Friday, January 31, 2003
Vegetarian: n. person who eats no meat. Vegetarianism n.
(The Oxford Minidictionary).
First question I get asked when I go to someone’s house for dinner: Are you still vegetarian?
Of course I’m still vegetarian. I didn’t make that decision lightly so I’m not gonna change, unless you for some reason seem to think my vegetarianism is only reserved for Thursdays and perhaps, if I’m real strict, public holidays.
The second question: Do you eat chicken?
What fucking part of vegetarian are you missing? It’s a fucking chicken, a chicken is an animal, hence therefore, meat. If we went to the Zoo one day and stopped to look at the bunny rabbits and we glanced over to it’s Info sign, is it gonna say, ‘Bunny Rabbit: Found all over the world, eats lots of lettuce, carrots and chicken’. Is it? No.
Anyway it’s hell being vegetarian and speaking of which
Neville (The Devil) placed two, nicely hand painted, shot glasses on the table. He had me up at an ungodly (and I suppose it would have to be) hour that morning for the duel for my soul.
‘Those are very pretty glasses,’ I said.
‘Yes they are,’ replied Neville, ‘my wife gave them to me.’
I raised an eyebrow at him, ‘you have a wife?’
‘Yes, met her in about 1052AD. You surprised?’
‘Kinda. This whole Hell thing has been quite a disappointment without having to hear now that you are married.’
‘Well I suppose in a small way that it’s only fair that I have a wife. I am the master of misery, so yeah, perhaps I should be dealt some as well from time to time.’
‘Ok,’ said Neville, ‘the rules are simple, all you have to do is drink 666 shots of my Hell distilled whiskey and then you get the hell out of here.’
I sighed. ‘I’ll do that and still be able to tight rope walk the Niagara Falls,’ I answered.
“Maybe with normal whiskey, but Devil Brew is 66% Alc Vol. No man has ever done it. In fact my personal record is 664.’
I shivered a bit. I picked up the first bottle. It had this stupid scull and cross bones logo on it. The scull had two little horns and the label read, ‘Bad Boy Whiskey, the whiskey for people who are bad’.
‘The whiskey for people who are bad?’ I asked.
Neville smiled and said, ‘cool hey, I though of it myself.’
‘Fine Neville, lets get this going, I want to be home by eight, there’s good television on’.
I yawned, opened the bottle and poured the first shot.
Hooker 4:26 PM
Insults Here
Thursday, January 30, 2003
So things that are bugging me today:
1) Having to be at work at 06h30
2) enemabagjones leaving me out of an evil plan to mess up Shane Warne's
cricketing career.
Ok, the 06h30 thing can be easily sorted out with a high-powered riffle and a bell tower but being left out of something that will mess up an awfull sport and someone's life, that's harsh. So big fat sympathy for me. Send money in lieu of flowers.
On a happier note, a movie about my life is in the process of being made. I had the opportunity to read the script last night and I must say it is wonderfully written with a dynamically fresh look at my life. There seems to be quite a buzz around this movie and the following snippet I took from one of our local newspapers:
...The story poignantly tells the tale of Hooker Bastard's life of whining, moaning and his inability to deal with life's problems through poor humour, which eventually leads to his decline into alcoholism and filthy woman (and no, this is not another Woody Allen movie)... A large portion of this movie will be shot on location in Cambodia and provisions have been made for a cameo appearance by Hooker Bastard to play Pol Pot...
Just thinking about the movie reminds of my recent trip to Hell and the bloody battle at the Pretty Good watch Tower of Amandrool but I'll get into that after I've had my first whiskey of the day.
Hooker 9:47 AM
Insults Here
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
So, have I mentioned my drinking problem? I really wanted to go and see Mistress SB last night for some odd reason but ended up drinking with our lead guitarist at a place called The Jolly Roger. Or did I dream it. Anyway as some of you (who read my blog) will know, lately I’ve been through Hell.
So the Devil and me rocked up in hell and it was fucking cold. I was so not happy but then again it was Hell.
‘Hell, you’ve got to talk to your marketing department about this. Where’s the screaming and the fire. There’s a bunch of people over there nattering their teeth around a campfire,’ I said in disgust.
The Devil looked around sheepishly and said, ‘yeah, I’m real sorry about this, it froze over last week. We’ve got someone coming over to look at the problem on Thursday’.
We walked around a bit. I met this German bloke called Hitler who coached the woman’s volleyball team. Then later on I had this awkward moment where I met some guys I had killed in Cambodia, they were quite pissed about that but they chilled a bit and we got along fine.
