Psychic Brain Attack

I couldn’t find a Mind Weaponry For Dummies Book, but I do have a few ideas on what I’d like to use on my in-laws, should I ever get the chance. Here’s for when they are falling asleep and starting to snore in tandem on my sofa when the baseball is on.

 #WhackHammerThunderClapDetonator…Control Kit ₀45:

This device can usher in 200 dB (decibels) bang-slap between a poor human being’s eardrums, the sound effect of a nuclear device. Note: can be adjusted accordingly so as not to make them permanently deaf. Best utilised when they are drifting off into Stage 1 sleep. Scrutinise them from a safe and guarded location until they are just about to doze…and then press the button with your mind via Brain Computer Interface (BCI). Guaranteed to shock them into another dimension.

One comment on WhackHammerThunderClapDetonator_Control Kit ₀45

“My Granddad, when I used this on him as an experiment, spilled his tea.

His cap also fell off. He couldn’t stop curtain twitching all afternoon.

He thought it was a real bomb. He thought we were being invaded."

#GiantDraculaPork

ChilliArseWorm_edition 2.2

Add extra spiky bristles**Increase temp**Chute Depth**Shooty Lava Jet**Sharp Move. Just several changeable factors on this telepathic rascal. Victimise your enemies with the latest edition. They will surely be keeping the toilet paper in the fridge if not fingering themselves with an ice cube.

One Comment on GiantDraculaPorkChilliArseWorm_edition 2.2

“I had this used on me by my ex. He said he was controlling it with his mind.

It felt like a midget was drawing concentric circles on my A-hole with a throwing star.

While the whole thing was on fire. I had to sit in a cold bath at one point.

Fortunately we got back together so now he lets me use it on other people I don’t like.” 

#SelfishConkJobbie_1000+

Over a thousand olfactory hallucinations emanating from more BCI tech. Read from an index and “think” the odour into your target’s brain, then watch him gag as he comprehends rotten eggs, stinky poo, festering fruit, blocked drains, or low tide.

One comment on SelfishConkJobbie_1000+

“Best aroma on there was the salmon one

It got stuck up Darrel’s conk.”

 If I can think of any more neuroweapons I’ll let you know. Being a deviant with imaginative ways to hurt someone isn’t my forte. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d just batter them. Sitting next to them from behind neighbour’s walls until they fall to sleep and then getting the masers out doesn’t appeal to me. Cooking their internal organs seems a bit excessive because they cut you up in traffic. Who knows why people are out there wounding their fellow man clandestinely, for years and years on end. I’d say it was because they are bored, lonely, obsessed, repetitive and unwanted, probably. But hell, who am I to guess?

____________________________________

/If you are having terrible things perpetrated against you then hold tight and don’t give up hope. Quit all your vices and ignore them. They feed on your reaction so bite your lip they aren’t worth the wastage of your breath. I tried to talk them down for years got me nowhere, I was open and honest and respectful they don’t care about the words you use, only that they are being entertained, hence the word bored, sooner or later they just bounce back on the pain grab, they’re addicted to your suffering and cannot live without your interactions with them. Simply tell them no you are not interested. They go all mad when you do this and start flapping for attention. Then you see them for what they really are: Desperate no marks who couldn’t make it in real life so had to engage in zerzetzung (decomposition of the human soul). Eventually they try to spoil your every peaceful moment, so what does that say about them. Tip: Focus on Heaven it drives them nuts/

 

Morningtide

Dreamy Winter,

silent Land Zone: Demilitarized

"The Rachael, The Shack"

O n e  i n h a b i t a n t

/sunny sash window/unwatered peace lily indoor plant tilted against wall/radio playing underground pirate station music/dripping tap/_________(more details to be added later)

____________________________________

I wake up in the morning with fear. I’m not sure exactly when I arise from the dreams. I think that I start to awake while still trapped within them. It seems like a better idea to stay sleeping. The idea of looking at the clock scares me. It might still only be the small hours. I may have to face entering the dreamscapes again. Reluctantly I peer at it.

Seven am. That’ll do. What a relief. Yet I continue to lie there, afraid of the day, both unwilling and unwilling to swing my feet out. I’m disorientated, I’ve got memory loss, for several long stretched-out moments I have no idea who I am. This feeling permeates deeper. I have no general clue of where I’ve been. It’s as though the restfulness of the night has wiped my brain.

I say restfulness, but the dreams and dreamers within were filled with fitfulness. I do not raise myself up refreshed, but tired beyond words, jumpy beyond description. The day stretches out before me like a hard shoulder with obstacles, a assault course with monsters, I’ll do well to get anywhere with that.

