Tuesday, February 25, 2003
So I get back from my blog holiday to discover there are blogs missing out of my archives. This has not only fucked me off a lot, it has made me buy guns and lots of them. I’M GOING FUCKING POSTAL. It reminds me of that time I was a pro tennis player called The Love Doctor (The tabloids gave me the name, not very good, I know) and these stupid cunts hid my favourite tennis balls away from me for a day and I couldn’t function properly knowing that my favourite balls were gone. So me and Christopher Walken bought guns and went down to the local tennis club and shot people, randomly and indiscriminatory. I was very pissed off. In fact I don’t think I ever got over that, it made headline news (and launched Christopher’s acting career). So why then would someone be as stupid as to go and hide blogs from me? I will kill again.
So anyway my life has gone to shit, I’ve been sober for two days and I feel awful. On top of that, I feel fat today. So big, huge, feeling sorry for me.
On a lighter note, I like puppies.
Hooker 10:30 AM
Insults Here
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Right, I'm taking a blog holiday. See you all when I get back.
Hooker 4:27 PM
Insults Here
Monday, February 17, 2003
I woke up on Saturday morning and thought, ‘fuck, that was the most I’ve ever drunk in my entire life’. I woke up on Sunday morning and thought, ‘fuck, how naive was I yesterday morning.’ My ability to drink never ceases to amaze me. Why can’t careers be made out of drinking? Why can’t there be ads in the paper saying,
‘Wanted: Drunk to fill full time position. Good pay, taxi allowance and company perks’.
Why can’t I have a résumé that’s says,
‘…I’m a hard drinker, have 25 years drinking experience, can drink 10 beers and ten shots of whiskey (on an empty stomach) per hour. Have deep psychological scars, so guarantee of drinking is assured. Also have some experience with drugs’.
God is a cruel woman, I tell ya.
I also have this strange feeling I cut Drexil up yesterday evening with a packaging knife but that has absolutely nothing to do with the Khmer Rouge Reunion party I went to the other night. I didn’t want to go but everyone kept telling me I would regret it if I didn’t go and bla, bla, bla, I went. The event was nice, held at the Jo’burg Centenary Cricket Club hall. They got some of the Rouge wives to decorate the place; they gave it a wonderful prison camp feel, which was translated all the way through to the last napkin. The toothpicks in the cocktail foods were done in such a clever way that the food looked as though it were in real pain and the waiters serving the food looked thin, miserable and unhealthy (some even said they were actual POWs on loan for the evening). Li Wang's brother got a couple of the guys together who could play some musical instrument and were jamming out their New Wave Cambodian Jazz for all of us (though most of us thought of it as a tribute to Li Wang). Anyway, the evening was going great until the filthy whore Linda showed up and ruined everything, but I’ll whine about that another time.
Hooker 1:29 PM
Insults Here
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
When one stops to consider people in general, it still surprises me as to why there are still some who would appose abortion.
Children waiting for the day they feel good, happy birthday, happy birthday.
The children scattered and retreated to the edge of the forest when we landed. It’s not everyday one gets to see a giant, winged wolf, let alone two. But the hatred of people can often be strong and obstacles like fear, become just a nuisance. I dismounted. I began my walk towards them with an angered hatred that far surpassed their collective hatred for me. The Soul of Darkness grew warm in my hands, my chest grew tight and the tingle of hairs standing on ends gave me a morbid excitement, for my eagerness to draw blood was great and my chance to do so, close.
Made to feel the way that every child should, sit and listen, sit and listen.
They ran towards me, screaming. Their cries were deafening to those who would hear it, but I did not hear it, for my ears were listening to the dark music of my excited heartbeat. I felt a desire to run towards them, but my hunger for vengeance kept my pace steady. I wanted to savour the last look on their faces; in perhaps the same way one would savour the pause on a roller coater ride right before the final exhilarating drop.
Went to school and I was very nervous, no one knew me, no one knew me.
I brought The Soul of Darkness down and across the face of the first child and thrust it through the throat of another. And like the last drop of a roller coaster ride, there is not much of the momentum that can be stopped, for I hacked away at child after child till I was drenched with their blood and no life lay on the field, except for Tony’s.
Hello teacher, tell me what's my lesson, look right through me, look right through me.