We arrived at the Devil’s office, which was warm from the oven he was using to bake biscuits. The interior was decorated in a Biggie-Best motif, which made me feel ill, but then again it was hell.
‘So, Devil, nice place you have here. You must be proud.’ I said.
‘Please, stop with the formalities, call me Neville.’ he replied.
‘Ok, Neville.’
‘Well I’m glad you like it here, ‘cause we can get down to organising you some property,’ he said handing me a property guide. ‘You’ll notice on page three there’s a great place I think you’ll like, wonderful, built on an old Indian Burial Ground’.
I had to look at him weirdly ‘cause admittedly this was weird.
“Listen bud,’ I said to him, ‘it’s been great and all, I think you’re a great guy but I really have to be going.’
He smiled at me, which in all honesty scared the crap out of me.
“I don’t think you understand young Hooker Bastard, you are here for good.’ Then he fucking smiled at me again and said, ‘no one ever leaves Hell.’ Then he laughed for about five minutes, which was far worse than the smile.
I tried to say something but somehow couldn’t.
Then he said, trying to talk while sniggering, ‘I never get bored of the look on your faces, man, you should see the look on your face right now, it’s the best, if fact you’ve almost topped my all time favourite and that’s almost,’ then he laughed again, scared the shit out of me again and laughed,’ no, hold on, you are funnier than Ghandi,’ and laughed even louder.
Ok, so I’m sure if I had been sitting in his seat I could see how this could have been funny, but fucking hell, he just could not stop laughing.
He handed me a booklet of sorts and still laughing said, ’these are the rules and regulations of Hell, read through it and familiarise yourself with it, there will be a test on it tomorrow.’
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘Sure,’ he replied, ‘There are plenty of those here.’
I paged through the booklet until I saw a section written in fucking small type.
‘It says here that I can get out of Hell if I beat Death at a game of chess.’
‘Well yes you can, but he doesn’t work here anymore, directing movies in Hollywood.’
‘But it also says here that should Death fall ill with the flu or something, then I’m entitled to play you for my soul back.’
Neville thoughtfully looked at me and said, ‘that is true, but I get to pick the game and no one ever beats me.’
I smiled at him and said, ‘I’ll take my chances.’
He smiled back, clapped his hands together and answered, ‘right then, we do this first thing in the morning.’
‘So what game are we playing,’ I asked?
‘There is only one game worth playing,’ he smiled, ‘drinking games.’
Hooker 12:17 PM
Insults Here
Monday, January 27, 2003
It seems some people have become rather annoyed at me for retiring my blog, well the fact of the matter is, I have not retired my blog, I’ve just been away.
When I was a kid I always dreamed of getting accidentally locked in a chocolate shop for the night. Things haven’t changed too much now that I’ve grown up. Instead of being locked in a chocolate store my latest dream is to be accidentally locked in a liquor store. It’s a bit of a cliché but be careful of what you wish for, you might just get it.
I woke up in the fridge with beer all around me. The lights of the store were off and there was and eerie silence. I called out a bit but no one answered. I opened the door of the fridge and walked around a bit. I cried I was so happy when I realised what had just happened. I was in the store on my own.
It was the most I’ve ever drunk in my entire life. I was really impressed with myself. Then on the sixth case of J&B of the sixth hour of the seventh minute, the devil showed up. I was expecting him to have a tail and shit like that but he didn’t. He was well dressed and was almost as good looking as I. So I said to him, ‘man, I can’t believe I’m better looking than you.’
‘So he said, ‘you are coming with me.’
And I said, ‘give me a moment, I’ve still got a bottle of Jack to get through.’
So he said, ‘I suppose I could wait a bit, I was a minute late, it’s only fair.’
And I said, ‘cool, thanks bud.’
So he sat down on a crate of beer and played Tetris on his palm top.
But somewhere back in time but yet, at the same time, the Devil showed up to claim a young boy who stood with four others on The Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool while the forces of The School for Other Peoples Kids marched on five young refugees known as, Hooker the Bastard, Jenny the Red, Gordon the Fuck Head, Roger the Great Winged wolf and Jon the Pretty Good Winged wolf.
Hooker 5:46 PM
Insults Here
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
H(O)(O)KER
Hooker 4:55 PM
Insults Here
YOU’VE REACHED THE BLOG OF HOOKER BASTARD. DUE TO HIS EVER INCREASING DRINKING HABIT AND LUST FOR FILTHY WOMAN, HE WILL NOT BE BLOGGING ANYMORE. THANK YOU.
