Friday, December 05, 2003
So I had to work late last night, which sucked. I had to listen to bad sixties music yesterday, that sucked. I had to come into work early this morning, which sucked. I’m not in a good mood.
So to celebrate my bad mood, I’ve selfishly declared today Pantera Day. And as I write this, the staff of the company I work for are now listening to 'Fucking Hostile' at decibels unfit for human consumption.
I wish you could all see their faces. Mmm perhaps I should follow with 'This Love'. The soft melodic guitars in the beginning are very deceptive and should give everyone the impression the noise has gone. HEHEHEHEHHAHAHAHAH
Hooker 9:45 AM
Insults Here
...You keep this love, thing, child, toy
You keep this love, fist, scar, break
You keep this love...
Aaaah, a Bastard Display of Power
Hooker 9:45 AM
Insults Here
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Sometimes I wish I were dead.
Hooker 5:49 PM
Insults Here
Friday, November 21, 2003
Thought I'd quickly pop in here and say, 'Hi'.
Hooker 4:16 PM
Insults Here
Thursday, November 06, 2003
Yikes, been slacking a bit with the blogs. I had an awfully Deer infestation this whole week. Had to call in some experts to sort the problem out. Got some nice new wall decorations now.
So the birthday didn’t go so bad. Got some nice presents. SB got me THIS' (and the Count of Monte Cristo and Donnie Darko DVDs. Yummy, clever person. And Drexil got me a GUN (hehe Goodwill Hunting Season….and Magician and a bottle of J&B)
Anyway, not dead yet. Got silly Diary of Dreams concert this weekend. Check ya Monday.
Hooker 5:26 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
So, on Thursday I turn old. There of many of you who seem to think it’s a great thing to celebrate the day of your birth, but what you are actually doing is celebrating one year closer to your death (mmm, I suppose there is a bright side to life).
Hooker 8:44 AM
Insults Here
Monday, October 27, 2003
I used to be a fun animal loving kinda guy but as life goes on I’ve realised I don’t like all of them. Like for instance, I don’t like animals that are called Ted or Roger, or animals that pick on other animals, or animals that Hi-Jack one anothers cars, nor do I like piglet animals that eat ones doughnuts in the morning, nor do I like animals that whine for food and are a pain in the butt. Ever seen those awful kids that throw temper tantrums in super markets cause they didn’t get their own way? And they never stop, even after the shopping experience is over. Those are the kind of kids you look at and say to yourself, ‘I never want to have kids,’ or ‘I hate kids.’ Those nasty animals I just talked about, they’re just like those kids; you never want them.
I did play a wonderful hunting game on my brothers PC yesterday (and no it’s not cruel, they just virtual animals. They don’t feel a thing) and I must say it has a great catharsis to it. I got to even the score with a couple of nasty deers.
Hooker 9:37 AM
Insults Here
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
You know how you can always feel flu coming on; well I can feel insanity coming a mile off. And I think this next bout I'm getting is gonna be hard to shrug off. Everyday I wake up, it's infected me a little more and I find myself thinking about La La land a lot. It may be the Deer inside. I walk around work looking at people through warped, manic eyes and as much as I tell myself I shouldn't kill them, the big, dark deer inside tells me to. I fear I may be lost forever and things are gonna fall apart.
I hope I didn't make this sound like a bad thing.
Hooker 1:55 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
People who live in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones. Why? Because people can get hurt. Stones can be pointy and can cause one to bleed. In 1995 there was this guy who lived in a glasshouse who once threw a stone at a woman walking in the road. The stone hit the woman on her head and her brain fell out. She died two days later in hospital of shock. The guy who threw the stone had to flee his native country because the police were after him. Due to his exiled situation the guy was forced to become a postman and stole NASA's space shuttle and went on an intergalactic crime spree.
The man's simple, glasshouse living life was disrupted by one silly throw of a stone. So everyone should be careful next time they throw stones.
Hooker 10:28 AM
Insults Here
Monday, October 06, 2003
Right, I'm back from holiday and have to say I could do with another one. EBJones' wedding was smashing from what I could remember of it i.e. I have the photos as memories.
Good thing about my holiday though, I didn't turn into a deer once. Yay.
On a more downer note, I still don't have a new job. I was hoping to receive a wonderful, 'when can you start phone call', but alas I didn't. I was also kinda hoping Luke Sullivan would, from out of the blue, give me a call and offer me a job (the bastard hasn't).
Anyway I've got a new game I want to try and market, which hopefully will make me some cash so I can leave my current job, it's called: 'Fenetik Skrabil'. It's a game that people who can't play regular scrabble can play. I'll keep ya all posted.
Hooker 10:24 AM
Insults Here
Friday, September 19, 2003
Well I'm buggering off on holiday. Will be back on the 3rd. See ya all then.
Hooker 6:17 PM
Insults Here
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Well, this, just made my day.
Hooker 5:42 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
I think there should be a consumer complaints division in this country for crap ads. And I'm not talking about those ads with the ambiguities that mislead the consumers; I'm talking about the ones that are down right crap. The ones you say, 'that was the stupidest thing I've ever seen,' right after seeing them.
