Yeah, seagulls exploding, yeah, thatll be grand. Possibly we could use them as bombs the next time sinister fc play nme fc, yeah, thatll be grand. You know this reminds me of when I was a kid we CRASH, what the... Hang on a second; somethings just hit my window... Wait a minute, no it can t be, the pungent smell of strong cannabis, the sickly stench of cheep root whisky, accompanied by a faint whiff of death, and, oh God it is as well. Well look what the cat dragged in. ME: Where the hell have you been ay? PP: Squawk! Fuck me. [brushing off suit] ME: Id rather not PP: Fucking hell! Where the hell havent I been? It all started about eight months ago. I was having a nice little break in Colombia, you know, sun, sand, sangria, trill, the works, nice little holiday. Anyway, it was the last night and you know me, I decided to go gambling, well, while the cats away. ME: What? PP: Mrs PP wasnt there so ME: You didnt take your wife with you, you cheep bastard. PP: Fuck off! [right wing slammed onto desk] Ive been to hell and back and the last thing I need is a lecture from a shitty little wank stain like you okay [pointing index feather]. ME: Sorry, its just that PP: Well, all I ask is a little respect thats all; I used to work my arse off for you bastards and all I ask, the one thing I ask for you to give a little respect to me. ME: Wasnt that a line from a Jimmy Somerville record. PP: Are you taking the cunting piss pall? I mean, do you think Im some sort of mug, some sort of fairy [right wing raised and end feathers made to go limp], Ill tear off your ugly fucking head and shit down your ugly fucking hole you ugly fucking bleeding arse squirrel. Listen pal, one more smart arse bollock from you and [reaching into jacket and removing a Stanley knife] Ill introduce you to my friend Stanley, do I make myself - crystal - fucking - clear. ME: Yes Im sorry. PP: Good. Anyway, I was surrounded by these double hard bastards, real ugly motherfuckers; anyway, I show my hand and fuck my uncle if it isnt a Royal flush. Well, Im quids in. ME: Great, so you cleaned up? PP: Well sort of, I stood up to draw in the mountain of cash on the table and half the deck fell out of my sleeve. ME: Crumbs, I can imagine what your face looked like, so what did you do. PP: What? ME: What steps did you take? PP: Fucking great big ones! I shot out of there like shit off a shovel. I tell you, you couldnt see me for dust, and I was gone man, solid gone! ME: So what happened next? PP: Well, I tried to skip the country but every port was closed, well not closed but as it turns out the people I was playing with got connections with the government and as a result there were hundreds of people at airports, sea ports whatever looking for me. I tell you, it was a bitch. I managed to lie low, cleverly disguising myself as a care worker in an animal hospital. ME: Oh, like Rolf... er, never mind. PP: Thats a lovely smile - do you want another one? I told you, no more wisecracks. No, not like Rolf fucking Harris, just a humble animal lover. Man, I gotta tell you, theres some sick fuckers out there. Like this one time, I had to look after some penguins that came in at about two in the fucking morning or some god dam bastard hour. Its not their fault but two in the fucking morning, for fucks sake. Anyway, theyd been used for internet porn. I mean Jesus and his rubber twat bomb! Can you believe that somewhere, in cyberspace theres a picture of some sicko with his pr - pr - pr - prick up a penguin. Anyway, I managed to get smuggled out in a coffin. I know, but when the Devil vomits on your house you have to take the first council house outta there. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, I took the suit from the stiff in the coffin; I thought that it was a good idea to take his suit so ME: Youre wearing a dead mans suit? PP: Yeah, so they wouldnt recognise me, anyway, I need to hold up here for a few days, is that okay? ME: Well, err. PP: Good, [puts legs upon newly polished coffee table] ME: But I need a poem though. PP: Oh for fuck sake, dont I get a moments rest, okay, stick this bastard up your arse: THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS - CHRISTOPHER MARLOW Was this the face that launched a thousand ships? And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss: Her lips suck forth my soul, see where it flies! Come Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in there lips, And all is dross that is not Helena. I will be in Paris, and for love of thee, Instead of Troy shall Wertenberg be sackd; And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest; Yes I will wound Achillis in the heel, And then return to Helen for a kiss. O thou art fairer than the evening air, Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars: Brighter art thou then flaming Jupiter, When he appeard to hapless Semele; More lovely then the monarch of the sky In wanton Arethusas azurd arms; And none but thou shalt be my paramour. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+