Hooker 4:24 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
Please give it up for a mother fucker with an odd sense of humour. I have known him for many years and have not enjoyed one bit of it.
So please join me in giving my good ‘friend’ Enema Bag Jones a warm welcome.
Hooker 3:28 PM
Insults Here
Monday, January 20, 2003
Was chatting to Mistress SB this morning. She says, ‘all men are bastards’ and I say, ‘all woman are filthy bitches’.
I was not always a bastard. I used to be a nice guy until one day I woke up in the morning to find my heart dished up on a plate for some woman’s amusement. It’s quite a painful thing having one’s heart removed, kinda hard to function properly. Anyway, you’ll generally find this sort of filthy bitch action makes a good catalyst for bastard creation. Although, in such said filthy woman's defence, I’m sure she was not always a filthy bitch. So, before we go running around calling each other names maybe we should consider rather, what came first, the bastard or the bitch.
‘You bastard, I’m going to kill you.’
Fuck Head was running around with one arm flaying trying to kill a fly with a cigarette again. We just left him to be stupid, we didn’t want to distract ourselves with such stupidity, not after we had just reached The Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool.
‘Well, we made it,’ I said.
‘Yeah. This place is pretty good,’ said Jenny brushing more hair from her face.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Fuck Head.
‘Eat those stones over there,’ I said.
We stood and looked over at the forest from the highest point of the tower. Jenny and I found some berries to eat. Fuck Head stuffed himself full of stones and ran around in circles shouting, ‘I’m so stoned, I’m so stoned.’
‘What are we going to do about him?’ asked Jenny?
I picked up some of Fuck Heads dinner and through it at him.
Fuck Head fell over and hit the floor with a hollow, wooden thud. This was followed by a lot of screaming as he fell through the floor.
‘Ok, wasn’t expecting that.’
I waited for the, ‘aaaah ouch, aaah ouch, aaah ouch,’ to stop before we went to investigate.
He had fallen through many floors of the tower. We couldn’t quite hear or see him.
‘This must have been some sort of secret thingy or something,’ said Jenny.
‘Yeah.’
‘You think he’s Ok?’
I dropped a rock down the hole. It took a while before we heard a faint ‘ow.’
‘He’s Ok.’
‘Goody, more food,’ we heard Fuck Head say.
‘I think we leave him there till morning,’ said I.
‘I’m OK with that,’ replied Jenny.
Jenny and I made a fire and sat and listened to the creaking of the forest.
‘We are gonna have to go back to school sometime,’ said Jenny.
‘I know’.
‘Tony is going to be angry,’ said Jenny looking concerned.
‘We’ll be fine. We have time to think now.’
‘My mother says all men are bastards. Does this mean you will grow up to be one?’
‘Maybe, or maybe I’ll just be a bastard to those who deserve it.’
‘I hope you’re never like that to me.’
She had hair in her face again. A strange sensation welled up inside my stomach and an overwhelming desire to hold Jenny came over me, so I did.
‘Perhaps your mother is right. Perhaps there is something awful inherent in men but I do know there is something inherent within me, it’s a good thing, it’s my desire to love you more than myself. Your happiness comes before that of mine, because I could never live a day where I see you unhappy.’
‘Somehow, I feel that about you to,’ answered Jenny brushing some hair from her face.
‘You are making me vomit,’ came the distant voice of Fuck Head.
I picked up a very large rock.
‘Fuck Head is hungry again.’
Hooker 8:02 PM
Insults Here
Sunday, January 19, 2003
Who am I? I am nothing. How can I believe I can even have any significance when I have just watched Monster’s Ball.
Hooker 3:08 AM
Insults Here
Friday, January 17, 2003
I remember when things were far simpler. One plus one was three, Michael Cain still played for Manchester United and Kurt Cobain didn’t know how to shoot a gun. My life seems to have become far more complicated and who knows why? The fact I don’t really know what’s complicating it, is complicating it. Fuck, I’m getting tired of the constant circus music being played in my head. I used to fear being lonely, then I got used to it, now I fear company. Anyway a teacher once wrote about me, ‘there will be great rejoicing at his funeral, except I don’t think anyone will bother inviting him.’Cruel shit that.
So anyway, before I start talking crap, there are a couple of awards to be handed out. Mistress SB get’s my ‘Platinum 2nd Favourite Person’ award. This is a wonderful achievement and I’m sure we’ll all take the time to congratulate her. Mistress SB, we are all proud of you, don’t let this get to your head. And last but not least, Darkchylde get’s the ‘Lithium’ award for being my favourite manic. So, round of applause and make it quick ‘cause it has just reminded me of something else....