Apparently we are allowed to be offended by an ad if we feel it's been misleading or racist or misrepresentative or sexist or violent or blah blah blah. But what if the uncreative, crapness of an ad offends me, I can't complain about it. I can whine to friends about it, but I can't have it pulled off air because it's shite and irritating. And if I hear one more advertising/marketing person say, 'we're into sales, not entertainment,' I'll fucking slap their faces silly. They should disbar advertising agencies for doing crap ads.
Anyway, the next time you see a stupid ad on TV or in print or in etc, phone the company's marketing department and complain. I can tell you now; if they feel that their precious consumers are unhappy, they'll start to change things. And perhaps the next brief into their ad agency might be, '...it would seem that our consumers find our current ad boring and lame. We need a new one, one that doesn't make them ill in their bums.'
Hooker 4:17 PM
Insults Here
There is a certain equilibrium within this world which keeps every thing in place. Mother Nature plays her role in keeping the fluffy animals in place and when it comes to my life, The Matthew Effect is there to assure my capital gain is kept to a minimal, for as The Matthew Effect simply states; the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. And the more I attempt to prove the great equilibrium wrong, the more it succeeds in proving itself right, for I have lifetime tickets to the cheap seats.
Anyway, this week's Tagboard Topic
Hooker 9:37 AM
Insults Here
Thursday, September 11, 2003
The Return of the Soul of Darkness - Part VI
I woke up the following morning, after having had a nightmare about turning into a deer and getting chased by the Big Bad wolf. It was a stupid dream because the Big Bad Wolf is not as bad as he's made out to be and is rumoured to give large amounts of money to disadvantaged animals and sees someone on a regular basis about his slight badness.
Anyway I ignored the dream and got dressed in Keanu's Matrix outfit (and I must add I looked far better in the kit than he did) and loaded up my guns, brushed my teeth and left the house before any of the bears woke up. I decided not to take the car to The School for Other People kids but rather instead, opted for a nice walk. The voices in my head had died down a bit which made my stroll through the forest a lot more enjoyable. I had, at first when I woke, decided to go and sort the shit with Red Ridding Hood and the Three Little Pigs out but later thought, 'fuckit, let me rather get The Soul of Darkness thing out of the way before dealing with anyone else's problems.'
The School for Other People's Kids hadn't changed at all. It still had all it's warmth and charm and it seemed to hold its hands lovingly out to me as I approached.....NOT! It looked like shit and was run down and overgrown with plants and the desolation and lack of unhappy kids gave the whole place an added eeriness. The schools obvious demise put a happy smile on my face but the distant voices in my head sang a painful requiem for those who once attended the school. I picked up an old decaying newspaper that lay in the dirt and mud. Its Headlines and articles documented the schools fall and the deaths of all its children at the hands of two nasty redhead children called Hooker Bastard and Jenny-Anne Newton. I threw the newspaper down and made my way through the vine-covered entrance to the school. The interior was musty, damp and dark and the walls and floors were rotting away. Children's lunch boxes, clothing and pictures lay dirty and muddied on the floor. I lit a cigarette, drank some whiskey and yawned. I wasn't quit sure this was the best place to start looking for The Soul of Darkness, but I had to start somewhere. I made my way through the debris to the outside play area. I was once again confronted by decaying playthings; rusted swings, weed infested sandpits. The Sand Pit. I walked over to the sandpit where Jenny and I were jailed. It seemed less daunting and intimidating but still brought back memories of hatefulness and anger. I drank some whiskey. A monotonous, creaking sound behind me caught my attention and I turned round to see an old woman sitting on a rocking chair, on the school porch, rocking to and fro, and staring blankly into the forest.
I walked over to her and said, 'hey old person, what's up?'
She turned her head slowly towards me and answered in a soft, laboured voice, 'I'm waiting,' and turned back to stare at the forest.
'That's nice,' I said, 'for anything in particular?'
She didn't answer.
I took a drag from my smoke and held my bottle of whiskey out to her, 'want some whiskey?'
She didn't answer and I waved my hand in front of her face in an attempt to get another response.
I stood on the porch for a while longer, drank some more whiskey and smoked two more cigarettes.
'Well it's been nice chatting to ya but I must be off, got lots to do today.'
I began to walk away when the old woman spoke.
'Do you know what time the school finishes?'
'I think at one o' clock.'
'Oh, OK,' she said, 'just waiting for my boy to finish at school, clever boy he is.'
'Your kid went to this school,' I asked?
'Yes,' she answered, slowly nodding her head, 'his name is Tony. Very clever boy.'
'Your boy's name is Tony? I know Tony,' I replied between my teeth.
The old woman turned her head towards me again,' you know Tony. He's a very clever boy. Do you know when he's going to finish school?'
I drank some whiskey and puffed my smoke, then said, 'well he's finished school for good, 'cause he's dead.'
'Oh,' replied the old woman, 'so he'll be by soon then. Very clever boy.'
I yawned again, 'whatever floats your boat old woman but Tony was a cunt and I'm glad he's dead.'
I noticed a tin bucket sitting next to her rocking chair. It was filled with rocks and stones, so I asked her,' what's the stones for?'
'She turned to answer me, 'it's for feeding that young man who comes by here. There are no pigeons to feed so I feed him.'