Jenny stepped up next to me, soiled with blood and marked with the evidence and medals of her own hatred. We had Tony strapped to a tree. His head tossed from side to side like someone with a black fever and spoke mumbled, disjointed words that pleaded for mercy, as perhaps some do on their execution hour. There was no need for conference between the two of us, Jenny stepped up and cut his throat.
His head thrust forward with eyes wide open. His attempts to speak were drowned by the bubbling of blood out of his mouth and his bound hands begged for an opportunity to close up the trickle that emptied his life. We didn’t speak, we just watched as he suffered the indignity of slowly dying whilst those who had killed him watched with relish.
The walk back to school was accompanied by a sense of right and self worth. Police uniforms infested the school.
Jenny and I sat for a while in silence until she said, ‘would you like some whiskey?’
I turned and looked at her, ‘I’d love some.’
She brushed some hair from her face, ‘they say my parents are coming to get me,’
‘Mine to,’ I replied.
She poured my whiskey and I drank it. Later on she went home.
‘Kids can be so cruel,’ said the officer next to me as Jenny’s parents walked her away. I stayed where I was for a bit and never saw Jenny again. The officer turned his attention toward me.
'So, what is your name?'
I looked up at him, 'it's Hooker Bastard,' I said and drank some more whiskey.
Hooker 4:18 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
So, had the members of the band I’m in tell me they’re not happy with me, and then buy me dinner and whiskey. I had two plates of pasta. I can feel myself getting fat as we speak. Got home, had to do work related things and missed out on a lovely visit to Mistress SB’s house of filth. Oh, those of you who don’t know Mistress SB, she’s rather smashing, rates fairly high on the good looking meter (not as much as me though) and has recently been appointed as my official muse. Yay and well done, don’t fuck it up, ‘cause you know you’ll never hear the end of it. The weather this morning is fairly warm and clear. The time; fucking 04h01. Everyone welcome my new, unwelcome friend, Insomnia.
‘With or without you, I can’t live, with, or, without, yoooou.’
Fuck Head had picked an inappropriate time to be singing U2 songs.
“I’m starting to think my time spent in Hell was only a warm up for this,’ growled Roger the Great Winged Wolf.
“We’ve tried getting rid of him but he somehow shows up again,’ said Jenny brushing some hair from her face.
‘We have no time to be worrying about Fuck Head right now. The children are about to mount the walls with their scaling ladders,’ I said.
There was chanting and cheering from the children below. I could see the first of the ladders being readied to scale the wall.
‘You know we could just push the ladders away from the wall as they place them,’ replied Jon the Pretty Good Winged Wolf.
‘I know,’ I said as I jump up on the lip of the wall as the first of the ladders was placed, ‘but I don’t want to do that. Pass me the bow.’
I shot the first kid in the face as he was two meters away from me. The second, with the Tweety shirt, I shot in the shoulder. Both fell screaming for their mothers.
I gave the bow to Jenny, ‘that should shake them a bit. They won’t be climbing the walls anymore. So now we go to them’.
‘One man come in the name of love, one man come and…. oomph.’
Fuck Head was hit on the head by a teddy bear stuffed with sand and stones, which was tossed from below by a huge Lego catapult they had built the day before. He fell on his back and passed out.
Jenny and I saddled Roger and Jon. Teddy missiles were landing all around us, we didn’t care. I could feel The Soul of Darkness willing me on, talking to me, strengthening me, hating for me.
‘We don’t stop till they are all dead,’ I said to Jenny as I drew The Soul of Darkness from it's sheath.
Jenny brushed some hair from her face, ‘yes, till they are all dead.’
We drank some whiskey.
Hooker 4:14 AM
Insults Here
Monday, February 10, 2003
It seems most of my time these days is spent waiting for things to go wrong. And every day I hate someone new. Anyway that has nothing to do with the game of charades I played last night. There was fuck all else to do last night, so we thought we would do something dumb. My team consisted of Jo, Drexil and myself. We lost. And for a while I thought we lost because, well, because they were better. Then I realised the teams were divided into, the sober team and the mother fucking, I can’t really stand, when is it my turn to throw up, we have all the booze, drunk team. So, they who have all the booze wins… isn’t that how it goes? And on the subject of cheap wine…
…It was hard for me at that time, to grasp that a child of my age was about to be killed by a bunch of nasty kids. It’s not every day a child is faced by a hoard of angry nursery school children armed with customised Fischer Price toys and a hatred for red hair. I was reminded of a line out of ‘Cry the Beloved Country’ that read, ‘…I fear that we may find that when they have turned to loving, we have turned to hating…’ I looked down at the children gathering below the tower, I clenched my jaw; I tightened my grasp around The Soul of Darkness. I, Hooker the Bastard, stood, on the Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool, with my companions, Jenny the Red, Gordon the Fuck Head, Roger the Great Winged Wolf and Jon the Pretty Good Winged Wolf.
