Once upon a time on a council estate far far away there lived a hardworking housebreaker with his two children, Dave and Susan. Now Dave and Susan’s father only received a small pittance from the evil King Brown, so he was forced to supplement his income by choring anything he could lay his hands on.
All was moderately well until he fell in with a wicked woman and married her. One night David heard the wicked woman tell their Father to pack the children off into care. Without hesitation David woke Susan up, and together they fled their unhappy home. David was a clever boy, and had taken with him his Stepmothers bag of crack, and was leaving a trail of rocks in order that he and his sister might find their way back, once the social worker had given up trying to find them.
After several hours drinking white lightening at the local park the hapless pair decided to go home and murder their stepmother. Alas the trail of rocks had been smoked and the pair were lost. They couldn’t even ask for directions, because all the passers by they encountered were wasted and couldn’t even string a sentence together let alone guide the poor children home.
Now that dawn was breaking the estate looked more menacing than ever before, and David and Susan were afraid. But, on rounding the corner they came to a most unusual house. It was a house made entirely from food available at Morrisons. Its roof tiles were made of Finders Crispy Pancakes, it’s door was a large slab of cooking chocolate, with a milk chocolate handle. The walls were made of carefully stacked Wheat-a-bix, the drainpipe where made from dried pasta shapes. The windows were cling film and the window-sills were made from Spam. After all that cider the children had a fierce hankering for some food so they attacked the house with gusto, David pulling down some Crispy Pancakes, and Susan grabbing a handful of Spam. All at once an evil old harridan jumped out of the front door, eyes wild with spite, clutching a rolled up copy of the Daily Mail. Shrieking she chased the children round the house.
At the back of the house was a deep dark pond (with a lovely water-feature from Ikea ) which the children both fell into. Just then a Police Community Support Officer arrived, in time to watch them drown as he wrung his hands and mumbled about how tragic it all was. And no body lived happily ever after
THE END
P.S
A giant chicken with steel spurs, the head of a lion and the arse of a baboon laughed as it managed to get itself shoehorned in to satisfy a theme.
Friday, September 25, 2009
One night in the life of Leanne Bailey
The buzzer sounds you put your knife down and follow the other women into the scabby canteen, pulling the stupid cap they make you wear off and flicking your hair free. You buy diet coke from the machine and slump down at the empty table in the corner.
One of the Lithuanians smiles at you and you force a thin smile back, thankfully she doesn’t come and talk to you, you want to be left alone. You suspect you will burst into tears if someone does try and talk to you. You pick a flattened copy of yesterdays Star off the seat beside you and sit staring down hoping people will think you’re reading and not disturb you.
You’re glad it’s mostly foreigners on your line, they’re happy to leave you alone and chat away in their own languages. Occasionally they remember you’re there and attempt to strike up a conversation but your awkward response means it doesn’t last long. You feel a cow for being so unfriendly and hope they don’t think you believe you’re better than them, but they must think you’re a right bitch.
You wish you weren’t here tonight, but you need the money and you promised Mum and she’s right that it’s good for you, good to be around people, even if you can’t talk to them and it’s just a few hours in the evening. You don’t mind the work itself. People think its boring but you kind of like it when the line is running at full speed and you don’t have time to think because you’re so busy. Time goes quickly then. Even the smell doesn’t bother you, and everyone complains about that.
You don’t feel right today though, worse than usual. You feel light, apart from everything, like you’re fading away. You think you might be getting ill again and you should go to the Surgery but you don’t want to, you don’t want to think about being ill again, and they were so useless last time.
The muscles in your shoulders are so tense they’re pulling on your scalp and making it ache. Your head throbs with pressure, like your brain has swollen inside your skull. You know it’s stupid but you worry it might literally explode.
It’s so loud in here, the radios and the talking and the sound of the lines and the forklifts whizzing around and pallets crashing to the ground. The noise really bothers you, it feels like it’s pressing down on you, filling your head and stopping you thinking straight.
You dig your nails into your palms to feel something real. You’ve got to stop this, pull yourself together. It’s just a bad day, you tell yourself, you know you’ll be okay, you’ll feel brighter tomorrow. Do other people do this? Thoughts go around and around and you know you shouldn’t dwell on them but you just can’t fucking help yourself.
You tell yourself again that you’ll be okay. Another couple of hours and you can go and it will be quiet and you can curl up beneath the duvet and no on will be there to bother you. But your chest feels tight and your head feels dizzy and you just don’t feel at all well.