...Jenny and I held each other’s hands as we ran through the forest away from the nursery school. I will not even begin to tell you how we got out of the sand pit, for the grief is still too near. We ran for some time. Our faces were cut from the low hanging branches and twigs.
‘I think we can stop now,’ said Jenny.
‘I think so to,’ I replied.
We sat down on a nearby tree stump.
‘We are running low on whiskey,’ she said brushing some hair from her face.
‘I know, we’ll make a plan somehow.’
‘I hate whiskey, whiskey is for losers,’ said a voice behind us.
We turned around to see a boy challenged of all good looks who's face was covered with blisters.
‘Who are you,’asked Jenny?
‘My name is Gordon,’
“Shame, are you also from a bad family,’ I asked’
‘No,’ he responded abruptly.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘then why would your parents be so cruel, hateful, unloving and inhumane as to call their child Gordon. It is the most awful name I’ve ever heard in my entire life, I’m getting ill just thinking about it.’
And I was. I had to think about vomit and maggots just to make me feel a bit better. Gordon just looked at us, blinked his eyes and said nothing.
‘Never mind,’ interrupted Jenny, ‘we can give you a new name’.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I think from now on we’ll call you.... mmmm, ah... from now on we shall call you Fuck Head.’
‘Yes’ agreed Jenny, ‘that is a good name.’
‘So what do you think of your name Fuck Head?’
Gordon (Fuck Head) just looked at us, blinked his eyes and said nothing.
Jenny and I sat back down on our log and drank whiskey for a bit. Gordon (Fuck Head) stopped standing still for a moment and ran in circles for a while.
‘How did you get those boils on your face Fuck Head,’ Jenny asked?
‘There was a fly that kept landing on my face making me feel funny, so I tried to burn him with a cigarette.’
Jenny and I just looked at Gordon (Fuck Head), blinked our eyes and said nothing.
‘We’ll need to find shelter,’ said Jenny.
‘Yes, but where,’ I responded?
Fuck Head piped up, ‘There’s The Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of that,’ said I.
Jenny brushed some more hair out of her face and said, ‘why is it called, The Pretty Good Watch Tower.’
‘Well, if I can remember correctly, it was supposed to be The Great Watch Tower of Amandrool but the architect made some errors and it came out smaller. So it wasn’t exactly great. The Great Watch Tower is somewhere else, I think.’
The sun set. Jenny and I sat with the last of our whiskey.
“Do you think when this is all over, that perhaps we could still hang out,’ asked Jenny?
‘I hope so, I answered. ‘Till then I think we should get some rest.’
Jenny just smiled.
“Fuck Head, get some rest. Tomorrow we make for The Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool.’
Hooker 3:31 PM
Insults Here
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
My mouth hurts. I would go to the doctor but why would I want to spend the last of my money on medical help when I could drink till the pain goes. Then again, does the pain ever go?
We walked into the Rebel Red Cross camp. Linda and I hadn’t said a word the whole hike over. The camp seemed organized. They had the usual; ablutions, sleeping quarters, a super market and a karaoke pub. I hate karaoke, but the pub seemed promising.
‘It’s happy hour 7-12,’ said Linda.
‘Cool,’ I answered.
We stood in silence for about 10 seconds or was it an hour.
‘Nice place you have here,’ I forced out.
‘We get by. We pick up a lot of strays here.’
‘Like me.’
‘No. This is a medical operation. We get a lot of sick strays.’
‘Oh. That’s nice.’
We stood in silence for a little longer.
‘So, where the fuck have you been,’ I asked.
We talked into the night at Kung Lee’s Pub and karaoke. It was awkward talking at first but after a while we got into it. Seems her silly habit of reading books played off, ‘cause as her plane was going down she remembered reading an article somewhere on how to crash land a plane. I told her how our family was getting big and my father and I had flipped a coin to see who went to Cambodia. Tales he wins, heads I lose. He was always lucky when it came to tossing coins. Anyway it was wonderful. I never felt happier. She told me it was the worst mistake she had ever made leaving me. Later on we went and… well you know, fucked.
A voice screaming, ‘who the hell is this bastard’ woke me up.
Linda sat up, ‘Ron, this is Hooker Bastard, Hooker Bastard this is Ron. My husband.
I stared at her in disbelief.
“You filthy, bitch. How could you marry a guy called Ron?’
‘Just calm down everyone,’ shouted Linda.