Before we had feared their coming, but now we welcomed it. Before we had not understood their dislike, but now we fed on it; for we too had turned to hating.
Hooker 10:43 AM
Insults Here
Thursday, February 06, 2003
I really wanted to top myself at the end of last year. Then I forgot there is still one more Lord of the Rings movie still to come out, which moves things till the end of this year. But then I can’t do that ‘cause they are making another Spiderman movie, to be released in fucking 2004 and I am sure the Dare Devil movie is sure to have follow ups. Then I hear today they are making a sequel to Shrek, cunts. All I fucking want to do is die by the time I’m 35, is that so much to ask? I fucking hate Hollywood. Oh, and I also want to go to Canada.
Anyway, this is the part where I usually find some lame excuse to launch into Cambodian stories and things. So, while on the subject of death…
…The Boy drank some whiskey, I drank some whiskey and Darkchylde looked fucking great. We were waiting for the elevator to Earth and I struck up a polite conversation with her.
“No,’ she said again, ‘I will not mail you naked photos of myself.’
‘Fine, be like that, see if I care,’ I replied.
The boy drank his whiskey with a troubled expression on his face. He reminded me of when I was young, a drunk, yet somehow he kept his composure. Although I think I did the same but I cant remember. In fact, when I though about it, I couldn’t remember much of when I was young. Far too many years of fighting in Cambodia, drinking till dawn, drinking till sunset, drinking because of my drinking. I took another gulp of Devil Brew whiskey.
‘How does one get a name,’ asked the Boy?
Darkchylde looked at him, with what may have been pity or disinterest and said in her icy voice, ‘you are given one, usually from birth.’
‘I never had one from birth,’ said I.
‘So how did you get yours then,’ inquired the Boy?
‘Someone gave it to me, though I can’t remember when or how.’
Neville came walking passed with a brief case in his hands and waved, ‘bye everyone, I’m off, have a hateful evening,’ and walked off through an exit labelled ‘Parking.’ We didn’t really respond to him but I looked down at the boy instead and said, ‘if you are that concerned about having no name, you could always use mine until you get your own.’
The boy smiled for the first time since I had met him and more than likely for the first time in his life.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘I will never let the name of Hooker Bastard down.’
‘It’s fine, whatever,’
Darkchylde smiled at me, I think.
She turned to the boy, ‘I know what is in store for you when you go back. Neville will come for you again but in the mean time you still have the children coming to kill you and Jenny. I have taken the liberty of sending two friends of mine to join you, Roger the Great Winged Wolf and Jon the Pretty Good Winged Wolf. But the most prized thing I will give you, is my sword, The Soul of Darkness.’
Darkchylde knelt down in front of the boy and held her sword out to him. I was in a great position to see right down her top.
‘Thank you, but what will you use,’ asked the Boy recently named Hooker Bastard?
‘Don’t worry about me, I have a spare at home.’
The Boy nodded in acceptance and smiled again.
The elevator music was crap; some things don’t change, not even in hell. A light flashed above the door, which was followed by a ping sound.
‘This is your floor and time, young Hooker Bastard,’ said Darkchylde as the doors of the elevator opened.
He stepped out into a wooded area. There stood looming behind him a tower that looked pretty good but not great. The area looked familiar. I had thoughts of a girl with red hair. I tuned to the boy with new found intrigue and familiarity and said to him as the doors were closing, ‘who are you?’
‘He drew The Soul of Darkness and took a swig of whiskey, ‘I’m mother fucking Hooker Bastard.’