'You feed him stones? What's his name,' I asked?
'He won't tell me. Every time I ask him for his name he calls me, fuck head.'
It didn't take me too long to fugure who she was feeding.
'Aah Fuck Head. I would have thought he'd be dead from stupidity by now.'
I picket up the bucket of stones and drank some whiskey.
'Thanks for your time old woman but I've got better things to do.'
I thought perhaps it would be a good time to pay Gordon (Fuck Head) a visit for old time sake. Even though I didn't really want to see him, I though that perhaps he may have some information on the whereabouts of The Soul of Darkness. With whiskey, smokes and a bucket of stones in hand, I began my trip into the forest.
The old woman called out from behind me, 'he doesn't know what time the school finishes either.'
'Whatever'
Hooker 9:56 AM
Insults Here
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
So the interview went better than I thought. Didn't even get the chance to beg. What has the world come to when a young, oldish person like myself is denied his right to beg.
Anyway, I don't think I'll get the job, it went far too well.
Hooker 9:42 AM
Insults Here
Monday, September 08, 2003
So off to another interview today. Don't think this one will pan out too well but I'm gonna give it a bash anyway. I wish getting a job was as easy as it was in my dads days: Find a company you want to work for; Find out who runs the company; Kidnap his wife and kids; Talk about salary and starting date. Kids of yesterday had it so easy.
So what do you all think of this approach to my interview: Pleeeeeeeeeeeease give me a job. PLEASE. PLEEEEEEEEASE GIVE ME A JOB, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE WHERE I WORK. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD PLEASE GIVE ME A JOB. I WISH I WERE DEAD FROM AIDS MY LIFE IS SO BAD. SO PLEASE, I'M FUCKING BEGGING YOU PLEASE...GIVE ME A JOB...please.
Not sure about ending off with the last please bit but other than that, I think it may work?
Hooker 2:19 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
I'm thinking of buying some property in La La Land
Hooker 4:24 PM
Insults Here
Monday, September 01, 2003
I hate spring, it’s so indecisive.
Hooker 4:45 PM
Insults Here
OK, tell me this is not a job option:
• Buy gun
• Randomly and indiscriminately kill people in the street (and perhaps a few current work colleges)
• Go to jail
Go to jail. It’s been staring me in the face this whole time. How could I have missed it?
The Perks:
• Accommodation for the rest of my life.
• A steady relationship (sure it will be a guy but then again I do get butt fucked every day at work, kinda used to it)
• No financial worries
• No rent to pay
• No Tax
• Get to kill more people (hey, I’m in for life, what they gonna do? Start an afterlife sentence?)
• Food on my plate every day.
Anyway the list goes on. I feel better now that I know my options are open.
Hooker 2:54 PM
Insults Here
Where did it all go wrong?
Hooker 2:54 PM
Insults Here
Damn comment things not working again. Anyway, do beggars really think that, 'Will Work for Food', is an appealing proposition? Does that mean if I take one of those guys up on their offer, my shopping list is gonna look like, 'Buy Food for Yourself and Beggar.' What do beggars like? Dog food? Caviar? Chocolate? Seems like a bit of a mission to me. I struggle picking out food for myself, yet alone a beggar. Would it not be easier to just give him some bucks and say, 'go buy your own food.' But then I'd be giving him money and not food and most probably be in breach of contract.
Well I suppose they wouldn't do it if it didn't work. Perhaps I should try that as my new job-hunting approach. 'Cept perhaps I could customise it a bit for advertising, maybe: 'Will Work on Food Accounts.'
Hooker 2:10 PM
Insults Here
So I went for an interview the other day. It went kinda OK. However the dude who interviewed me obviously thinks I'm some sort of bitch he picked up on the weekend 'cause he hasn't called me back (as he said he would) to let me know if I have the job or not. His deadline was Friday, do I presume that means, 'no you don't have the job (which is most likely the case)', or is it he may be trapped under something heavy and can't get to the phone. Anyway if he doesn't call, I'm gonna start lodging ASA (Advertising Standards Authority) complains against any work his company does or get him turned into a Deer and have his ass shot, come hunting season.
PS the weekend was great, lots of beer, strippers and beer.
Hooker 11:34 AM
Insults Here
Thursday, August 28, 2003
Everyone enjoy Mars? Well it sucked. The Mars thing last night was on par with Haley’s Comet. It was like looking at a normal star but through an orange filter. I’ve made better planet photos with Photoshop. In fact I downloaded the Mars filter Plug-in this morning. It’s kind of like the Lens Flare filter but only smaller and subtler and only the seasoned graphics retouchers can notice it on an image.
I suppose you cunts with cool telescopes got to see all the supposed cool stuff. I bet you invited all your cunt friends around for dinner and Mars. Well let it not be said I didn’t try getting my hands on one of those telescope things. I phoned George Bush last week and asked him if I could borrow Hubble, and he said, ‘no.’ Seems he was having some sort of State dinner and Mars. Anyway, if any of you would like to buy one of my pictures of Mars, send me an email. Until then, go die.