Things had been getting better; you’d even started thinking about moving out of Mums again. You should have seen the signs, but it creeps up on you. Now you feel like you want to scream. You never wanted to feel like this again, you’re not sure you can take it. How do other people cope? What’s wrong with you? You just can’t bear it anymore. You feel you are going to cry again. You cry a lot. Too much.
You feel so disgusting. You were a dumpy plain little girl, an ugly duckling who didn’t grow up to become a beautiful Swan. You hate your blotchy skin and weak chin and fat hamster cheeks. Some nights you get home and stand in front of the mirror and force yourself to look. You hate what you see. Your tits look like someone pumped them full of air and then let it out again, a pink belt of stretch marks across your sagging stomach. You have these vile pus filled spots and nothing you’ve tried gets rid of them. You can’t imagine letting anyone see you naked ever again.
Why can’t you control you’re thoughts, your feelings? Things that others appear to cope with easily become all consuming to you. You try not to blow them out of proportion but the thoughts swirl around your head until they become all you can think.
You used to be fun, you remember when you were at school and you were a party girl. You were always the ugly friend but still… there had been loads of good times. And even some nice boys. You miss those days so much. This isn’t how you thought it would be. You’d thought you’d always be friends but Lexie had gone to Uni and Amelle had moved to Leicester and Jamie had got her career and her boyfriend and somewhere along the line you’d been left behind.
And you hate yourself all the more for thinking like this, they were wonderful friends and it isn’t they’re fault if you’d screwed everything up. And you still had Jamie and she was the best friend anyone could ever ask for and you just don’t understand why she still puts up with you.
She is gorgeous. Everything about her is immaculate, her hair, and nails, and clothes and the way she smells. ‘Polished’ Mum says. Sometimes you feel so jealous of her and then you hate yourself because she has always been so lovely to you and in your head you get so angry with her, and you’re so ashamed.
But it’s so unfair, her live is so much better than yours and you know that no matter how nice or kind or good you are the world will never like you the way it loves Jamie. ‘Life’s not fair’ dad used to snarl and it had turned out the old bastard was right all along.
‘You spiteful jealous bitch!’ you want to scream. You hate being so envious, it’s disgusting. Sometimes you think you deserve to be so unhappy you’re such a cow. It isn’t Jamie’s fault she’s so pretty and clever and fun. It isn’t her fault she makes you feel so awkward and thick and ugly. She’s the best person you’ve ever known. When Steve left it was her that saved you, that stayed with you night after night, that visited you in hospital.
She still comes and sees you. Still phones you at least once a week. Still listens to you and encourages you and puts up with the tears. You really are crying a little now. You just don’t understand why she bothers, you’re nothing, you’re not funny or interesting or clever. You’re just a fat crying freak who still lives with her Mum and works in a chicken factory.
You know what’s wrong. You just don’t want to be you anymore. If other people were in your situation they’d feel the same. You try not to but the truth is you hate yourself so much. You know you shouldn’t and you know all the reasons why not, but you do, you can’t help it. You don’t want to be so alone but perhaps it’s for the best you’re so fucked up.
But you can’t bare to think about a life with no one. No man, no kids, just you and Mum and then, one day, just you.
It’s been three years since he left and you still think about him all the time. It’s still so raw; you still love him more than anything and just don’t understand what you did wrong. Things remind you of him all the time, sometimes you can handle it but at other times it’s like a stab in the guts.
You loved him and he said he loved you. You know you can be clingy and needy but you’d tried your best and you honestly thought you were happy. How could he just leave you after everything he’d said? You just don’t understand what happened, what you did wrong. He said it was forever and you’d believed him.
You’d even lost weight when you were with him. You hadn’t been so stressed about food. You didn’t feel the compulsion to stuff yourself until you couldn’t move. He’d been so encouraging, you’d been so happy.
You know if you could just lose some of the weight thinks would be better. You hadn’t always been like this, you were always big but you never used to be so gross. Other people stop eating when they’re depressed, you can’t stop. You try but you can’t help yourself. It’s so disgusting you can hardly thing about it. Perhaps that’s the attraction; when you’re eating you don’t think. Oh God, people can see how much you eat because you’re so huge, but at least they don’t see you in the act, stuffing yourself until it hurts.
Even while you’re buying all that food you’re lying to yourself, telling yourself it will last a few days when you know it won’t last the night. And everyday you say to yourself just one last time, tomorrow you’ll buy nothing but healthy things and the life-changing diet will begin.