The presumption that I’ve been here before, that I recognise this difficulty, is suffocating, like the blanket I use to cover myself. The mattress feels alien, years-old and too-soft and definitely too familiar. But a new bed wouldn’t help. It’s more than that. It’s this emotion before leaving the sheets, this anticipation of the first situation developing.

Am I in Hell? I wonder. The neighbours are quiet. Sometimes they knock on the wall in accordance with my thoughts. Have I relapsed?

It takes a moment to be sure I haven’t. I breathe more easily. I remember, in one of the dreams, having to drink a pint’s worth of pharmaceutical tablets, all of them psychoactive, washed down with another point of alcholol. Reality wouldn’t be fair if the effects of the dream carried over. So, I’m clean and sober...for the day.

I recall being Brownie Adams while asleep, a different woman to the one I am now. My confusion is off the scale. Life is easier as Brownie. I might have a lie-in and stay safe for longer. I may never arise whatsoever.

<Sod it> I think, and get up. The option of a hot black sweet coffee along with some fresh air from the open patio revives my lagging motivation. For a instant there I was squashed underneath the world, drowning in a doozy doze. Fortunately the sun is up,

it has all the hallmarks of a lovely day.

Poetry Gig

_____________________________

Just found this. I'm too embarrassed to watch it. It dates from 16 years ago! If you think I am ugly here, then you should see me now. I'm a lot fatter, but I've grown back some curly afro hair, which lets me look like Denzel Washington. If I remember correctly, the poetry was simplistic. See how crap I used to be! I'm much better now, I dig deep with it. My latest good one was called 'Effing Matter. 

A day or two before this event, I lost my little brother in police custody. Of course it was devastating, the manner of the loss more so than the loss itself. The night before this was filmed, i was off my head on coke. So you are effectively seeing a dehydrated thick-tongued Day One Relapse/Recovery in motion. With a good old dolloping of bereavement. Plus some dodgy hostiles turned up in the crowd and made it hard for me (yes, I was getting stalked way back then). I should not have done it, but tickets had been sold.

I'm probably making a mistake posting this vid here, it's not my usual kinda thing, but I'm thinking about my nieces and nephews in the future, if maybe they can have at least one visual link to me when they are older, and if they happen to be remotely interested in their Uncle Andy. It's nice to have at least one video of yourself to be remembered by, I'm reasoning, but maybe I'm wrong on that score too, and complete anonymity is the best way.

I've peered on YouTube, and if you scroll down I'm 'affiliated' with Kerry Katona and Peter Hitchens. No, c'mon, don't give me that, seriously, it's important who you get mentioned in the same breath with! Not bad , eh!!!???

A Vista Over Perceptibility

by DB TINKerbell

I do hope you'll appreciate my selection of jpegs for the slideshow. I picked them myself one Sunday afternoon after winning the cup with macca.

 

Bite-Sized

🥽 forgot my goggles can't go swimming they are the big ones which cover the whole eye socket by far more vision mate I can swim faster underwater i swear

🎪🤹 circus was great Davina was there she is officially the Queen Of The Beasts. putting her head into the lion's jaw, sitting on crocodiles, setting her hair on fire, swallowing swords, she is like a dozen performers rolled into one

💅🤞 wish me luck with the painted doll tonight I'm hiring one for the whole hour (you don't cook every pie for an hour lol) i do it in three semesters 1. oral 2. fingering. 3. sucking don't you knock it now until you tried it 

🦊 just missed my first fox yesterday evening Dogshit Barry said there was one rolling in vomit on the six penny field they do that to disguise their scent roll in anything apparently never seen one in reality though in all honesty i ran over but it had gone

🦡 my mate badger the great is a jedi knight who has flipped to the dark side because he got sick of being a prophet

🦍 his favourite creature is a gorilla nothing to do with Kong

🏇 National was prime I WON AGAIN gladiator fav movie of all time i am the father to a wounded goat the brother to an invalid son and the uncle to a retarded princess nobody but nobody shall stop me now

General Originator Division

 ⺊ ₲ Ṑ Ḏ ⺊

→ 🅶ood ⭕rderely 🅳irection

→ 🅶reat ⭕ut 🅳oors

→ 🅶enerator ⭕perator

   🅳estructor

→ 🅶rand ⭕rganizing 🅳esign

→ 🅶entlemen ⭕f 🅳istinction

→ 🅶rand ⭕mnipotent 🅳ivinty

[non] (sense)

 

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﴾﴿_ﷺﷺ^ﷺ💛ﷺll∑̿͠͡ˋʬ12345678919⁸

﴾﴿_ﷺﷺ^ﷺ💜ﷺll∑̿͠͡ˋʬ12345678919⁴

just finishing up in the library now then going the circus {w{*}h{*}e{*}e{*}l{*}o{*}f{*}l{*}i{*}f{*}e

off for pimms with catherine zeta jones {w{*}h{*}e{*}e{*}l{*}o{*}f{*}l{*}i{*}f{*}e

~ # ~

doing fine just being provoked

very irritating

very problematic

they want a reaction

hanging in there

not losing my mind

thinking of jackin' it all in

and flittin' off to H e a v e n  one day...

just be there for me, if you would, OK?

