You could hear it through the wall. There were at least 2 of them, although I can’t shake the feeling that there were actually 3 in there. Anyway, there was a loud slap (Like a serious cracker!) Then this angry female voice yelled ‘Come On ‘En Toolbox Boy!’ There followed gurgling and strangulation noises. (We called the police at this point!) Then rhythmic sexual banging, obviously we thought the worse but then the female voice started shouting ‘Yes!’ over and over again and braying like a deranged donkey? crescendo-ing with a TV being thrown through the window. (And we’re 3 floors up!) Then 2 shots went off seconds apart and everything went deathly quiet. We’re off to a motel for the night, our nerves are in rags here. If you need anything else from us? You can get us on this number, Officer.
Old Nobby & The Knocking-Shop Roof Tiles
“You’d better climb on down, Nobby, The Filth are on their way and your Restraining Order’s still running. You’re not supposed to be within 2 streets of this building. Why are you doing this, mate? Mary’s not even here anymore, she fucked off as soon as she heard you screaming your undying love down the chimney’s, you Header. She’s not frightened just bored and fed-up with this palaver. She said she’d be back when they’ve finished scraping you off the pavement or you’ve sorted your head out. She’s a slag, Nobby… we’re all slags here, it’s a fucking Knocking-Shop, innit. Leave your heart at home and just bring us your pocket money, you daft old bugger, like everyone else. Come on down, me old china and we’ll sneak you out the backway before they turn up and nick you again!”
Your So Vain You Probably Think This Song Isn’t About You
Orange pips are not magic beans, I mean, you can grow a tree from them but that’s a different type of wizardry. She was wearing a necklace of foreskins when they finally arrested her. All ‘Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum’d’ out and ready to get back to structure and routine. Pushing aircrafts to make them go faster doesn’t work, they simply stall and lose momentum. That’s not just a rosebud when she’s alone, it’s both a target and an avalanche. Almost anything can be an offensive weapon if you really put your creative mind to it. I’ve only turned up early to watch you fail, I’ve brought my very own beer and popcorn. “It’s turned out nice again!” smiled the Mad Axeman of the street as he went from garden to garden pruning the heads- and proving right- the neighbours who had clairvoyantly labelled him so.
Bio: Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096 ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326241036 And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326415204 You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/