Does Real Snuff Exist?

After the reactions to yesterday's post. I started to think that I did have a responsibility to do something. I was thinking about it all day yesterday and couldn't really sleep last night. The Punchbowl Girl asked me what was wrong so I told her. She said that she thought he was talking shit but she'd been thinking about it too.

That made my mind up for me. I woke up early today and went round to talk to him. Good King Thumpo lives in a shitty wee terrace on a street off Sandy Row. I've only every been there once years ago. I couldn't rightly remember which house was his until I saw Ma-Mutt chained up in his garden. I jumped the fence and knocked on his door. Ma-Mutt growled at me but I Crocodile Dundeed him into silence.

There was no answer from the house so I bust in (still have the knack). The place was a mess. Good King Thumpo lives on his own and the only thing in the kitchen that let you know it was a kitchen was the cooker, he didn't even have a fridge (which explained all the nasty moudly food on the work tops). What he did have was a load of half dismantled microwaves, TVs and a Motorbike. A walk round the other rooms showed the same thing. His bedroom was full of weightlifting equipment (surprisingly no signs of steroid needles) and Geoff Thompson books about how to violent maim people who are attacking you and which is the best room in the house to hide weapons (incase someone breaks in). Scary shit. But he wasn't anywhere in the house. I waited until I had no choice but to head off to work.

I'm not calling the cops, I'm not a tout. Not unless there's some evidence he's telling the truth.

Amazon war on society, is it nothing more than a feminist myth?

Fabian Wildman was awake when I came downstairs this morning. He said thanks for what I did yesterday. I told him it was nothing and he said he thought he was fucked. I asked him what he was doing there and will Zim Van Bindle send his amazon army after us. He said he didn't know anything about an amazon army. I told him that Zim Van Bindle was trying to get an amazon army together to bring about a sex war that will topple society.

Fabian Wildman said he hadn't heard of this but that it sounded like something that crack addled fool would think up. He said he hadn't seen any girls in the livingroom last night. Much less roid addled amazons.

I puzzled over it all morning on my way to work. I quickly forgot about it when The Punchbowl Girl took me into the Disabled Toilets and wasted £4.83 of the company's money.

I told her what happened and that it was actually an ex of Betty Blue's that I saved. Then this twinkle came into her eye and she said she wanted to know more about him. That was silly of me. I'll not mention him again in front of her.

The Great Office Love Triangle

I ended up talking to Little My at lunch today, because I'd nothing better to say I asked if her and Rap Superstar hit it off on Friday night.

She said that they had but that that was old news. He wanted a good time but she was after mister right now. She looked all confused after she'd said it, like she'd missed a joke, so she repeated it with swear words but still didn't get where the joke should be.

Anyway, she fancied Kissy Boy now, like all the office girls.

I asked her who Kissy Boy was?

She said he was the office hunk.

What about me? I thought. Surely no one called Kissy Boy can be hotter than me.

She pointed Kissy Boy out to me later. He was posing around the office all bleached teeth and steroid arms hanging out of his Ironic T-Shirt. I told Little My that Kissy Boy used steroids so his dick wouldn't work. She said I was just jealous. I suppose she had a point, and I couldn't believe that I was trying to get Little My to like me over Kissy Boy, when the truth was that if she did I'd probably tell her a big list of why she should go back to fancying Kissy Boy.

I've been too busy trying to get to grips with my job I haven't taken the time to look round for a Mrs. Tuesday Kid.

There's bound to be one.

I will find her, no matter what occurs.

Good King Thumpo and The Indie Rock and Rollers

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.