Hooker 10:57 AM
Insults Here
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
So I'm having one of those 'what does it all mean?' things and I have no idea what it all means. I thought perhaps the Deer Institute would know (cause they helped me tons through my, 'I may be turning into a deer' phase), so I tried writing them a letter but couldn't get past the Dear Deer Guys. I think I can only be happy when I'm miserable. So what does it all mean? Anyone?
I also feel like crap today. Haven't felt this way since my early blog days. Beer and whiskey don't go together, or is that beer and battery acid, I always get confused between the two.
Hooker 10:58 AM
Insults Here
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
So I phoned the Deer Institute yesterday and according to them it is impossible for a human to turn into a deer. Then again, I suppose they have to say that.
Hooker 11:17 AM
Insults Here
Thursday, June 26, 2003
So I haven't blogged in a bit, not that anyone comes here anymore (so big fat tears for me) but I'll be back soon(ish) after I get over my fear of turning into a deer.
Hooker 4:27 PM
Insults Here
Monday, May 26, 2003
So after everyone told me how crap it was, I finally got round to watching The Matrix Reloaded. A big fuck you to all those who told me it was shite and a big thank you to Mistress SB, Drexil, Biancca, enemabagjones, Lisa and Steve for sharing this fucking awesome movie with me. I will be going to see it another fifty times more. And on the subject of thank yous, thanks to Darchylde again for the long distant Canadian phone call (you should sue the beer company for your phone bill).
Anyway…
Return of The Soul of Darkness – Part V
So Baby Bear whispered, ‘Shit, everyone hit the floor, it’s the pigs.’
I immediately stuck my face into the big pile of cocain and started snorting in an attempt to destroy evidence. Papa Bear and Mamma Bear hid in the closest closet, BB jumped off his stool and dived under a heap of old newspapers.
‘Open up,’ said the voice behind the door, ‘we know yooz are in dare’.
I lifted my head out of the pile of cocain, thought, ‘I feel fucking great,’ and said ‘don’t worry I’ll get it. I picked up my guns and walked over to the door and opened it. I didn’t see anyone.
‘Who da hell iz you,’ asked a voice somewhere down at my feet?
I looked down. ‘Fuck, you guys really are the pigs.’
‘Yez, some-a time known az, The Three little Pigz,’ said the pig puffing on a cigar, ‘but that doez not give me d’ answer to my question, who da hell iz you?’
‘I have to say this is really weird. A talking Pig. Who would have thought. I saw a show once where this guy had a dog that could make its bark sound likes words but never a talking pig. I mean, if you could fix that speach impediment, you could make some serious cash. Anyway, they call me, Hooker Bastard’.
‘Hooker, yooz pimping bitches on my turf? I’ll fucking put one in your head. Capiche?’ said the pig as he turned to one of his two companions who opened his jacket to reveal a gun.
‘Oh I get it now, you are supposed to be mafia pigs. That’s not bad, a little bit of a gimmick thing to go with the talking bit, not too sure on the Mafia thing though, but hey, a talking pig, that’s still fucking cool.’
The pig reached behind his back, pulled out a gun and held it at my stomach.
‘You tellz doze Three Bears dat Red Riding Hood wants her dough and if dey want dat Goldilocks bitch out of dare fur, dey better be talking to us’.
I looked at the pig for a bit, then asked, ‘is that a real gun?’
The pig puffed on his cigar and replied, ‘yes, and I’z not afraid to use it?’
So I pulled out my gun and shot him in the face. The other two ran away squealing like stuck policemen.
I turned around to face the three bears who had come out of their hiding places. Papa Bear and BB stood staring at the bloody mess on the floor while Mamma Bear went searching around for a mop.
‘Man we are in deep shit now,’ said Papa Bear
‘Why,’ I asked
“Red Riding Hood is going to be furious and the three pigs were our last hope for getting rid of Goldilocks. We are fucked.’
‘Listen, he pointed a fucking gun at me, what was I supposed to do. If you want, I’ll go and speak to this Red Riding Hood person and if Goldilocks bugs you that much, I’ll shoot her in the face as well.’
Mamma Bear started mopping up the blood and Baby Bear grabbed the pig by his feed and started dragging him away. Papa thought for a while and said, ‘OK, that sounds good to me’.
I put my gun down on the table and said, ‘Good, so who’s up for some bacon and eggs?’
Hooker 5:48 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
So I had a wonderful evening of death last night. Mistress SB’s evil cats awoke my mutated allergy gene that my father graciously passed on to me. Thanks Dad. Anyway had a pretty quiet weekend, young Drexil has found a new couch to sleep on, hope you’re happy buddy, we all miss you, don’t forget to write. And the fucking dims on my car cut out last night. I had to drive with my brights on. People get angry when you do that. BTW this person is a laugh.
…So anyway, where was I?… Oh, right, don't have much to say though, but here it goes…
Return of The Soul of Darkness – Part IV
It was not the easiest thing, being in the forest again. It was raining and I could feel my hair getting fucked up with every drop. The voice in my head grew stronger the moment we arrived. I did my best to ignore it. The three bear’s house was quite lovely though, though most of it was filled with all sorts of equipment for making drugs. I found it hard to fight the urge to stick my face into a huge pile of cocaine that sat next to a large, brass measuring scale. The house itself was situated on a slope, which enabled one to look straight down, through the trees, to the basement of the forest.