‘I will not be calm,’ answered Ron, ‘there is only one way to sort this out.’
‘Yeah. And how would that be Ron,’ I asked?
A guy with bandages covering his face handed me my rapier.
‘You all know the rules,’ said some guy in a wheelchair.
I looked at Ron, ‘You ready?’
‘I’m ready. The first one to three gets Linda’.
‘Um, yeah Ron’.
Ron swooshed his sword around a bit and then took his stance.
The guy in the wheelchair shouted, ‘on your marks, get set.
I looked at Ron straight in the eyes.
‘Go!’
I stuck the sword though Ron’s throat and he dropped to the floor gurgling. It was all over fairly quickly.
‘Ok, who wants a drink’, I asked?
‘It’s six o clock in the morning.’
‘So?’
Linda sat next to me.
‘Not a single day went by that I did not think about you.’ I said over my glass of whiskey.
‘I’m sorry HB, I should have told you. But I love you. Ron is gone and all I all I know is that I want to be with you.’
‘I swear an oath now. Never will I allow myself to be hurt again and if some day I fall in love, that person will not be you.’
‘Please HB, no. If you are to leave then kill me like Ron’.
I held my sword to her throat.
‘I will never give you that satisfaction. I want you to hurt, like you hurt me.’
Whatever life has instore for me, I’ll never forget these words, ‘with great looks comes great responsibility’. It is my gift, my curse. Who am I? I’m Hooker Bastard.
Hooker 5:48 PM
Insults Here
My body is my temple and I have spat on its alter. I feel like a man waiting to die. Woke up this morning with a mouth full of blood. Most people’s reaction would be that of panic, I stood in front of the mirror and thought, ‘that’s odd.’ I always wanted to smile with a mouth full of blood, so I did. I checked my neck for bite marks and then checked the rooms of my house mates for signs of life. I rinsed my mouth out till most of the blood had gone, then brushed my teeth. Looked for some disinfectant mouth wash but realized I had most probably drunk that one night when all the alcohol in the house ran out. Salt water did the trick, I think. It was good enough for my piercings. (Mmm fitting that they should be playing Pixies on the radio… so, where is my mind?). Had no time to shower, so I dressed myself with a fresh shirt and sunglasses. Took some vitamins, thought that might be a good idea. Stepped outside to discover it is fucking hot today. Stumbled off to work.
Had to sit with our record label last night. I used to like discussing CD sales, what can the band do next, now I don’t really care. I sat for most the evening getting drunk and signing autographs for the other band members. They kept telling me dates to diarise, I kept forgetting what they were. I’ve now got my diary full of entries that say ‘don’t make plans for this day, you’ve got something on’. Someone passed a comment that they don’t want to hang out with me any more, well, not until I get my mind right (whatever that means). Sent a ‘HELP’ SMS to Drexil. Did an Oscar winning performance when he called which I have now entitled ‘oh fuck, completely forgot. I’ll be there now’.
Kune holiday e'Cambodia namhlanje elingivimbela uku nixoxela ngayo.
Hooker 12:33 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
This is one of those big rocks to hide under. Like for instance, if you were having a bad day, you could hide here.
Hooker 2:56 PM
Insults Here
Long, long time ago when I was in nursery school I had my own sand pit. It was my own sand pit because I had red hair. I discovered at an early age kids don’t like other kids with red hair. Nursery school is supposed to be the best years of your life (or is that Narcotics School). Tony Taylor was responsible for my sand pit imprisonment. The fat tubby bastard’s family owned the school and there was nothing we could do about it. Most of the kids who tried to stand up to Tony were never to be seen again. Most of Andrew Watson’s body was never found. The cops said it was an accident but we all new better. Fischer Price toys don’t just release cyanide gas and then blow up due to faulty parts. No, that takes a sick criminal mind.
Jenny-Anne Newton had long red hair and was absolutely gorgeous. Well I thought she was. She started at 'The School for Other People’s Kids' three months after my incarceration into my sand pit of desolation. Tony had pulled her hair almost immediately after her first minute of her arrival. Later in the day he dropped a Spitting Cobra down her top and banished her to my pit. All the kids laughed whilst we fought the Cobra after it had escaped from her top. Luckily for the both of us I had not wasted my time whilst in the pit and used my skill with the sword to make short work of the snake before it bit Jenny.
Exhausted, Jenny dropped to her knees and began to cry. I knelt down and held her.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I whispered.
‘I know,’ she answered and looked up at me with a smile emerging from her red eyed, tearful face.
