Having finished a self-portrait, I’m reclining in comfy cum-soiled shorts watching film reviews on the internet.  The likeness is decent, all in blue, looking like something out of American Splendor.  I’m feeling well fed, relaxed and utterly disgraceful, still it could be worse and most probably will be.  God knows I’ve earned it.  Oh and apparently the new Power Rangers film is no good…


Bittersweet Soliloquy

The dog’s sleeping on the sofa yelping intermittently, legs dancing like marionettes.

“Shut the fuck up!”

The dog looks up, softly offended, before his eyes begin to droop and close again by stages.

“He does the same exact thing every day. He eats, he sleeps, he chases tennis balls. What the fuck does he have to dream about?”

Dunn pauses for reply, receives none, continues.

“The most limited range of experience possible and a kernel of a brain to process it with and still he has the gall to dream!”

Dunn’s mother has gotten up and busies herself in the kitchen. Dunn gets up and turns off the television just as a cartoon fisherman is casting his net.

“Well you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve farted. It smells so bad that I’ve made myself feel unwelcome.”

Dunn lopes upstairs.

“Night Love” his mother calls, pulling the plug from the sink.

Mystery Box Challenge

Let’s take a trip to the Masterchef kitchen now as the finalists face their toughest challenge yet…

“Chefs! It’s time to open your mystery boxes and find out what you’ll be cooking with!”

Gregg’s eyes are wild with practised zeal.

“That’s right Gregg! Two beautiful dishes, one hour!”

The pair sidle over to Kevin’s work station. The dentist from Truro has been wowing the judges with his Eastern take on French classics.

“What have ya got there Kev?”

“Err it’s, oh God it’s…my wife’s head…”

Kevin’s box contains puy lentils, heritage carrots and his wife’s severed head.

“You look a little daunted there Kev, what are ya gonna do?”

“Oh Jesus God…I have no idea, Olivia! Baby, oh Christ….”

Kevin’s hands shake as he takes up his oven cloth.

“I could braise the cheeks and maybe pickle the carrots with some star anise and ginger?”

The Ghost and the Sunflower

Johnny Mills was busy mangling his turn to read from the play.

“Prick….love for pricking, and BEAT love down!”

Sniggers all around.

“Keeds! Come on now Keeds! Be sensible!”, crowed poor Miss Barton.

The Sunflower carried on highlighting every instance of ‘Our Souls’ he could find. Ghost had been doodling a graphic little cartoon of his friend molesting a giant troll of a woman which he labelled ‘Your Girlfriend’.

“Is that to scale?”, enquired The Sunflower before adding the words ‘BIG FUN’ to the troll’s ruffled summer dress. Ghost rounded off his vision with some sores on the lovers’ faces labelled ‘herpes’ and a speech bubble reading, “Ask for me tomorrow, and you will find me a grave man!”