‘You can sleep here,’ said Papa Bear stringing up a hammock between two wooden pillars that held the staircase to the bear’s rooms. ‘Not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but it should keep you till your business in the forest is done.’
‘The hammock is fine, thank you very much,’ I replied. ‘I once spent a large portion of my life sleeping on one of those.’ The hammock led my mind back to the nights spent in the Cambodian jungle with the Khmer Rouge*. I blocked that thought out of my mind as quickly as I could. Cambodia was not at the top of my list of things to think about.
‘Can I get you anything,’ asked Mamma Bear, ‘tea? Coffee? Porridge?’
‘No thanks,’ I replied with a smile, ‘I think I’ll just finish this bottle of whiskey and take a bit of a lie down till the rain stops.’
‘And besides, you don’t want any of her porridge, she makes it far too cold,’ interrupted Papa Bear.
‘Well yours is far too hot. The spoon melts in yours,’ snapped Mamma Bear.
‘Well, you snore,’ said Papa Bear.
‘Well you have big feet,’ replied Mamma Bear.
‘It’s ok for me to have big feet. I’m a fucking bear. Bears have big feet.’ Shouted Papa Bear flopping his two front paws up and down.’
‘Could you two just shut the fuck up.’ said Baby Bear.
Papa Bear was about to say respond to Baby Bear when there was a knock at the door. Everyone went quiet and Papa Bear motioned to BB to check the door.
BB placed a wooden stool in front of the door, climbed on it and looked through the keyhole. He turned round and in an urgent whisper said, ‘shit.’
Hooker 1:44 PM
Insults Here
Thursday, May 15, 2003
Return of The Soul of Darkness - Part III
‘STOP IT! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! JUST STOP SINGING THAT FUCKING SONG! I’VE HAD IT STUCK IN MY HEAD FOR HOURS NOW AND I CAN’T GET IT OUT,’ I screamed fucking loudly.
‘Gee, aren’t you just a bit touchy,’ said Papa Bear.
I ground my teeth and said, ‘Yes I am and I hate that song, I hate it. It’s driving me fucking crazy.’
I lit up a smoke and drank a good section from the bottle of whiskey.
‘And give me back my gun.’
I lent back into the back seat and grabbed my gun out of the hands of Baby Bear who had been swinging it around in time to the beat of their stupid song.
‘Fuck, as if the voice in my head wasn’t bad enough, now I have to contend with the three retard bears and, If you go down to the woods today…. Aaaaaaarg.’ I sat with my gun in my hand and stared at the road in front of me, while the hum of the car’s engine replaced all conversation.
‘You know what you need,’ said Papa Bear, breaking the silence?
I had my face buried in my hands, ‘it better not be that song, ‘cause I’ll shoot you all dead.’
‘You need a bear hug. Yip, one big bear hug. Nothing in this world beats a good bear hug.’ said Papa Bear and turned to me with paws wide open.
‘Just watch the road,’ I shouted, pointing at the pilot less steering wheel. ‘If fact pull over, I’m driving,’ I said waving my gun in the general direction of the roadside.
I climbed into the drivers seat to be confronted by sulky bear faces.
‘What was I, drunk?’ I mumbled, ‘letting a fucking bear drive.’
I put the car into first and accelerated off with silence in the car and three bear lips hanging on the car floor. I looked around the car at them all, ‘so what? I’m the bad guy now?’
‘We just want to go home now,’ said Papa Bear.
‘Well I just need to get the voice out my head and maybe get back in time to see my fucking girlfriend.’ They didn’t look at me or speak and I all of a sudden felt sorry for them. ‘Oh, crap,’ I said, ‘here’s some whiskey, sing the fucking song.’
We drove for a few more hours and the sun began to set.
‘… so anyway, firsht she starts stealing our porridge,’ slurred Papa Bear as he swayed to and fro from the whiskey.
He pointed one of his claws at me, puffed on his cigarette and continued,’ then she sharts with the ….’ He paused, looked around for a bit, then tried to look at me, ‘what wash I saying?’
‘I think you finished,’ I replied
‘Oh…you shee what I mean.’
He puffed some more on his smoke. Mamma Bear and BB slept in the back of the car; Papa Bear just wouldn’t go down.
‘Sho, where are you going wif those voices in your head,’ he asked trying to point at his head?
‘I’m going to look for something.’
‘Where,’ asked Papa Bear?
‘You wouldn’t know it but there is a dark forest that surrounds an awful nursery school. That’s where I’m going.’
‘Aah, The School for Other People’s Kids,* we live two blocsh from there. You can shtay with me,’ replied Papa Bear as his head fell against the window and passed out.
‘Great,’ I said and drank some whiskey.
Hooker 12:53 PM
Insults Here
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
Return of The Soul of Darkness - Part II
I woke up on the passenger seat side of my car, big hangover, lots of awful early morning sun. I looked out the window of the car at the frost covered daisies whizzing by and thought, ‘I need more whiskey.’ I fumbled around my pockets for a lighter and lit a smoke.
‘Can I have one of those,’ said the big bear driving the car.
‘Sure,’ I replied and handed him a smoke.