‘I would offer you something to drink,’ I softly said, ‘but all I have is whiskey’.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Winnie the Pooh hip-flask.
“I would offer you to, but that’s also all I have’.
My heart smiled.
‘What is your name?’
‘It’s Jenny.’
‘Well Jenny, how do you suppose we get out of here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Neither do I,’ I replied.
‘Oh well, I'm sure we’ll think of something. One thing though, I’m glad you are in here with me’.
‘Me to,’ I replied.
Hooker 1:46 PM
Insults Here
Catherine was burping chilly and garlic pizza fumes and unfortunately singing. She sings for a living, I think. Anyway it was her birthday. Her cake was a muffin and inserted in it was one of our candle’s we use in case our lights go out. Catherine is one of my favorite second favorite people. She got as a present; Attack of the Clones. She seemed quite happy with the age she was turning for some odd reason. I tend to get depressed and wish I were dead (although admittedly I don’t just reserve such said wishful thinking for my birthday). Anyway it was quite nice to have someone nakedly happy around the house for a change. Earlier on I had gone to visit Drexil and his new woman (if I may call her that) only to discover my humour had developed an odd impotence. (Get back my humour I must). There was not much alcohol left in my house apart from warm Castle (vomit) Beer, a shot of some awful liqueur and one Apple Hooch, which Mistress S.B. had left behind after Saturday’s Count of Monte Cristo screenings.
I fell asleep quite quickly. My dreams filtered back to when I met Linda in the Cambodian Jungle. She was pointing a gun at my head. Two of her naked model comrades were caressing and stroking her naked body. Linda struggled to keep a steady hand as she shivered from the sensual touch of her eager companions…
I woke up. My dream made me think back to the Cambodian Jungle where I had met Linda again. She held a gun, pointed at my head. Her clothes were dirty and she seemed to have put on weight. There were two women positioned behind her. One was stuffing her face with a donut and the other was scratching her butt.
‘Well, if it isn’t…’
I cut her off, ‘I don’t go by that name any more. I am now called Hooker Bastard.’
‘Hooker Bastard, I’ve heard of you’.
“I’m sure you have. My good looks are legendary’.
‘I have to admit they are,’ she responded.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You don’t seem too bad yourself, retaining water a bit, but other than that, not bad’.
She lowered her gun, smiled and said, ‘come with me’.
Hooker 1:34 AM
Insults Here
Monday, January 13, 2003
Hi, my name is Hooker Bastard and I have a sneaking suspicion I may be an alcoholic. I think the first clue came when I hadn’t eaten for two days and someone offered me veg lasagna and I said, ‘no thanks, I’ve had seven whiskeys and I’m stuffed.’ This morning the water was off in the house and there was none in the broken fridge, so I had a glass of wine, although I would never recommend you do this after brushing your teeth. I do wonder though, if I were to die tomorrow, would people say, ‘Hooker Bastard, he drank so much, it’s no wonder he died at age 30’ or would they say, ‘Hooker Bastard, he drank so much, thank goodness ‘cause he was so much fun when he did. We are sure gonna miss the fucker.’ Are there pubs in the after life?
I blame my drinking on my father. From age 5 he had me drinking. When our family went out for family dinners my brother got milk shakes and I got Harvey Wall-bangers. After my father and his friends finished their poker games they would all bet on how many shots of Tequila it would take to make my nose bleed. My brother would get sweets when I passed out. It was tough starting school with a drinking problem. Kids would make fun of my Winnie the Pooh hip-flask, although I must say I did want the Star Wars one. My father said I could have it if I was good and finished all my whiskey every day for a week. Not only did I finish a bottle every day but I managed to fit a beer in here and there. I think he forgot his promise. My brother was nice and said I could look at his Star Wars lunch box if I wanted to. A teacher asked our Grade 1 glass to write down what our favorite food was, I wrote, ‘Vodka Soup. I got detention.
It used to upset my mother to see what my father was doing to me but what could she do, she was so busy making chocolate animals for my brother. My father increased my beatings because I was loosing the family too much money with my huge booze bill. Father sent me out to work at his friend’s abattoir in order to pay him back. I did in a small way feel bad about costing the family so much money which is why I was so relieved when my school helped raise money for my liver transplant.
It was hard coming back home from Cambodia, mainly because my family had changed their names and moved somewhere else. The people who bought the house from my father were kind enough to allow me to sleep on their lawn until I got organized and I had to get organized quickly ‘cause their rent was killing me. The first time…
…OK, enough whining. Did I mention Sammy Whammy is now my second favorite person?