Hooker 6:32 PM
Insults Here
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
Thank you Vyvyan and Ros for sending me home from work fucking drunk. Thank you Alison and Keren for finishing me off. I am still drunk as I write this, in fact I should be still dead as I write this. Death was hanging around my room this morning, so I asked him to drive me to work, ‘cause I couldn’t. Friends don’t let friends get driven around by death. Anyway he’s not such a bad bloke, he has a hell of a time with all the negative publicity, still hasn’t got over the whole Meet Joe Black shit. So happy fucking birthday Alison.
And now for something completely mundane.
The magazines on Hell’s reception table were shite, lots of bridal stuff and how-to stuff on knitting and crap. Then again I was in Hell. I started chatting to the boy in reception again.
‘Shall we have some more whiskey while we wait,’ I asked?
‘Sure,’ he replied.
I pulled out a bottle of The Devil’s home brew.
“I stole this on the way out,’ I said.
He looked at me emotionlessly and pulled a similar bottle out.
“So did I,’ he replied.
For some reason I thought this boy was fucking cool. I still couldn’t help feeling a constant sense of Deja Vous.
“What is your name boy,’ I asked?
‘I don’t have one but I think it is Boy.’
‘Funny, my parents were so disappointed with me that they didn’t give me a name. I also thought my name was boy, for many years,’ I replied.
‘You two get moving, I’m taking you both back.’
The voice was like ice and was such that the hairs on the back of our necks stood on end. We both looked up to see the most shagadelic woman we had ever seen. She wore tight PVC clothing and a long, black, velvet cloak that draped over the floor. In her right hand she held a sword, a really odd sword, it seemed to be made out of some sort of black metal. I struggled for something to say, for her beauty was rendering me speechless.
‘Do you ever trip over that cloak,’ I managed to spew out.
Her hair was great, wonderfully styled, must have had it done by pro’s every day.
‘Do you ever say anything intelligent,’ she replied.
I thought for a moment about it and replied, ‘I think I’m in love with you.’
It’s amazing how quickly one can find themselves in a situation where they have a sword to their throat.
‘There are many who want to love me. All fools. Feel free do so if you wish but do not wish for any reciprocation, for I cannot love, or perhaps will not love.’
‘That’s a nice sword,’ I said.
‘Yes it is. I had it made in Canada. There’s a bloke there that’s pretty good with his hands.’
I looked down the blade to the hilt to see a small red and white emblem and a small, Made in Canada logo. Then she smiled, which just freaked me out.
‘Who are you,’ I asked?
The boy spoke.
‘She is a freelance Dark Angel for the Devil, some say the most powerful of them all, she is Darkchylde, so don’t fuck with her.’
Hooker 11:01 AM
Insults Here
For those who are about to drink, I salute you.
Hooker 10:59 AM
Insults Here
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
Dear whiskey. I want to thank you for being my friend. I was once an unhappy person till I met you. Now I’m a drunk with a future. Thanks buddy.
So…
… ‘Where did he go,’ asked Jenny?
‘Who,’ asked Fuck Head?
“You know who,’ replied Jenny.
‘This is my new friend,’ said Fuck Head.
‘Stop playing with your food. Where did he go’?
Fuck Head had drawn eyes onto a piece of rock and was making it jump over other little tiny ones.
‘He’s not food, he’s name is Norman and he’s a horse.’
Jenny brushed some hair from her face, walked over to Fuck Head, picked up Norman and threw him over the edge of the tower. Fuck Head started crying.
‘Where did he go to,’ asked Jenny again?
‘Norman was my best friend.’
‘He was a stupid Rock.’
Fuck Head began to cry more. Tears and drool ran out of his mouth. Snot poured out of his nose. It was an awful thing to look at.
‘Ok, just stop it now. If you tell me where he went, I will tell you how to get Norman back.’
Fuck Head calmed down to a whimpering shiver. He was breathing heavily and making strange faces with each sob.
‘He was taken by that man,’ sobbed Fuck Head.
‘Jenny frowned at Fuck Head, ‘What man?’
‘Neville.’
Jenny began to pace around while Fuck Head stood staring down at Norman.
‘So how do I get him now,’ asked Fuck Head?
Jenny turned to Fuck Head and said, ‘you jump over the edge and get him.’
‘I can’t do that, that’ll kill me.’
‘Well you obviously don’t really want Norman back.’
The reception area of Hell seemed nice, the magazines were a bit old but other than that nice. A woman with huge breasts walked in and told me my escort out of hell would be here soon. Still can’t remember what her face looked like. I did notice another person in reception with me, a young boy with same colour hair as mine. He sat quietly on his own and didn’t or want to look my way. He did seem familiar; in fact this whole part of Hell seemed familiar.
