Friday, 28 August 2009

To quote Angerfist; YES YES YES YES!

Just a little thing I found on the internet. Glorious. :)


Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Leith police
station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and
try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this
meassage on to your colleagues in Leith by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.
As I’m writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments
(I think you call them youths) in West Cromwell Street which is just off
Commercial Street in Leith . Six of them seem happy enough to play a game
which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of
a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout
the entire building. This game is now in it’s third week and as I am
unsure how the scoring sytem works, I have no idea if it will end any time
soon.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several
bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully
dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is
setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it’s only a
matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of
calor gas that is lying on it’s side between the two bins. If they could
be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily
leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches.
Unfortuneatly they are far more likely to blow up half the street with
Them and I’ve just finished decorating the kitchen.
What I suggest is this. after replying to this e-mail with worthless
assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with,
why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when
there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car
before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course
serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.
I trust that when I take a clawhammer to the skull of one of these
throwbacks you’ll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head
start before coming to arrest me.
I remain sir, your obedient servant
?????????



Mr ??????,
I have read your e-mail and understand your frustration at the problems
caused by youths playing in the area and the problems you have
encountered in trying to contact the police.
As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an
offer of discussing the matter fully with you.
Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details
(address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.
Regards
PC ???
????????????
Community Beat Officer



Dear PC ?????
First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my
original e-mail. 16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for
Leith Police station and rest assured that I will forward these details
To Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.
Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has it’s own community
beat officer. May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert
skills.
In the five or so years I have lived in West Cromwell Street , I have
Never seen you. Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and
infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the
moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin?
It’s surely only a matter of time before you are headhunted by MI5.
Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place
In Leith such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care
and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using
words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these twats that they
might want to play their strange football game elsewhere. The pitch
behind the Citadel or the one at DKs are both within spitting distance as is
the bottom of the Albert Dock.
Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to
contact me on ??? ????. If after 25 minutes I have still failed to
answer,
I’ll buy you a large one in the Compass Bar.
Regards
???????
P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you
don’t work for the cleansing department.

Wednesday, 26 August 2009

Seesaw Man!

Just a quick update:

JUST ADMIT IT; LIFE IS GOOD!

I like things :)
xxxxxxxx

Saturday, 22 August 2009

Raw Horse, Courtesy of a Man Named Chris

I step into the restaurant
And bellow my order
Bellow my order
Bring me a raw horse
Bring me a horse I roar! Waiter!
Bring me a whole horse
Bring me a whole live horse! Waiter!
The other customers quail
Bewildered children clutch their mothers' skirts
And wail
The maitre d'
Whimpers, smiles a nervous smile
And sidles up to me
'P'haps M'sieur would laak to traa
Som escalope of veal
Smothered in a rich waan sauce
With 'aricots vert
Et pommes Dauphinoise.....'NO! BRING ME A HORSE
An uneasy murmur ripples Round the room
As diners shuffle knives and forks And spoons
The air is dense with desperation And gloom
They're hoping it'll all be over Soon
They glance About
For a way To escape Then
One man panics and makes a break
I intercept him with a body check
That drives him through the plate glass shopfront
He dies impaled in a pool on the pavement
NOW NOBODY MOVE TILL I FINISH MY FOOD
And bring me a raw horse
Bring me a horse I roar Waiter!
The horse is brought
It shies and struggles and stamps and snorts
I strip to the waist
The waiter trips and stumbles
In his haste to get away
He crashes through the kitchen doors
Which clatter on their springs revealing
The sous-chef swinging by his apron strings
From a hook in the kitchen ceiling
My sinews strain and muscles flex
Flecks of foam from the horses nostrils
Spatter my chest
A couple of pensioners piss their pants
And with a screech beseech me
'Oh spare the noble beast
Eat us instead
We're old and bony
But our blood is red.Oh spare the horse'
The pair implore.
Two well aimed fish forks
Nail them to the wall.
The air is thick with sweatAnd fear
The horses eyes roll white
It screams and rears.
I grasp its head
And taking care to bite an ear off
While its still alive,
I wrestle it to the floor
Tables, chairs are splintered
Crockery breaksI snap its neck
Its legs keep flailing
As I tear into its flesh
Eating, eating, eating, eating,
Eating, eating, eating,
Eating, eating,
Eating
Till I'm sated.
Then when gorged
I torch the place
And walk away
Covered head to toe
In guts and gore,
Because I eat horses
I eat horses
I eat horses

RAW . . . .

Fuckin'

Grumble fucking grumble.
Das ist all. (Y)
Don't worry, children. Just a few shitholes in a row, we'll be back on track soon.

Wednesday, 12 August 2009

Hooray

So things don't always work out quite right. And sometimes they work worse than others. And sometimes it's entirely your fault, and sometimes it's entirely someone elses. Most of the time though it's more of a situation that you really don't do anything to help.

All that is needed for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.
Amen.