It’s been a week when people have
been telling each other about the woman called Myra
Hindley who has done so much to murder people,
children.
According to Mr Straws in
the Homes Office, that woman should not be going free
from her prison, and it’s because of all the bad crimes she used to do, in the sixties.
It’s not for me to talk, but I remember the
sixties. Well, I don’t. But we all know what it
was on about, that time when it was swinging. Sex was
happening for the first time since my war, and all sorts
of unusual experiments, such as Woodstock, had been
important to the society.
Therefore, look at it: the sixties made a lot of fuss
about it and today we would not think twice about
saying, ‘stop that, right away’. But back
then - that’s what they did. Would today people
like a riot because of Vietnam and long hair? No no. How
about a flowers everywhere? Not a hope. Taking all the
drugs and having sex with a hundred people, some of them
flower-children? Not now,
no.
And what about Myra
Hindley and her Brady? Not acceptable now, but part of
the sixties, just the same as being vile with groupies,
smoking fags in the Queen’s toilet, and the
musical hair. Does this mean we should also imprison
Manfred Mann, Ruth Buzzi, Easy Rider and The Hollies? I
don’t think so.
There we are...
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THE TWENTY-THIRD DAY...
"But,
day
in day out do we sit upon this hearth," Curval bleated
as if in in disdainful wail, "and nothing it
does occur".
The
Duc was sore displeased by his guest's outburst. "Have I not my
videos of Fantasy Football League to entertain
you?", he
admonish'd.
"Badly
edited out-takes do not
douse the fire within my loins, O Duc. I wish
for that the Devil himself to take my cock and run
with it in a spurious fashion up the anuses of virgins and boys and priests of both sexes - even dogs."
The Duc smiled serene'ly and reach'd for his lower shelf wherein there sat a special box which contain'd both 'Smeg Ups' videos and five copies of the Smegazine.
"Perchance, dear old friend, we can watch these crazy out-takes with their swearing and ill-nature, then quiz each other on series 2?
Curval sniff'd with apparent distaste. "No, Duc. You are misunderstanding my base desires. I wish to embugger the very life from the weak and the maimed. I wish to cut into the bleeding stinking womb of Nature herself and rip out the ever-twtiching foetus of goodness. I wish to devour the turds of the world. I wish to feel pain and that others share that unnecessary discomfort, flailing in the darkness of my rape, spilling my fuck at the gnarl'd hooves of Satan Himself. And before you start, no, I don't want to watch your copy of Peter Kay Live At The Blackpool Tower. It is really no match for thrusting deep into the bowels of a wayward virgin and stretching the cunt until it splits under the sheer weight of mine evil. I wish to rape and fuck. I will no more endure such talk of cheap pop and how long the dads do piss."
The Duc's head bowed in sadness. A tear fell onto a colourful rectangular casing upon which bore the title 'Spitting Image: Rubber Thingies'.
Curval, his outburst satiated, calmed his ire and sigh'd in meloncholy. "Alright, let's watch the Rentaghost DVD again. I'll make the tea."
(from 120 Days Of Sod All
by The
Marquis DeNothing)
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