Your Milkshake Brought Me To This Yard

Last Tuesday I suffered a rare glimpse of lucidity through a misty gin-soaked haze whilst lying next to a man I thought was a terrier but who was actually an umlaut. This is wrong I thought, it’s all wrong, it shouldn’t be like this. This has been going on too long. “What are you referring to?”, came a voice from my iPhone, apparently Garth was listening to the whole thing, “Waking up next to an umlaut?”. “No, the British Legal System. It’s negligible. But…when did I get an iPhone? This isn’t my beautiful wife?” I say ‘glimpse’ because it was now that I fell back into my drunken nightmare (like a willow) and lost control of my conscious self-hood. There are photographs of I, complicit in crimes of passion somewhere outside Sao Paolo, but they are but a bagatelle.

Needless to disclose, the iPhone were actually a phone box and I have no wife. No need to display sympathy, I have no wife because I am repulsive. And a braggart.

Regardless, my reason for today putting fingertips to computer bits is thus. During my travels I have related to myself a utopian model for law giving-ness thus titled ‘The System of Gratitudinal Sin Balancing.’ Being no stranger to a sin-bin or two I know first hand the berry serious deficits of the currant bunishment system. In this isolated island of a world we live in that we have sometimes frequently left to beat up other people, and which we once did send lots of prison-ish bastardlies away from to Oz, we are barking up a tree so wrong its probably… not even a tree.

What is missing, my pie in the sky, is a sense of reward for tasks of kindnessness and generosity. Once upon a time we had religion to keep the unwashed in check, but now that God’s a metrosexual, and Tom Cruise is gay, there’s no one to rely on for salvationist treats and paradisiacal redemption. Who’s gunna give you a sticker for helping the old female across the street? Not even David Cameron! He’d sooner pat your sexyback for assaulting her so as to look street-ish, iz it - wurd. And what about the prison ships fulla nesbitts and penny snatchers and whoremongers? We can’t keep feeding ‘em our juicy money biscuits! Not with my tixes. (tax that!)

Ay no. Here’s a rub. I would be good if I got a reward! Like a dog. Like, I’m like a canis, not I’d like a canis. Bad for the fleas. So…there’s all these people who want to do good if only they could…for example they’d love to make shoes for disabled children but they’re too busy earning monetary to pay for Trident/NHS and there’s all these young dudes in prison…see where I’m going? You are quick as a flamingo. I proposing have Courts of Law pass judgement on how nice people are as well as evil, and designate candy-coloured convicts to their services accordingly! “Mr. Ginger, for saving Jane Seymour’s life I sentence James ‘Trotsky’ Kleinberg to do your washing for 3 years”. BANG BANG BANG! Imagine, all over the Isles, burglars doing the gardening, murderers getting the spuds in, drug-dealers feeding the cats, rapists putting up flat-packs, arsonists entertaining the kids and token Muslims stocking the fridge! The money we’d save on cheap labour. She loves a bit of it and that’s totally all right.

I hear you SCREAM and my ears bleed gin ‘n’ ketchup. Yes, you foresee the safety danger of the scenario thus yes? Give a burglar a trowel?! Rapists in IKEA? Totally un-Swedish! Give the nice man Mr. Ginger a gun and if the burglar gets frisky/Tyskie shoot the silly boy. But you knows the smarts? Nice man Ginger, now murderer, increase work force yes! Fail safe goodnight. It’s a system of revolutioniteless. its getting dark out here…..whence forth dizzzzzeeeeee fruitless campaign.for love. And mutuwal, banl , respect, one worldturnthelightoffiwannastayherefuckoff.fuckoffisnotfuneee

G’night. If yer dryv’n oome t’nigh dun f’git y’car.

by Ethical Andy

This entry was posted by Neil Keating, on Tuesday, 4 December 2007. You can leave your response.