Monday, 20 June 2011

Pinkeye Speaks!

Hitherto, therefore?

That is a query.

Actually my recent remarks about sex didn't go down too well. Weird. Considering going down was an integral part of sex.
I should like to say that my recent exploits in the mid-Lurgan elections have been green-lighted for use on celluloid so one day you will see the film just keep watching this space.
I would also like to state that recent allegorical depositions regarding my character are distorted and taken entirely out of character. I did not necessarily go to the hairdressers, they came to me. In any event Pinkeye likes the glamour models and they like me. This is not a boast or cause for ruction, this is a statement of fact. My admiration for their dispersal of clothes is paramount and in any case I imagine myself as better looking than I actually am so, that works too.

I've been given this rare blurb due to the absence of stories about my good pal, Junax, as he is still asleep. When he wakes up he hopes to see a clear horizon and new day. I always see them, usually about 4 in the morning and 6 in the evening.
I sympathise deeply with his predicament over the stylist, truly I do, where no one else would. It was foolishness above and beyond the call of duty to get sucked into that and he has fallen asleep as a result. The warning signs were all there...with basic gumption he could have extricated himself in March without further to-do. But Junax doesn't get laid as much as he thinks he should. That always happens with the next boyfriend. This is why the next boyfriend is universally loathed across the planet. What South American republic in its right mind would offer them sanctuary? None. We're not talking about the natural order of things, just them that move in on the relationship while it is still in progress. What assholes, eh? Incredible. That's my Canadian affectation by the way.

What was I talking about? The film! Fuck, right. Yep, my entire campaign in detail. I electioneered on the principle 'That I look pretty fly for a guy with the Pinkeye'. It won me votes, somewhere. We're still counting. Unfortunately the winning count was Serbo-Croat, a recent addendum to the ballot. But I accepted defeat with grace and favour, certainly better than the TUV candidate who threatened to kill everybody when he didn't win and had to be sedated. I fear the TUV will return with their murderous promises in five years. But so will I! Ha! Just will not be offering to off everyone. Might have sex with some of the bustier females. Y'see, what Mr Serbo-Croat MP fails to understand is I will be there in  five years and he won't. I've sewn the seeds of my foundations of my future success. The electorate have heard from Pinkeye, they have heard Pinkeye's promises and they will hear them again. Just as you will hear from me again. Unless Junax wakes up or I can think of fuck all else to say.

Remember! That which you do not forget is that which you have remembered. And that's a campaign promise from me to you.



Friday, 3 June 2011

Fuck it an' save it for the next time!

It had been two weeks.

Junax was still in his chair but this time he was musing...
He was musing about the stylist and her wee porridgey bit o' pussy fungus, known to his parents (for they knew not better or, sadly, they knew not Durex) as David Dodds.

Perchance... thought Junax, imagined he...what he should have done was to say to her that he wanted to sever all contact with her while she was knocking around with this numb-nuts. Then if, by some chance, Dumb Dodds had not impregnated her and she'd come to her senses and realised that there were tins of Dulux emulsion with more personality and interest about them than this pile of dried Dodds diarrhoea she'd settled for (and boy had she just SETTLED for it) Junax would consider resuming some form of contact. On a trial basis, a kind of probation, so she could be trusted again.

He rubbed his chin a moment or so at this consideration. Ah fuck it! That was what he realised after. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Best to not observe the pregnancy announcements in the breeding section of the Mid Ulster News, (a paper whose editions were ritually burnt before they could get past Lisburn) and instead draw a line on the sand and say farewell to the whole sick affair. Yes that was better Junax reckoned. Then again Junax was a complete arsehole so it perhaps was not in her interest.

And with that situation successfully reviewed, he went to sleep :)