I lit it for him, he closed his eyes and took a deep, long puff and said, ‘damn, that is good, I haven’t had one of these in two days.’
‘Fuck, I’d go insane,’ I replied.
‘Almost did,’ said the bear.
The bear with one hand on the steering began fumbling around the floor with the other.
‘You should try keeping your eye on the road,’ I said to him as the car veered onto the other side of the road.’
‘Huh? What you say? I’m trying to find your bottle of whiskey,’ replied the bear as he looked up to see a truck heading straight for him.’
‘Fuuuuuck,’ screamed the bear as he screeched the car back onto the correct side of the road. ‘Fucking asshole,’ he shouted out the window and gave the driver of the truck a big furry finger.
I have to say I was a little pale from the near miss but spotted my whiskey on the passenger floor under a bunch of Ping Pong paddles.
‘Ok bear, I’m finding all this a little weird right now,’
‘How so?’ he asked.
‘Well last night I was driving along in this car, drunk admittedly, and then this morning I wake up and find I’m not. Don’t you think that’s a little weird.’
‘Well no,’ said the bear, ‘we were hitching along last night; you stopped, said you were drunk and would lift us if I drove. Nothing weird about that, everyone hitches.’
‘Suppose you’re right.’
I threw the last of my smoke out of the window, lit another and drank some whiskey.’
‘So where are you off to then,’ I asked?
The bear took the last puff of his smoke and said to me, ‘well me and my family are drug dealers and we are on our way home.’
‘Right, so you’ve come back from a deal then?’
‘No, we’ve been hunting down that filthy whore Goldilocks. She keeps coming over to our place to steal drug and we’ve had enough’.
‘Why don’t you just tell her to fuck off?'
‘Well we’ve tried and she just won’t go. We even called the police once and that wasn’t the brightest of ideas, hey Mamma Bear,’ said the bear turning his head to the back of the car.’
‘Yeah, that was stupid, we had to used BB’s college fund to pay them filthy pigs off.’
I turned my head around to the back seat of the car to see two bears staring at me. One was almost the size of the bear driving the car, who I presumed was Mamma Bear and the other was quite small, who I presumed to be BB or I suppose, Baby Bear. I turned my head back to face the road. I lit another smoke and took a generous swig of whiskey.
‘I’m going back to sleep now.’
Hooker 12:12 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
Return of The Soul of Darkness - Part I
No matter how much time moves along or how hard I try to forget or how much happiness enters my life; the cold, darkness of the forest and the hatefulness of the children at the gates of The Pretty Good Watch Tower of Amandrool will never cease to plague me. I often, and sometimes too often, find my thoughts lingering there for longer than is, perhaps healthy. It has now been of late, that the sordid actions of that day now seem to beckon to me and call to me and the bottles of whiskey no longer drown the screams or blot out the images, for there is one voice amongst it all that whispers deep into my mind. It took me a while to recognise the voice, as it is not a common voice and none that any earthly being could produce, for this voice was born in the despair of Hell and wielded by the darkest of angels, the voice is none other than that of, The Soul of Darkness. *
So I thought, ‘what the fuck, I thought I tossed that ages ago.’ It bugged me a bit to think that I would, in order to get the damn voices out of my head, have to go and trash it again. Anyway it didn’t seem to be too much of a train smash cause Mistress SB had her sister up for the weekend (and had to entertain her) and young Drexil had his new bitch with him, so I though, ‘might as well get this out of the way’.
I made a list of all the things I needed… it was a lot and I didn’t have the cash for it (the bowling balls alone were gonna set me back R25 566). So I phoned Christopher Walken and said, ‘hey you owe me money,’ and he said, ‘no I don’t,’ and I said, ‘yes you do,’ and he said, ‘really?’ and I said, ‘really,’ so he said, ‘how much?’ and I said, ‘$50 000,’ so he said, ‘fuck you, there’s no way,’ so I said, ‘I’ll settle for $1000 but you have to pay for this phone call,’ and he said, ‘OK.’
So I went out and bought guns with the $1000 and found thereafter that gun owners get pretty much everything at discount price, like, for free. So I got the basics: the original clothes that Keanu wore in The Matrix, Jimmy Hoffa’s body, Amazing Fantasy (the one with the first appearance of Spiderman), a cool car, table tennis paddles, black pepper refills, smokes, a vanity mirror, nice hair and Shirley Temple (she go a bit noisy after a while, so I told her to fuck off).
So I got into my car and drove off into the sunset to destroy the Soul of Darkness….um…to be continued.
Hooker 5:00 PM
Insults Here
Thursday, May 08, 2003
Hands up, who hates me? Hold on, let me rephrase; hands up, if you hate me and are a boyfriend of a woman who knows me. It seems lately I’ve acquired quite a few boyfriends who hate me. I had coffee this afternoon with a friend of mine who I haven’t seen in a while and I was like, ‘hey, Pam, how are you? Haven’t seen you in eight months, four day and sixty two minutes’, and she said, ‘I know, it’s been a while and my boyfriend hates you and won’t let me see you,’ and I replied, ‘that’s great, I always knew you were strong willed and not susceptible to that kind of thing.’ Anyway the bloke’s name is Paul, most probably could knock the shit out of me, likes slow walks on the beach, sunsets and Wrestle Mania.
