Sunday, 31 August 2008


I am on Holiday. I have come away from the daily grind. I am in a wooden room. The walls are made of wood. It is a brown, wooden room. I think the room is infested with wood worm. I think they are eating away at the wood beneath my feet. I'm going to fall through the floor into a big cooking pot and get eaten by a cannibal. The scenery outside is lovely. I haven't left my room for the four days I have been here so far. 

I have not participated in watersports. I have not gone to the nightclubs. I have not eaten local produce. I have not had the sun shining on my face. I have not been to any ancient ruins. I have not been to the local shops. I have not gone swimming in the sea. I have not bought any miniature figurines. I have not had a romantic incident with any young ladies or a prostitute. I have not developed an unwell gastric system. 

My gastric system is just fine.

My dinner every night is a rollmop.

My breakfast in the mornings is some raisins.

My lunchtime is consist of eating one bread and maybe I also do a filling of creamy ham and butters. 

Everytime I always doing my toilet to the tick tock regular always I have the handsome deposit in the basin. 

My cameras is memory fullup with a brown square. Every picture a brown square I have many squares.

I am trying to speak like a local person trying to speak English.

I think this makes my racist. 

I am even less happy here than in the other place. 

Sunday, 10 August 2008

Blow My Own Head Off

It is thursday and I am sitting in the bad room. I am looking at a thin black microphone. My boss is sitting in the room next to the room I am in. This is an inquest. I hear my bosses voice over the speakers. It is like a blanket. He is asking me a question about the incident. It happened so many months ago now it seems like a different life somehow. The microphone looks like an infected penis. It is a shining rod. All of a sudden I hear something that sounds like a gun shot go off. I let out a little scream. My ears are ringing from the pain. I cannot cover them with my hands as I am strapped onto the chair. The noise came from above me. I look at the window through to the room next to me. My boss isn't there any more.

I look up.

My boss floats serenely above me. He is trussed up and oiled, slowly rotating in a harness facing me. His body squeezes out between the thin straps holding him up. He looks like the sunday roast. Slime is dripping from him onto me. He is like a self basting turkey. He is naked. He has a gun. He is firing the gun at me. I'm in for it now.