o1. I Just Killed A Donkey
That sunk in yet? Just take a minute there to think about that happening. Donkey standing there, eating some grass maybe, looking about at some stuff, chillin’. Maybe just standing around in general. But then suddenly, out of what seems like nowhere, comes a big old fucking artic! Straight into the side of the donkey! Splat! Bang! Donkey. Artic. Smash-a-fuckin-roonied!! Donkey body hurled thirty odd yards from it’s chillin’ spot, artic severely dented, fur, blood, donkey flesh all matted in the grill. Mutilated donkey corpse laying mangled in a heap on the ground. And as if that isn’t enough, the artic side door opens and a guy jumps down, brandishing a very expensive cricket bat, sprints over to the dead donkey mess and starts beating it mercilessly with the bat into a big mushy pulp. The man covered in spray, bile and bone matter. Bits of donkey flying high into the air with every rise of the bat and then pieces cascading in every direction is it comes back down to pound the creatures lifeless body time and time again, until it is nothing more than a mushed up mass of bloodied guts.
Sweet lordy oh riley!!
I just did that man.
That’s all just happened.
Needlessly too! I love donkeys, I’ve got nothing against them whatsoever. I don’t even own an artic and that donkey was stood in a field at least a good three-hour drive from my house and a good mile and a half away from any fucking roads. But sometimes in life you’ve just gotta’ get up and follow what your instincts tell you to do. And mine told me to break into my girlfriend’s sister’s boyfriend’s lock up, steal his big ol’ lorry and drive it as far towards Mexico as I possibly could.
Not knowing quite how to get to Mexico from Shrewsbury I decided to drive to the nearest Texaco and see if they had any ideas.
And so it turns out that words that rhyme don’t necessarily share any connections whatsoever.
After no one had managed to offer me any decent insight as to how to get to Mexico I was forced to rob the Texaco and shoot the man behind the till. I managed to get away with a triple sandwich pack, some Airwaves, a book for my mum and a small fan that looked like a flower made of fuzzy felt. I put the money in the till myself because the staff were too dead to do it on their own and sprinted back to the truck.
I sat there staring for a moment, in a daze as to what had just happened. Whilst I sat, I guzzled down most of the Airwaves, I figured that if anyone was after me that they’d surely be able to smell the lies and death on my breath, so a few chewing gum would definitely do me some good, or at least buy me some time. I saved the sandwiches for later. I knew that if anyone was to try to sniff out some clues on my breath, the smell of assorted sandwich would be far more potent if they caught me whilst I was eating them. The only problem with my plan, was that for the duration of the rest of the spree that I was on, I going to have to hold the sandwiches in one hand, in case anyone snuck up on me and tried a surprise attack. This meant that I could just shove one in my gob as fast as possible if anyone made such a move. I considered keeping my mouth open for the duration as well but I was too scared of loosing any valuable air. You know how precious air is? We need it to survive! So I’ll be fucked if I’m gunna drive around with my mouth wide open letting it all escape, all because I’m scared someone’s gunna jump out on me and find me not eating a sandwich! It’s lunacy. Lunacy one step too far!
After I’d finished reading my mum’s new book, which was terrible by the way, I had forgotten why I was even in a garage at all and I started to query why I’d been committing crimes and murdering garage staff in the first place. I quickly came to the conclusion that I must be on some sort of mission. So I took to the roads and drove as fast and for as long as I possibly could.
A few hours down the line and I felt I’d gotten nowhere. My breath wasn’t minty any more. I’d failed to avoid eating the sandwiches and in a burst of wild rage I’d thrown my sweet mumma’s book at a car filled with a family of some sort. They looked at me like I was crazy. I looked at them like they were pudding. And I sped off as fast as the artic could go. Oh they overtook me in seconds. How they must have laughed. How the book must have laughed. FUCK YOU BOOK! CURSE YOU FOR LEAVING ME! LEAVING ME FOR THAT CAR OF PUDDING!!
It was getting lonely in the artic. Cold in the artic. I put the heating on but it only made it hot in the artic, so I did down the windows but it only made it windy in the artic. Nothing was going right. So I turned left. I made a burst off of the motorway and smashed through a fence into a wide set of fields and I drove. I drove as fast as I could. Through field after field, fence after fence. It was getting rural in the artic. I was getting wild in the artic, thrashing to and throw like a wild beast tangled in a net made of bees in the artic and then I saw it. Stood there so blissfully unaware. So peaceful. So free. It was the opposite of me. I was unpeaceful. Unfree. My ears were small and hairless. I had no tail. I didn’t like grass. My hands were hoofless and I was filled with an anger so hot and crazy that I couldn’t do anything but bite down in rage and loathe the donkey. I had to smash right into it. “SMASH SMASH SMASH THE BEAST!!! SMASH THE BEAST!!” I screamed it so loud that I thought my voice might actually come out and start smashing the creature with me.
Eventually, after having circled the donkey for hours I finally went in for the kill.
I remember the force of the impact, the donkey launching through the air like a large donkey sized rag doll. Like a big piñata. Mexico! That’s where I was going! That’s where I was headed! HIT THE PIÑATA! HIT THE DONKEY! BEAT IT AND RETRIEVE ITS DELICIOUS TREATS!! I reached into the back of the truck, slayed one of the cricketers I’d had held hostage in there and threw him to the side, searching for the box of assorted sports goods. I knew that there was one in there. I knew it had bats in it too. Bats for beating. Bats for smashing. Bats for piñata!! If only I hadn’t captured all of those god damn cricketers, they were so many in number, so in my way! I slayed cricketers left right and centre. I shoved body after body out of the way until I finally had hands on the box. I pulled out a fine looking swinger and took it straight to the donkeys head.
