The Priest and our acquaintance return just as the blue-haired temptress makes her way to the juke-box, a stunningly brave move on her behalf. Who knows what frenzied nihilistic terrors might be torn from out my lust-hued fantasies should she make a choice along the lines of "You're Beautiful" or "One Vision"?
She flings on "New Dawn Fades" by Joy Division, a fantastic record, and yet no, we're done with, darlin. No way I can commit to a lass so enamored of Ian Curtis. Next thing anyone knows it's phone-calls at six in the AM about I was just thinking thoughts regarding black. Coke-ragged evenings spent listening to the sound of magpies roosting. Breakfast served on the yellowed pages o' psychoanalytical texts.
Still, maybe a quick filth out back a bus depot some time or other.
Did it work, I get to asking.
The Priest just walks off, muttering about "useless cunt" or "wanky sheets" or some such gabble, and himself all hangdog.
"I don't think so."
Sure enough, a lump still protruding out back his trousers could be nothing if not the author of Slander.
Then there's only one thing for it, I say.
Jeff Fahey.
Way back when, in the heady days of 1991, Jeff Fahey, you'll be aware, got smashed the fuck senseless in a motorway pile-up. You're gonna lose your arm, Jeff Fahey, so they said, but then no. Turns out a dead man only just died, and what's more, he had an arm or two would fit your muscular yet slender frame somethin' fuckin' glorious.
"So what happened?"
What happened is he got a new arm and everything was back to normal, although he seemed to have some issues with painting or something. I can't remember, I fell asleep in the middle.
"Well even so, where's a man to find an arse at this time o' the day?"
Where indeed? Where might a man find an arse, if not at the very peak of Bill O'Reilly's thighs.
Turns out Bill O'Reilly had torn the arsehole out his back sometime early that morning, on account of he stank up a public toilet something rotten and didn't want to admit it.
"How can it've been me?" he hollered, "I don't even have an arse!"
By the evening, we'd had Bill O'Reilly's frozen anus shipped to County Antrim, had my friend's arse removed by way of a noisy procedure involving doctors running back and forth tween operating rooms hollering about "I ain't got time!" to gun-shot wounded teenagers and having sundry affairs with each other, and had the new bum sown on in its place.
Article comments
1 - Aaron Fleming
Hahahaha! What a brilliant tale! Best short story I've read since that thing about the man in the clock that was in the big hole or something.
2 - Steve C.
Oh my God dude that was so awesome. Well done, good sir.
3 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
heh, glad you liked it, fellas. hopefully i can raise consciousness about the issue, that far-right bum-growths the world over might be spied soon enough to be removed with little or no damage to the afflicted (i.e, Belfast, Florida, Birmingham etc)
4 - Mark Saleski
THAT...was brilliant. for a second there, i thought the story was going down the track of the film ¨How To Succeed In Advertising". gawd, now that woulda been ugly!
5 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Thank you Sir Saleski. Interestingly enough, a sunday newspaper was giving away a free copy of How To Get Ahead... on DVD last week. i forgot to buy the damn paper.
In my memory, it stands up proud as a sorely underrated flick, if no Withnail And I. maybe the reality is somewhat different.
6 - DJRadiohead
Duke, be assured I am going to read this fine piece of Mind Wax directly and have comments for you upon completion. I mostly felt compelled to comment on your shirt.
Done.
7 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
DJ, i look forward to your thoughts. As to the shirt... if you wanna borrow it, like, i'm more than happy to accomodate... heh.
8 - DJRadiohead
Duke, my apologies for not getting back to this sooner.
"Fuck-flaps." That gets added to the list without question.
You have outdone yourself again. Can't wait for V3 to arrive.