Hooker 1:33 PM
Insults Here
Friday, January 10, 2003
Long, long time ago I had a nice girlfriend. I loved this person more than I loved myself, which is a lot, ‘cause I love me a shit load. I’ve never been so happi… Oops almost showed some feelings. What I was trying to say was…
…Li Wan and I stared at the bottle in front of us. We both had knives to our throats. There was no way either of us was going to give into the humiliation of having to smooch the other to death. We were brave men, I the better looking (which admittedly did worry me at first, given our current situation) but non-the less brave. The Um Yui refereeing the game turned to me and shouted, ‘you! What your name?”
I replied calmly, ‘Hooker Bastard or HB if you will.’
‘HB! What, like pencil?’
‘Um, yes.’ I gave him a fearsome stare and said, ‘just like the pencil.’
‘Fine. You go first pencil man.’
I spat at his feet. He slapped me like a girl, which is not at all what I expected. He could have at least stabbed me or poked me with needles but slap me like a girl, there was no way I was going to sit for that. I was about to lean over and bite his knee when we all felt the first tremor in the sky.
The Red AD1 Choppers of the Secret Canadian Mounted Helicopter Squadron (SCMHS) thundered into view. What they were doing there was anyone’s guess but we were glad to see them. The Um Yui rebels ran. Riders and horses leapt from the choppers, hundreds of them running around looking real nice, killing people mercilessly. A rider came over to me and said, ‘so, what’s this aboot then?’
‘Sorry there’s a lot of noise, what did you say?’ I asked.
‘What’s this aboot then?’
‘They took them the bastards. I’ve been having to walk around with no shoes for days.’
‘No! I said what’s this aboot then? He shouted.’
‘Oh, sorry, had you all wrong, thought you were talking about something else. Um, my lower back.’ I answered.
Guns were firing everywhere, people dying. I took out my chequered headband and put it on.
The mountee looked at me curiously and then shouted to his comrades, ‘Khmer Rouge.’
I paused for a moment, ‘shit’.
I ran fast, leaving Li Wan to the mercy of the SCMHS. I felt guilt for a bit but I took solace in the fact he would have done the same for me. I ran deep into the Cambodian jungle ever fearful that I might hear the dreaded gallop of a horse. I don’t know how I missed it but I ran straight into the barrel of a gun. There were a few of them, looking very dirty and tired. I looked at the shirt of the woman that held the gun in my face. There was an unmistakable red cross band on the shoulder. I looked at the woman’s face.
Though the face was dirty and now tattooed with tribal designs, I could never forget it.
‘Linda.’
Hooker 3:56 PM
Insults Here
I hate work therefore I am.
Hooker 11:07 AM
Insults Here
I had decided to have a quiet evening last night. Too much drinking and stuff the whole week with Drexil. Went to pick up the lovable bastard from work (cause his car is screwed) yesterday afternoon. We decided to have one drink and then bugger off to our respective quiet evenings. One whiskey led to 6. I forgot I was supposed to do DVDs with Pauline. We made her come drink. I feel like playing tennis now… anyone else feeling that? Anyway, we drank more at Drexil’s place, I drove home (once again not quite sure how) passed out on my bed and all was quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever played tennis before. Got to work this morning hoping to Blog all day only to find the Fascist, Commie bastards have moved the deadline for my designs from next week Tuesday to 14h00 today, so no quality blogging. I don’t think I’d be good at tennis or any sport. In fact I don’t like sport. I hate it when people make me do stuff I don’t want to do. La la la la la la la, I’m not listening to you.
Picked up the post this morning. There was only one letter. It turned my face pale. I’ve been invited to the 1st ever, Khmer Rouge reunion party... but that I’ll save for another time.
Hooker 9:37 AM
Insults Here
Thursday, January 09, 2003
11h44 and I wish I were dead. It always seems like a good idea drinking whiskey. I can remember certain bits of the drive home last night (or can I). I can remember there being a road for the most part or was that just something hard we were driving on? Whatever. Had to drive up to the petrol station to get some smokes this morning. Some asshole stole the motor off the electric gates of the complex I stay in. What fuck head has the time to steal the motor off a gate? Those things are welded and bolted to the ground. I had to get out my car to open the gate; I can’t afford to do that kind of exercise, especially with no liver. Fuck head. Mmm just remembered Drexil’s car broke down last night. I opened a bottle of coke to cure my thirst. Coke is a cure for most ailments. This one time I had one of those 24-hour tumors; coke cured it in 22. Anyway, staring at the bottle of coke gave me flashbacks of the Cambodian prison camps. We had been captured by some rebel wanna-bes who consisted of high school drop outs who in any other country would have gone on to become motor mechanics or tow truck drives. They called themselves the Um Yui, which in their own personal slang meant: ‘The Guns of the Navarone’.
