Adventures of Bloated and Doomed (10)

The Adventures of Bloated and Doomed
Plague of the week: Purple teeth.
Chapter 1o: WINETASTINg

Yum yum, there are many cleverly anonymised bottles
Yum, yum, we are many thirsty patrons.
We have new glasses especially for the occasion
We have three soups, garlick bread, and mystery casserole.
All vegan of course.

Wine 1: We swirl. We sniff. We set rumours right about legs and cork sniffing. Alex shares that he hasn't masturbated in 15 HOURS!

Wine 2: We burp. We cringe at its nail polishy redness, undoubtedly the £2.80 Haddows special. We decide this wine has no legs.

Wine 3: First spill. We stomp it into the carpet.

Wine 4: The wine demands reggae. We oblige. We think it might be the Italian.

Wine 5: Half-hearted attack of remaining soups until someone remembers it is time to pour again. We lose our pen.

WIne 6: Half-time. Pen is retrieved from potato and coriander soup. EVentual phone call to and rendez-vous with drug dealer. He is celebrating something and sounds happy to hear from us.

We pay a social call to the housing projects.

Extended break.

Jane falls asleep. Alex declares that he loves his friends, his friends are so great. they have great ideas like winetasting parties. THey know guys who sell weed.

They take ages.
They return plastered.

Eventually we return to the wines. It is heard more than once, Guys, we HAVE to finish this.

I want to finish these wines.

Wine 7: Camille curses as Tim forces the wine past her lips: Nononononooo... she says, I don't want any more of your fucking SOUP!..., trails off and passes out..

Wine 8: it is mystery what happened during this round. little evidence is recorded. the page for recording comments about wine 8 contains purple stains. nothing more.

however, the next morning over veggie breakfast at Snax, the boys piece together flashbacks of Dai rallying a Best Wine victory for the Tesco French he declared the best wine he ever did drunk.

Ever.

MY DAY

Alex called.
I had to talk him from his ledge.
He bought his first gay porn.
There was a feature on the Russian gymnastic team.
THe Russians are coming! says Alex.

*

Porno.
What is the movie about? we asked the ticket lady.
You know what the movie is about, she said.
Did she just wink at us? Mick asked.
Yes, I said. Let’s buy tickets.

*

Yes, it is warmer in Barcelona.
There are more leisure boats in Barcelona.
I ate an ice cream in Barcelona.
Everyone else wants to live there.

*

I got my glasses back today.
After walking two blocks I felt sick.
All the women looked exhausted,
the sidewalks were filthy,
my shoes were those of a clown,
and my friends were jerks.
I returned home to reconsider my life.

*

Furrotica!
Discovered hidden beneath the litter box.
Busted!

*

I’m having so much fun.
This song is an athem.
The summer is over.
The song is embarrassingly cheap.

*

Buy our product! Buy our product!
You are ugly! You are ugly!
We make nice women, smooth orange women who make casseroles and drive Ferraris.
You will never get to meet these women
because they live in books

*

Head colds.
Make you snuffle in the night.
Make you say fuck fuck fuck as you sleep.
You don’t hear this of course
because you’re sleeping.
but your friends sleeping next to you do.

*

I was emitting large amounts of heat as I sleep.
They were all sweating.
I wasn’t.
How ironic.

*

How about those Canadians?
They’re bloody fucking great, that’s how.
(blows nose vigorously)
I want to marry a Canadian,
the race bred for marrying.
He will be reliable and trustworthy-
Make no mistakes.

*

The Calgary School of Marrying.

*

That hat just won’t fit on my head!
It fits Dai’s head.
He has a small Welsh head.
He would be a kiwi fruit,
The Canadians would be oranges,
trusty citrus fruit.
Never you mind what kind of fruit the Russians might be...

*

Mmmm… Mounties. Got the horn again.

*

Mounties take Alex's horn to Timpson to get rehorned
when the horn is all worn through.
Timpson is expensive, says Seizure, they are the most expensive.

*

OH, the things you can find in a dumpster.
Dumpsters, babies born of the mother dump you will never see.
Of dumps, I imagine hillocks of computer screens
and punks in Converse crawling about on top,
begging for a film crew or transvestite musical to
strike up the band.

*

Falling jars of ink is a classic oh shit moment.
Tree trunk rushing toward forehead is a classic oh shit moment.

*

I love when foreign people sing along to their favourite song
The words are all totally wrong.
Personal Jesus becomes Person Cheats Us.
It’s bad to laugh, but you can’t help it.

*

Hair dressers kill buttermilk and this continually wears out
the trainee doctors. The teenagers are dreaming of being hair dressers.
Already frustrated with buttermilk, they seek an outlet.

*

The day the hair meet the football was a sacred day.
They met on a muddy field.
The rest is history. This is why we celebrate.
THIS is why it is illegal to wear pigskin in your hair.

THE END.

The day I found me i also found my mother

After washing her hands, she glanced in mirror at her reflection as always.

Despite the fact that her face changed little, especially when she looked at it fifteen times a day, like the rest of us, she was unable to pass a mirror without looking. It was the same face, yet she spent hours examining the glass.

She first noticed the girl during a temper tantrum in 1980.

I want a BEDTIME SNACK.
No.

I WANT CHEEEESE.
No. Its time to sleep.

A LITTLE PIECE OF CHEESE!
Nooo….

She jumped Up and Down, Up and Down on the bed, bawling and howling.

BUT I’M HUUUUNGRY.
i said NO!

She did not want to go to sleep and sought a new diversional tactic for Mother. Mother was downstairs plain old ignoring her now. She shook her snotty fist and hollered some more until she noticed on her dresser, in the mirror, a little girl jumping up and down with her.
She stopped.
The girl stopped.
They looked at each other in amazement. Their faces were red as a squashed tomato and their nightgowns were flung sideways across their knees. They looked ridiculous. Anyone could see, especially a mother, that cheese would not solve the problem.

She climbed off the bed and walked over to the mirror for a closer look at the girl. It was the first time they had met. She had a good look, watching until her eyelashes dried and dairy products were forgotten.

Just when they were about to speak, one of the girls got sleepy and climbed into bed. The other girl followed reluctantly.

It was always this same face that returned to the mirror, yet she spent twenty-four more years examining the curved elfin eyes and expectant look.

Was she trying to see herself as others do? Was she trying to imagine herself older, remember herself younger? Wondering what she looked like sleeping? Smiling to fool strangers?

Her internal clock told her it was the time to dry her hands and leave the toilet. 5 minutes ago. But the elf in the mirror waited patiently for a response. The eyes were friendly with a hint of dare and disdain.

One of them was a spy for mother.