I've always believed in 'you'

the inside never betrays the out

you opened the door for me once before

Cheery Lettering

 

Wide Open

 

ꭏIIu<>>ﬓ><ﬔ><@👽EFﬖFOﬗ{_(*ffl~@💋}+HﬓI””£ﬔDﬕEﬖ(())ﬗꭏui())fflﬓﬔ___💑__ﬕ+_ﬖﬗꭏ><fflﬓﬔ>💔<>_________________👰________________________

__________________________________________

***i'm currently wide open in the blogosphere, but don't worry, i'll never turn into a snob and start selling you anything. sorry if you sell anything! i've waited all my life for this, getting accepted by [my] [some] peers. it started writing in front of the tv with my big lovely sis drinking after the salon, she always blasted loud music after the makeover to celebrate transformation into a butterfly, what are you doing, she said, i'm entering a different world, i responded, oh yeah, hell yeah, how are you doing that, by taking my mind out of its encasement, brain transplant she said, our shared words are a psychic coding system for leaving our encasement, don't come into mine she said, weird innit, how i remember convos with my sis from years ago when i learned how to write, coz i was mulatto with wings, and i could do it***

<ﬕﬖﬗꭏ🙉fflﬓﬔﬕ👻🌒JKLHgOﬗꝎ><><ꝏꝌꝖO>< Ꝏꝏ

Chosen Message

 ꭏIIuNEVﬓERﬔASKEFﬖFORﬗHELPfflFROMHﬓITHEﬔD

AUTHORITIESﬕEﬖTHEYﬗꭏuiAREfflﬓﬔPARTﬕOFﬖﬗꭏTHEfflﬓﬔGAMEﬕﬖﬗꭏfflﬓﬔﬕJKLHgOﬗꝎYOURꝏꝌꝖOWN ꝎꝏWAYꝌꝖ ꝎFINDꝏꝌꝖkljTHEꝎꝏꝌ

HOLYꝖ ꝎꝏSPIRITꝌꝖ ꝎꝏꝌꝖ 𓏑𓏅𓏄𓏃amen𓏂𓏁𓏆𓏆𓀬𓀆𓀄𓀃꧓꧒꘩꘨꘧꘦꘥꘤꘣꘢꘠൬൫௫௬੬൮൯ 

Signed: Ꜳ (Appropriate Adult)

Electra's Signature

🔌⚡ _˻̘^{ĒŁĕČƮŘĄ}_˼̙⚡

Male Version Of Electra

I’ve been ruminating upon my history regarding substances lying up late at night. It started with watching my mum drink a bottle of Babycham. I’ve just done a little buzzword research about the product and discovered a few interesting facts, mainly because it used to be branded with a blue ribbon. Targeted Individual, Holy Spirit, etc. (this is what the ribbon signifies to me). Next came my mum drinking vodka on her armchair. She’d do herself up and then sit there like a bimbo showing her talents off slurping vodka with nowhere to go or no one to share it with. Sad in a way, but I thought she emanated a powerful sexual magnetism. She was a good-looking woman in her heyday. This may sound strange, but there is a bona fide medical condition that exists if you have eyes for your own mother, it’s named Oedipus complex.

Far more interesting, to me, is the Electra complex, whereby a girl will have the hots for her father. I am searching for a girl like this to interview. These complexes might be more prevalent than one might think. I’ve never heard any stats about them. Incest is a taboo subject and strictly off the school syllabus. We don’t even talk about that down the pub with our mates.

Just as a matter of fact, I did actually hear about a father figure who raped his own daughter to serve the Devil better in return of special powers. He said that he wanted to make all his mates ‘jealous’ with his evildoing. So he opted for the worst thing he could think of aside from asking them all round for an orgy…

How lucky would she be, if she was Electra? Although rape and consensual are two different puddings.

I could do with finding an Electra bird myself, as I am now an overweight father figure with an unhealthy interest in the Anima Sola. Trustworthy, approachable…but I don’t drive and I’ve hardly any money. It would help if they were non-white, so the father figure bit was more believable. To be honest, I only ever encountered a handful of non-white girls in three decades of pornography, so what chance have I got in real life, when etching out a living in a predominantly white area? A negro savage honeypie strutted by me earlier, her skin the colour of fountain pen ink, one glance at each other and we both momentarily acknowledged the black experience, how we have faired under the thumb of the white man (or the white witch, as we call him, due to his technology). In the industry, black-on-black action is quite a rarity. I should be so lucky to get my hands on some material.

