I bumped into Good King Thumpo earlier. He was wandering around Shaftsbury Square pished out of his face. He was blabbering on about being hard and kicking the shite out of people and the usual. I was plastered too and it only put me in the mood to go home and kick the shite out of Fat Rab. Good King Thumpo was kinda hard to follow because not only was he slurring his words he was also jumping from topic to topic. He started blubbing and singing wee bits from Suzanne Vega's Luka and some song about "ma wee babay" he looked to be near collapsing.
Then a car drove past playing this happy hardcore classic
Good King Thumpo took his top off to reveal his heavily tattooed, roid addled torso and started dancing all buck mad. I felt so shit I joined in (I kept my top on). We got into this cool thing where we stood opposite each other and had our hands interweaving as we raved like a bunch of cool dudes.
Some indie kids gathered round for a chuckle so we slapped the fuck out of them. We didn't draw blood so it was okay. Like typical indie kids they burst into tears and I think one wet himself.
Good King Thumpo felt much better.
"Nothing better than knocking those wee pish flaps about," he said tearing into another can.
I went into a phonebox and sobbed for a good half hour. Then I sat on the street and scrounged for a bit, something I've never done before but I figure it might become a handy skill to have what with this credit crunch.