Then I had to deal with beating the rest of the cricketers senseless and to then, of course, make an anal sacrifice to he who had watched over me.
The cricketer killing went well.
But the anal sacrifice…
Oh the anal sacrifice was a disaster.
I’d only just made up the idea and I really had no idea of what I was supposed to do. In the end I just followed my instincts and cut off all of my eyelashes and all of my feet, tied them up in a big bundle and threw them as far as I could across the length of the field.
Turns out that words that don’t rhyme also often share no correlation and similarities.
Anyway none of that actually happened, so you can forget all about it and relax. Chill out, smiley face, have a drink, smoke some herb, kick a spider in the balls or whatever it is you kids are doing these days.
And yeah so what? I told a little lie, stole essentially a little bit of your life and wasted it on something completely not true and very, very silly. So what? You don’t mind, I don’t mind, in fact I recon that you kinda’ enjoyed it a little. Didn’t you? And now you want a little more you cheeky little rascal! Well I suppose I could give you a little more. You wanna’ know why I “wasted” your time? Do you have any idea why? Do you see any idea why?
Ok then I’ll tell you…
Raisy Eyebrow Smirk Face…
At some stage in our lives we all reach a certain point where our minds kind of melt and snap. Melting and snapping… It’s not often that happens either. Most substances that have melted are beyond the days of snapping. But oh the mind is a wondrous thing right?
Anyway not all of us reach this point, in fact most never do. But I did. Working for a triple-chinned asshole for bordering on twenty odd years in a dead-end job with no satisfaction, reward or praise, not even acknowledgment. Living with a girl who I’m desperately in love with and her stupidly fucking amazing boyfriend who just so happened to end up becoming my best friend because he truly is actually amazing and is also probably the coolest person I’ve ever met. Can best friends be in love with each others girlfriends? Is that Allowed? Probably not.
But yeah… my dad left when I was just a sperm swimming up my mother’s dark vaginal tunnel… gross. And as for Mother? Disapproving, disappointed, hateful Mother? Haven’t seen her since she kicked me out at the tender young age of nine in the freezing cold December of eighty-five. Lived as a street child for two nights before getting picked up by a local pimp (that’s right I said ‘local pimp’). Oh and don’t worry, she (that’s right I said ‘she’) didn’t turn me into a little nine-year old whore and start pimping me out to our math teacher or anything like that, though old Mr. Ryan would have loved that. No she only had me for a few hours before dropping me off at a local foster home; apparently I wasn’t even good-looking enough for paedophiles. Is it wrong that I resent that?
So the kids at the foster home bullied me for seven long years before I managed to escape and start my job at the Wentworth’s Quality Led Shipments Office (Lancashire Branch) and got to move in with Smelly Eddie the Janitor. I started working there as the boy in the backroom and now, eighteen years later, at the age of thirty-four, I am the man who files the paperwork that gets copied and scanned by the boy in backroom. I like to think that I have, in some way, progressed over the years to becoming a senior to my original roll. I haven’t. I tried, once, to boss the latest backroom boy; some snotty, teenaged, blackhead-ridden shite, around a little. I told him to “Hurry up copying my monthly revenue report!” and he told me to eat my own cock. I mean how do you even do that? You could do a Manson I suppose… or become a self consuming cannibal. Is there such a thing? Probably. I’m sure if you Googled it there would be. Anyway, what had infuriated me most about the whole thing wasn’t the fact that my bossing had failed miserably or that my fantasy of being in some way superior to my old title and that little puss filled fuck head had been completely trampled on, or even the fact that he’d just told me to ingest my own manhood, it was the fact that he didn’t even look at me when he said it. Not even so much as a glance. Am I not even worth a glance anymore? At least back in the home they would look at me when they insulted me, they’d normally beat me too. Here I was only worth vocal attacks. Not even worth the energy in moving an eye towards my general direction. Come to think of it, even when I was living with Smelly Eddie in his smelly, one bedroom flat, even he would rarely look at me, he’d just mutter to his television weird smelly things. Luckily I only had to live with Smelly Eddie for three months before I met lovely Sarah.
Sarah worked in the sandwich shop right opposite our office and being the backroom boy meant that I was often on sandwich fetching duty for old Triple Chin and his boardroom of old rotting wankers. Sarah made amazing sandwiches, she had long amazing dark hair, an amazing smell of sweet things, flowers, bread, fruit, sugar, clean clothes and loveliness. She had amazing hazel eyes, an amazing smile and fuck me did she have an amazing enormous pair of bazoomas. I was in love with her from the very first moment I set eyes on her. I sometimes think that if the first thing that I ever said to her wasn’t “Tuna, watercress & egg, two ham & cheese, one honey mustard & steak and a cheese & pickle please.”, maybe she’d now be with me and not amazing, wonderful, fucking cool Dan. Because although through my many sandwich shop visits (often out of my working hours) we eventually became familiar enough with each other to start chatting whilst I sat and ate my chicken & mayo, to the point where we became friends and then to an even further point at which she actually proposed to me (no not that…) the idea of living with her in her nice not smelly flat instead of Smelly Eddies incredibly nasty and very smelly one, I never said those magic first words that Dan said to her when he first walked through the sandwich shop doors; “Excuse me but can I get a err… uhh… umm… a… woah, sorry but I’ve completely lost my train of thought. It’s just that, well it’s just your… your so… so… your just so beautiful.”. No, the first thing I ever said to her was definitely “Tuna, watercress & egg, two ham & cheese, one honey mustard & steak and a cheese & pickle please.”, and as a consequence I have definitely just killed a donkey.
Ok so maybe I did kill a donkey. Maybe I panicked and lied when I said that I’d lied about actually killing one. But the killing wasn’t as mad and lucrative as I may have first made out. It was a complete accident I swear…
End of Part One.