my sexual preferences – dam you Daily Mail and Kim Kardashian!
Oh to hell they screamed down the phone and broke my cover – but I still hold the higher ground because they are reckless enough to sue me for libel.
What fools they are indeed.
*an interruption in my writing*
Sir, how would you like your bushel cut?
Ahh, yes.
Into the shape of a phallus, my dear man.
I have guests coming later and need to impress.
*the writing continues*
But they won’t suspect my next line of inquiry.
Hi Jane
I completely deny all accusations made against me. It is a definition of our time that the ‘wandering hand syndrome’ can no longer be forgiven – we work in the film industry for goodness sake!
Please take this no further, otherwise I will crush you; just like how I am winning against the dying woke dyke culture.
On a brighter note, would you like to open a 2001 Margot with me this evening?
Happy wishes and lots of love,
Wormtail.
All charges were pressed.
Wormtail prevails!
He turns the light off.
A shadow creeps through the low lighting that’s spilling through the cracks of his blind.
He opens one eye to see a shining glimmer in his presence.
Resounded and seemingly sound of mind,
He unveils his duvet and creeps onto his boards.
Down he goes into a submission of guilt, more than anything.
He begs for mercy – please, please, dear Lord!
As he stands a grand realisation comes to him.
He looks over his side table and sees 4 empty bottles of vodka and a pack Valium, open and bereft.
He retreats into bed and laughs himself to sleep, again.
Kanye West, he’s the best.
My shining knight to all delight.
He raps, he wrips, he gives me lots of tips!
I am blessed to be in such company. The other day he come over for a big cup of tea and we talked about big stuff. That man is great and we now get on very well.
We talked about really extreme stuff and girlfriends. I told him about the time I walked across this really big marsh – and it was really horrible – and I just walked and walked until I got to this pub by the side of road. It was in the middle of a vast valley, with great hills either side, and there was strong mist floating around my ankles.
I burst open the door. There she sat, stunning and beautiful. I bustled my way across the floor – oiling like an eel with a stiff shirt, open collar and dashing white shoes.
I approach.
She stands.
My nerves very much shredding as she opens her mouth to say her words to. She says, “we would like 3 shandies and a bottle of milk please”.
I retreat. I push the order through.
That bloody waistcoat – darn you to hell!
As the aliens are eating their exceptional In n Out burgers (the animal-style specialé), I sniggered and cursed them, for they had ginormous foreheads.
We had a scrap and made up afterward.
They are bores and their planet sounds smelly.
I want nothing more to do with them.
This here, now man standing.
Sinking ship, with its crew in terror.
Crashing waves of indigo and violet,
From the dipping sun.
And there I was, prancing about the bridge,
In my blouse and wig.
Singing violent delights.
What a sight it must have been!
Slithering down the hallway with disgusting bookmarks lying on the floor and all the wallpaper is peeling.
Wormtail is prevailing forwards, with a woman on his arms.
‘Meh’ he thinks to himself – such awful taste. He sips his wine and dribbles on the lady coming hither-to, hither-there!
That onerous most monstrous bore – how dare they enter my vicinity!
Wormtail has been, for many days, in a grump.
He wishes for fresh blood and dried mud on his skin – oh the bog jumping; where are they, by Jove and all his goodness??!
Wearing a gown and eating salted bread.
He comes around the bend, rolling like one of those weird moving ball vehicles built for freaks.
There he slides – like a great woman with an expensive set of priced priceless pearls.
Wormtail itches his bottom and then retreats as he finds his foot stuck between the in-between bit of the pavement.
A great blow-off engulfed his mansion!
Sinking pints with Reginal and Vic has become fucking boring – they are BORES and BY JOVE they have seen the last of me!
Down at the pub we were there, in the pub and munching on grub.
This great tall blonde beauty comes hither to me.
I smile with a crude sense of indulgence as I internally purr at the prospect of drinking champagne like a tall vampire.
Over she comes as Reginal vomits all over my cool suede shoes – I continue but cannot stop myself following Reginald’s suit.
Black or white, sir?
I wish for both – to me, they are the very same.
He sipped his beer and continued to dance in his elongated and fibber-flapper shoes.
Only the tipper-tapper of his fibber-flapper shoes were heard all night.
Wormtail's Thoughts & Brain 