Anyway, young Pam reads this blog, so tell her to lose the boyfriend and find a bloke who’s rich, likes me and will buy me drinks. Interesting bit of trivia about Pam: she once borrowed my TV and then sold it. I’ve only through intensive therapy, been recently able to deal with it.
Anyway, what the fuck, or as they say in Cambodia, 'what the fuck.'
Hooker 4:47 PM
Insults Here
Do you know that a pig’s brain has 3100g of cholesterol? I had no idea pigs had brains. I wish I had a brain. I wish I could live in a world where we all had brains. I wish I had lots of money, so I could buy a brain. I wish chocolate would start growing on trees again and we could all go out on a winter’s day and gather chocolate and have parties to celebrate the first buds of chocolate. But alas, even the chocolate rivers have dried up and the sweet sounds of the chocolate birds will no longer be heard. Everyone blamed the big chocolate corporations for The Big Chocolate Deforestation’ of 1984 but I firmly believe it was the collaboration of two beings: The Easter Bunny and Donald Trump. Anyway, I don’t really care anymore. I feel old and wish sometimes someone would put me down.
Hooker 12:48 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
I now fucking hate poltergeists. I have one of the filthy spirits at home. Not that I used to mind them too much but the one I have at home is starting to annoy me. In the beginning it just went around scaring people and after a while started doing a bit of ironing and odd jobs around the house. But scaring people, ironing and washing dishes are one thing but when I got home from Iraq the other day after a long, wallet retrieving mission for George Bush, I discovered the fucking cunt had done a load of washing and mixed all the dark colours with the light colours and used all the hot water in the house. Further more it taped over my re-runs of the Wombles, with All My Children. It pains me to do so, but I think I’m gonna have to call someone in to sort this shit out.
Anyway, this person is having a bit of guy problems. Any suggestions, go give her a shout.
Hooker 5:07 PM
Insults Here
Friday, April 25, 2003
The Little Orphan Boy
by Hooker Bastard
Once upon a time there lived a little orphan boy who had everything he wanted, ‘cept maybe for parents, but other than that he had everything. He lived far, far away in a nunnery for ex-super models who liked to kiss each other a lot. The little orphan boy liked to sleep a lot and pretty much do nothing with his day, till one day when he was all grown up he felt very empty. He felt like (even though he had everything) that he had accomplished nothing. Then on his 21st birthday he decided to do something he’d never done before; go for a walk. He walked and he walked till he couldn’t see the nunnery anymore and came to a hill where he met an old man.
The little orphan boy said to the old man, ‘who are you?’
The old man replied, ‘I am Chris, the wise man of the hill.’
The little orphan boy’s face lit up and he said, ‘wow, that’s really cool, perhaps you could then help me with a problem I’m having.’
The little orphan boy told Chris, the wise man, about how he had no sense of accomplishment and how he felt so empty.
The wise man thought about it for a bit and said, ‘my dear little orphan boy, I want you to wake up tomorrow and live your life as though it were your last.’
The little orphan boy thought, ‘what a wonderful idea,’ and went back to the nunnery.
The little boy awoke the next day, ran down to the bank and withdrew all his money and went straight to the pub. He drank and he drank as though it were his last day. He drank so much that he fell over and hit his head on a rock, so hard, that he needed medical attention. And the only way he could do that was to be air lifted but because he had spent all his money he couldn’t pay for the helicopter and he died.
The End
Hooker 5:06 PM
Insults Here
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
The Little Orphan Girl
by Hooker Bastard
Once upon a time there was a little orphan girl who lived with her little orphan brother. They both worked in a dynamite factory somewhere in Asia and were very unhappy because they had an awful overseer who whipped and beat them. One day the little girl found a small dog that had no parents like herself and she felt pity for it and decided to take it back with her to her squalid little home. She cleaned the dog, washed it’s coat, fed it and later on in the evening she let the dog sleep next to her on her bed.
When she woke up in the morning she found that the dog had gnawed her feet off and she couldn’t walk. Her brother received such a fright upon seeing his sister that his teeth fell out and he bled to death. The dog just wagged its tail and begged to be loved. The little girl got beaten more when she got to work ‘cause her stumpy legs couldn’t move around work to well; she became the most unhappiest girl after that and died at the age of 92 of a broken heart, whilst putting a fuse into a stick of dynamite. The little dog was picked up by an animal shelter and was placed with a wonderful family who loved it so much that it lived to be the oldest dog in the world.
The End
Hooker 1:54 PM
Insults Here
Monday, April 14, 2003
I think my brain has gone into power saving for old age or something. I’ve been walking around for the last six months without a clue as to what is happening in my surroundings. I used to think it was the increase in my alcohol consumption but now that I’ve decreased my drinking I’ve realised I’m dead and don’t even know it. The other day I passed by that kid from Sixth Sense and his mom doing a bit of clothes shopping and he pointed at me and said, ‘look mommy a dead person,’ and she said, ‘no sweety, that’s just a drunk like your dad,’ and I just smiled and said, ‘it’s ok, kids, they say the darndest things’. Then I bought a pair of socks (‘cause I needed some). Anyway I surprised I’m holding down a relationship. Mistress SB and I went out for dinner the other night, she had to feed me baby food and I didn’t want to eat it, then she made these real cool aeroplane sounds and it tasted just fine after that. All in all it was a bit embarrassing for her but hell, what can I do, my brain has gone. She must love me.