‘Hey you,’ I said to the boy, ‘what are you doing here?
‘Waiting to go.’
You also getting out of Hell?’
‘Yeah, had to drink 666 shots of whiskey. Need to get back to my friends.’
‘666 shots of whiskey, that’s a lot for a kid.’
“I had a whiskey birth.’
‘Really! Me to.’
Hooker 4:50 PM
Insults Here
The South African government has just past legislation that prohibits anyone from walking a dog in public. What a great country, you can shoot someone in the face and get away with it, you can bribe just about any policeman and HIV doesn’t cause AIDS. Although guide dogs are allowed in public, which pretty much means blindness is gonna be on the increase with an influx of discount guide dog owners.
Ok, here are some more awards. The award for ‘Best Phone Call' of the month goes to Darkchylde for her smashing one hour, Canada to South Africa, phone call. Darkchylde, who some of you will remember as the recipient of the coveted ‘Lithium Award’, blew a whopping $100 on the call and spend most of the time listening to me get drunk. So it is with pretty good love that I hand this one over. The ‘Life Time Gordon Award’ for excellence in the field of being a fuck head goes to none other than, Robert Mugabe. Let’s give everyone a round of applause, except for Bob.
Anyway, last bits of Hell and Battle for the Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool are gonna have to wait till after lunch time whiskey, when I’ll then be able to think better.
Hooker 12:02 PM
Insults Here
Monday, February 03, 2003
So my housemate owns this Barrette 9mm para-something-or-other, which for the last hour I’ve had to my head. I’m also drinking a bottle of cheap red wine. Until a minute ago I was gonna pull the trigger but then decided if I were to punish myself (as I want to) it would be better to rather let the rest of my pitiful life live its course. I mean what kind of an asshole leaves his phone in the car and misses three phone calls from Canada.
So, hands up who’s been to Hell and back?
The first shot burnt like Hell, the second even more, by shot number six hundred and sixty four I was quite enjoying myself.
So, 664, isn’t that your personal record,’ I asked Neville?
“Yeth it iss. How ith it you are still standing?’
I grinned at Neville, he had his silk tie tied around his head and was swaying considerably. I didn’t answer him.
‘Let’s have the next one.’ I said.
‘Let’s rather make prawnk callths to people in Pakisthan,’ slurred Neville.
‘I would love to Neville, but as I said, I really have to be going. And besides, if you finish this one, you’ll have a new personal record.’
Neville looked sheepishly down at his shoes and said, ‘Ok.’
I had to pour the next two shots (Neville didn’t know which two of the six glasses in front of him he had to pour into).
‘Here’s to us Devil,’ I said as I put shot 665 away.
‘Yesth, and George W Bush,’ replied Neville as he drank his, ‘665, that ith my new record, yay.’
We both stared at shot 666 for some time as it lay on the table.
‘Yow know,’ said Neville as he swayed from behind his hand that pointed at me, ‘it ith impossible for anyone on earth to survive shot 666, it is a poisoness number, you will cease to exist. I gave earth alcohol. Shot 666th can only be dwunk by me.’
I picked up shot 666 and stared at it.
‘Well Neville,’ I replied and looked at him straight in his eyes, ‘my mother was one of those people who was into all sorts of dumb things. She always tried new kinds of medicines, always had some new form of belief, always was generally fucked in the head. Anyway, when she was pregnant with me, she wanted to have a water birth, who knows why, but she was my mother. So one day she has this car accident, which forces her into early labour for some odd reason. My mother, being my mother, still insists on a water birth to the paramedics at the scene. Against their better judgment, decide to grant her this as a form of a last wish. Now there was no expanse of water around for this to happen, so the paramedics on the scene decide to drag her over to the nearest form of liquid, so that this whole thing can happen. The nearest place to have this much liquid lying around was the whiskey distillery across the road. So what I’m trying to tell you Devil, is I was born in a vat of whiskey. I had a whiskey birth, I was born into your poison, and I cannot be affected by it. I am stronger that you for it. I am mother fucking Hooker Bastard.’
I smiled, winked and drank shot 666.
Hooker 12:32 AM
Insults Here
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