The buzzer rings again and you follow the other women back into the plant. There’s a delay restarting the line and you pick up your knife and wait for the chickens to start flowing by. It’s cold and its so loud you it almost hurts, you want the line to start again so you can lose yourself in cutting and stop thinking. You try and breath, telling yourself you’ve got to get a grip. You’re shaking now and everything is wrong, nothing looks right and nothing sounds right.
You look down and imagine yourself running the knife across your wrist, the blade leaving a gaping white smile that fills with blood as you stare at it. Oh god, god, you don’t want to think about dying or what you might do.
The knife clatters to the floor and you stumble away from the line your eyes filled with tears. You run out of the plant and into the ladies and the tears are streaming down now. One of the Polish girls follows you and is saying something but you try and push her away. You can’t hear anything now, its all just noise and you slump down against the wall in the ladies and bury your head in your arms. Oh god it’s happening again, you can’t stop crying and it feels like the whole world is pressing down on you and you don’t really know where you are and later you hear your mums’ voice and an ambulance and you don’t feel anything anymore.
One of the Lithuanians smiles at you and you force a thin smile back, thankfully she doesn’t come and talk to you, you want to be left alone. You suspect you will burst into tears if someone does try and talk to you. You pick a flattened copy of yesterdays Star off the seat beside you and sit staring down hoping people will think you’re reading and not disturb you.
You’re glad it’s mostly foreigners on your line, they’re happy to leave you alone and chat away in their own languages. Occasionally they remember you’re there and attempt to strike up a conversation but your awkward response means it doesn’t last long. You feel a cow for being so unfriendly and hope they don’t think you believe you’re better than them, but they must think you’re a right bitch.
You wish you weren’t here tonight, but you need the money and you promised Mum and she’s right that it’s good for you, good to be around people, even if you can’t talk to them and it’s just a few hours in the evening. You don’t mind the work itself. People think its boring but you kind of like it when the line is running at full speed and you don’t have time to think because you’re so busy. Time goes quickly then. Even the smell doesn’t bother you, and everyone complains about that.
You don’t feel right today though, worse than usual. You feel light, apart from everything, like you’re fading away. You think you might be getting ill again and you should go to the Surgery but you don’t want to, you don’t want to think about being ill again, and they were so useless last time.
The muscles in your shoulders are so tense they’re pulling on your scalp and making it ache. Your head throbs with pressure, like your brain has swollen inside your skull. You know it’s stupid but you worry it might literally explode.
It’s so loud in here, the radios and the talking and the sound of the lines and the forklifts whizzing around and pallets crashing to the ground. The noise really bothers you, it feels like it’s pressing down on you, filling your head and stopping you thinking straight.
You dig your nails into your palms to feel something real. You’ve got to stop this, pull yourself together. It’s just a bad day, you tell yourself, you know you’ll be okay, you’ll feel brighter tomorrow. Do other people do this? Thoughts go around and around and you know you shouldn’t dwell on them but you just can’t fucking help yourself.
You tell yourself again that you’ll be okay. Another couple of hours and you can go and it will be quiet and you can curl up beneath the duvet and no on will be there to bother you. But your chest feels tight and your head feels dizzy and you just don’t feel at all well.
Things had been getting better; you’d even started thinking about moving out of Mums again. You should have seen the signs, but it creeps up on you. Now you feel like you want to scream. You never wanted to feel like this again, you’re not sure you can take it. How do other people cope? What’s wrong with you? You just can’t bear it anymore. You feel you are going to cry again. You cry a lot. Too much.
You feel so disgusting. You were a dumpy plain little girl, an ugly duckling who didn’t grow up to become a beautiful Swan. You hate your blotchy skin and weak chin and fat hamster cheeks. Some nights you get home and stand in front of the mirror and force yourself to look. You hate what you see. Your tits look like someone pumped them full of air and then let it out again, a pink belt of stretch marks across your sagging stomach. You have these vile pus filled spots and nothing you’ve tried gets rid of them. You can’t imagine letting anyone see you naked ever again.
Why can’t you control you’re thoughts, your feelings? Things that others appear to cope with easily become all consuming to you. You try not to blow them out of proportion but the thoughts swirl around your head until they become all you can think.
You used to be fun, you remember when you were at school and you were a party girl. You were always the ugly friend but still… there had been loads of good times. And even some nice boys. You miss those days so much. This isn’t how you thought it would be. You’d thought you’d always be friends but Lexie had gone to Uni and Amelle had moved to Leicester and Jamie had got her career and her boyfriend and somewhere along the line you’d been left behind.