Anyway speaking of brain dead people, I was sitting at home the other month chilling on the sofa. The Devil (Neville) had been phoning me all day wanting to go out for drinks but I kept saying, ‘no’, ‘cause he’s not fun when we’re out. He keeps trying to get people to part with their souls and he gets too drunk and forgets where he parked his car and it’s a general pain in the butt. Anyway the phone rang again and I though it was Neville but it wasn’t. It was an unlisted number and I usually don’t answer those but for some odd fucking reason I did. I first thought it would be Darkchylde but it was afternoon and she only calls when I’m fast asleep and having cool dreams about naked chicks. Anyway I answered the stupid phone and it’s was that cunt George (W) Bush on the line.
So I say, ‘Hello, Hooker Bastard speaking.’
And George says, ‘Hi, this is George Bush here.’
So I say, ‘ Fuck off and die you festering piece of leper penis.’
And he replies, ‘thanks Hooker for those kind words. I’m just gonna cut right to the chase here and ask if you will go on a mission for me.’
‘No, panty custard licker…fuck head.’ I reply.
‘Don’t misunderestimate me here Hooker, I’m not after your woman I just need your help. My people tell me you are the most dangerous man alive and I need a dangerous man. We’ll pay you $50 000 000 for a weekend mission, starting this weekend.
I must say when I though about it, $50 000 000 sounded quite nice but after some serious consideration I had to say,
‘Well I’d love to but they are having a Wombles marathon this weekend on TV and I wouldn’t want to miss that, so perhaps another time’.
Then he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
‘Well Hooker, we’d also like to give you your own whiskey distillery, if that’s OK with you?’
‘That sounds super, what do you need me to do.’
George gave a large sigh and answered,’ well its like this; a few months ago I was playing golf with Ringo Star in Iraq and I left my wallet in the locker room of the club house. Someone found it and handed it to Saddam and he won’t give it back. I don’t know if you’ve lost a wallet before Hooker but having to stand in those lines at home affairs to get a new ID card is pure hell and banks these days don’t just replace your credit card over night. So what I’m trying to say Hookers is; will you go into Iraq and get it back for me?’
So I said, ‘OK, cool.’
And he said, ‘thanks buddy, last thing I want to do is send in the marines for this one.’
So I said, ‘No problem, I understand.’
So I got on this plane and went to Iraq.
Hooker 4:02 PM
Insults Here
Friday, April 11, 2003
So just when I thought the band I am playing in was turning into a big ball of shit, it improved and I’m not talking musically (‘cause it is a dodgy goth band after all) but rather in coolness. I was, for a long time, the only good looking guy in the band (which was a struggle when having to juggle all those bitches) but now we have someone who has, in his own right, the ability to match the super good looks, charm and charisma of myself, and that is none other than, Drexil, the wonder, slap bass, guitar wacker, guy. So everyone go give him a Slap on the back.
Hooker 12:37 PM
Insults Here
Monday, April 07, 2003
Well here I am again. I honestly didn’t think I would make it to a second post. I noticed that war is still going on. I wish they’d get to the end of this series so that America can start a new one. I did see on CNN that they want to start picking on Ireland because of that bridge club they have called the IRA. First they pick on Arabs and now housewives. Fuckers. Who is Bin Laden again?
So I’ve been gone for a while. Some thought I was dead (I wish), others thought I went back to Cambodia (going there in November) and others though I had something to do with this war in Iraq…which is absolutely true. But before I get onto that I have to take the time to say a large portion of why I’ve been gone is because of my psycho obsession with Mistress SB . I feel I should apologies to some for this as I have to a certain extent betrayed the name of Hooker Bastard. Some felt that my choice to walk the monogamy road left my credibility as the advocate of filthy woman open to question and therefore a poor spokes person for womanisers everywhere. Anyway I had this big fat life affirming answer, which I forgot this weekend due the large amounts of alcohol I consumed. So I don’t know anymore, so fuck off. Also I’ve been saving lots of money due to the decrease in hooker solicitation and now I can buy myself something nice (just kidding).
So any way, just where have I been? Glad I asked.
Hooker 3:34 PM
Insults Here
Friday, April 04, 2003
Yawn. So I’m back. It’s not the easiest thing; retrieving a deleted blog. I had to phone Christopher Walken for some help. Seems he got famous since our tennis days. There also seems to be this war going on and people are making a big thing out of it. I hear all the television networks started it to get ratings up. Rumour would have it they’ve signed George W, Blair and Saddam for a twelve part series; hope it works out for them, they have a hell of a time as it is. And when did Mistress SB get so funny?
Just a few things for the people who read my blog:
1) I have this nasty habit of making them real long.
My recommendation: Don’t read it.
2) I have this nasty habit of making them real long.
My recommendation: don’t read it.
So just where have I been all this time? Well, that’s a real long story.
Hooker 12:10 PM
Insults Here
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
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
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