There were six of us left out of the original 21. They had us playing Russian Roulette for their own sick amusement. I had contemplated suicide by overloading my brain with sick thoughts of puppies and sentimental American films but no man's life can get that bad. Then sometime during the whole debauched episode one of the drunken bastard Um Yui rebels accidentally ate all the bullets in the camp. There was hope for us. I ventured a glance at Li Wan, the man who had become like a brother and Khmer Rouge mentor to me. He gave me a slight nod. I nodded back. Then he nodded back. Then I nodded back. Then both our heads were nodding. He was using the Metallica Mind trick to sooth his soul. Unfortunately this drew too much attention to us and the Um Yui leader came over.
I sat facing Li Wan. They had devised a new game to amuse themselves. In front of us was placed a coke bottle. I knew our fate was sealed. We were to play Spin-the-bottle to the death…
…sorry can’t go on.
Hooker 1:18 PM
Insults Here
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
OK, no one panic… the comment thingy is working now. So with that I'm gonna go get drunk tonight and lavish in the luxury of my own depression. Drexil, if you want to join me... more than welcome bud.
Hooker 5:15 PM
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Yawn.
Hooker 5:15 PM
Insults Here
I hate it when things don’t work. All I want is a silly little comment thingy for my Blog. Everyone else has one. Everyone else’s comment thingy works but NOT MINE. It reminds me of the time my father decided that our family was getting too big and sent me off to Cambodia to join the Khmer Rouge. I didn’t want to go at first but because I’d never travelled before, I made the decision to go. It was so exciting, the promise of a new day, the promise of new hope.
It was hard stepping onto the shores for the first time. Linda, my fiancée, had left for Cambodia three years earlier by plane to join rebel Red Cross Medics at the village of Lin Soy. Sadly, Linda didn’t know how to fly a plane and because she was going it solo there was no one to help her when her plane went down somewhere in the harsh jungles of Cambodia. I remember crying uncontrollably into the large breasts of a Cambodian hooker while a progressive village band played sad tunes I couldn’t understand to fellow patrons of the miserable shack of a bar we all sat in. The hooker, who’s name was Sing Yung, wore a silver locket around her neck that held the photos of her dead husband and eight kids. I stared at it. I caught my reflection in the woman's trinket but it wasn’t me. It was the mirror for a sad man, a man who had seen too many sad days, a man who had slept in the beds of far too many nameless women and never even bothered to get their phone numbers. It was the ugly reflection of me.
I sat up, turned towards the bar and said, ‘bar tender, give me a bottle of Jack.’
I looked back at Sing Yung, she was lonely, sad like me and she new it. We stared at one another for a while until she said, ‘you are an incredibility good looking young man, full of hope, I can see more for you than this. People like me have nothing left.’
I could almost see a smile emerge on her face when she continued, ‘go now. Be happy.’
She was right. I was not like her; a large breasted, baby making hooker, trying to pathetically make it in this cruel world with eight kids. I was young, good looking, promising, virile, good looking. I picked up my AK47 and red chequered headband, leaned over and kissed her like I’ve never kissed anyone before. It was extra for the kiss but I didn’t care, I had my whole life ahead of me, nothing could ever stop me.
I turned back to the bar tender and said, ‘buddy, make it two bottles.’
The trees of the Cambodian jungle loomed overhead. I cursed the local tourist curio shop owner for selling me a map of China instead of Cambodia but I should have known better….
OK, I’m getting on a bit here but I think you all get the point. So, why the FUCK can’t I have a comment thingy on my blog?
Hooker 4:58 PM
Insults Here
So, this is my first blog. I feel as though I should say something real clever and profound to open with but unfortunately I’m not real clever. I used to be clever. I remember when I was young my father and I would run through fields of daisies, the sun warm on our backs, the smell of fresh shoe-polish on our lips… just the three of us, my Dad, me and my clever little brain. Those days are gone, now I can’t even say something clever on a Blog.
Anyway, least I can talk about my problems here. Like when I was young, just before I became unclever, my Dad would come into the room where my brother and I slept and beat me with a stick and then give my brother sweets and then let him watch TV all night….
Mmm some other time maybe. Anyway gotta go work.
Hooker 1:27 PM
Insults Here
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