And you hate yourself all the more for thinking like this, they were wonderful friends and it isn’t they’re fault if you’d screwed everything up. And you still had Jamie and she was the best friend anyone could ever ask for and you just don’t understand why she still puts up with you.
She is gorgeous. Everything about her is immaculate, her hair, and nails, and clothes and the way she smells. ‘Polished’ Mum says. Sometimes you feel so jealous of her and then you hate yourself because she has always been so lovely to you and in your head you get so angry with her, and you’re so ashamed.
But it’s so unfair, her live is so much better than yours and you know that no matter how nice or kind or good you are the world will never like you the way it loves Jamie. ‘Life’s not fair’ dad used to snarl and it had turned out the old bastard was right all along.
‘You spiteful jealous bitch!’ you want to scream. You hate being so envious, it’s disgusting. Sometimes you think you deserve to be so unhappy you’re such a cow. It isn’t Jamie’s fault she’s so pretty and clever and fun. It isn’t her fault she makes you feel so awkward and thick and ugly. She’s the best person you’ve ever known. When Steve left it was her that saved you, that stayed with you night after night, that visited you in hospital.
She still comes and sees you. Still phones you at least once a week. Still listens to you and encourages you and puts up with the tears. You really are crying a little now. You just don’t understand why she bothers, you’re nothing, you’re not funny or interesting or clever. You’re just a fat crying freak who still lives with her Mum and works in a chicken factory.
You know what’s wrong. You just don’t want to be you anymore. If other people were in your situation they’d feel the same. You try not to but the truth is you hate yourself so much. You know you shouldn’t and you know all the reasons why not, but you do, you can’t help it. You don’t want to be so alone but perhaps it’s for the best you’re so fucked up.
But you can’t bare to think about a life with no one. No man, no kids, just you and Mum and then, one day, just you.
It’s been three years since he left and you still think about him all the time. It’s still so raw; you still love him more than anything and just don’t understand what you did wrong. Things remind you of him all the time, sometimes you can handle it but at other times it’s like a stab in the guts.
You loved him and he said he loved you. You know you can be clingy and needy but you’d tried your best and you honestly thought you were happy. How could he just leave you after everything he’d said? You just don’t understand what happened, what you did wrong. He said it was forever and you’d believed him.
You’d even lost weight when you were with him. You hadn’t been so stressed about food. You didn’t feel the compulsion to stuff yourself until you couldn’t move. He’d been so encouraging, you’d been so happy.
You know if you could just lose some of the weight thinks would be better. You hadn’t always been like this, you were always big but you never used to be so gross. Other people stop eating when they’re depressed, you can’t stop. You try but you can’t help yourself. It’s so disgusting you can hardly thing about it. Perhaps that’s the attraction; when you’re eating you don’t think. Oh God, people can see how much you eat because you’re so huge, but at least they don’t see you in the act, stuffing yourself until it hurts.
Even while you’re buying all that food you’re lying to yourself, telling yourself it will last a few days when you know it won’t last the night. And everyday you say to yourself just one last time, tomorrow you’ll buy nothing but healthy things and the life-changing diet will begin.
The buzzer rings again and you follow the other women back into the plant. There’s a delay restarting the line and you pick up your knife and wait for the chickens to start flowing by. It’s cold and its so loud you it almost hurts, you want the line to start again so you can lose yourself in cutting and stop thinking. You try and breath, telling yourself you’ve got to get a grip. You’re shaking now and everything is wrong, nothing looks right and nothing sounds right.
You look down and imagine yourself running the knife across your wrist, the blade leaving a gaping white smile that fills with blood as you stare at it. Oh god, god, you don’t want to think about dying or what you might do.
The knife clatters to the floor and you stumble away from the line your eyes filled with tears. You run out of the plant and into the ladies and the tears are streaming down now. One of the Polish girls follows you and is saying something but you try and push her away. You can’t hear anything now, its all just noise and you slump down against the wall in the ladies and bury your head in your arms. Oh god it’s happening again, you can’t stop crying and it feels like the whole world is pressing down on you and you don’t really know where you are and later you hear your mums’ voice and an ambulance and you don’t feel anything anymore.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Congrats to Mauvais and new topic
Congratulations to Mauvais for winning the vote for August for Half A Pound Of Tupenny Light.
I found all the entries this month to be a good read. Great stuff.
This month's topic is Counting Chickens.
I found all the entries this month to be a good read. Great stuff.
This month's topic is Counting Chickens.
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