I did do one time. It was called Smokin’ The Big Fellaz. Took me months to put it down. 😉

There have been several moments in my life, usually in inner city regions, when I have made eye contact with young black girls and felt a rumbling shiver of recognition surge throughout my glands. I’ve only ever dated two honeypies. One was in a car park with a twenty pound note handed over to settle the bargain for bodily fluid exchange behind a bottle bin, if you know what I happen to be on about. Second was much more romantic, as I walked her around the cultural quarter as we window-shopped together. The only regret is that I didn’t lean in for the kiss at the end of our hourly stroll.

I honestly believe that kisses are more intimate than penetrative sex. Beaten only by boy-on-boy haircuts and beard trims.

I’m hesitant to write about my mum online https://piebald77.blogspot.com/2024/05/mum-on-fire.html

because we have a strange relationship. It’s deemed fair that you can judge a man’s attitude towards the opposite sex by his relationship with his mother. Every time I detect a blue moon I drop by and see her. And almost every time I leave feeling disappointed that I tried to patch things up. Sometimes she’ll make me some lamb chops and sometimes she’ll say she’s busy and has no time to even chat at the door. I am due to go and see her though, if I am able to man up about it. If anything happened to her I’d consider our affairs unresolved. It would be also grand to see the kids.

My Oedipus complex has totally cleared up. Don’t worry if you have it, because as your parents age and get ugly it will disperse. It’s perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed about. Or is it? What do I know? I’m just chatting bubbles to try and make you feel better.

The oldest dolly bird I ever fancied was 66 years. She was in terrific shape and had a deep tan which hid the main imperfections. I draw the line there, although this standardization was made when I was only a young lad. As an older man, I’m trying to stay out of it all. I’ll never forget a company called Barely Legal. They made films with proper young-looking chicks on them, all aged only 18 years. I can imagine them to be extremely popular. With me, I always wanted regular Mrs. Jones from next door, natural and voluptuous, 40 something, mature.

With plastic surgery/cosmetic enhancement who knows what attractions are possible? I must admit that I do like the altered appearance of a woman who has had a lot of work done under the knife. I crave odd dimensions and offbeat lines. Not quite bizarre, because to me bizarre is scary, but bordering on bizarre, maybe. One thing for sure, this lonely road of porn will take you there, into the bugged out bizarre and further onwards. I can’t believe where it took me. From sitting there one innocent evening thinking that my mum looks quite adorable drinking Babycham, to middle-aged eventualities which I am sorry to say have been quite satanic.

I’ve crossed first lesbian kiss (which was on Brookside by the way), first interracial money shot, ten guys one girl, sex scene in a boxing ring…pardon me, but I can’t think and I’m too embarrassed to list all the types of material out there which I have navigated my way through, but you can only just too well imagine how the rest of this list may pan out if I had the gall to continue it.

It ended leeking into snuff movies, by accident, but I couldn’t be sure what I was watching, I just feared their unwholesome content.

One male actor I was convinced was inserting drawing pins into the girl secretly, for my own personal gratification. I never saw nothing but I thunk it.

Another actor I believed ‘said’ he was into skinning the girl when he was finished.

They didn’t half make me paranoid. I was repulsed but couldn’t stop watching. If I’m absolutely really sincerely honest with myself, I’d even allow the hypothetical accusation that some of this scheming illegal naughtiness was in the business of turning me ‘more on’. But I wouldn’t admit to that in a court of law.

How could these films be so tainted with wickedness? Wasn’t it supposed to be a bit of harmless slap n tickle?

“You’ve being watching dildoes and horses all night!” the general public would holler at me the next day. Seriously. Some of the close ups reminded me of plastic dildoes. One penis had the face from a Pringles tube on it. The veins in another spelled troubling letters, like E FOR Evil. It was even underlined with a vein. The girls would barter me into making a decision about which was my favourite vein in the bloke’s big penis. Occasionally they’d slap a dock-off stallion’s telescopic knob in shot for me there, and ask me to describe it. They liked it when I described their cellulite as well. On ketamine, I could smell the stables, with some kind of strange brain link I can’t understand. Everything about everything to do with it, from faces and letters on real or whatnot appendages, to creamy female faces grinning back with lipstick, sent me all up in a whoosh of giddy feel-good hormones.

But deep underneath I suspected the girls were getting murdered after the scene. And worse, I was getting framed for their endings.

Fortunately I’m now out of the ‘industry’.

Although I do think about beautiful erotic actresses every single day.

Bedroom Threat

I’ve just logged onto YouTube, as I usually do each day to listen to music as I write. I was met by bloody injuries and deformities on people’s faces. It looked a tad gory, so I’ve logged off. I’m reminded of a site called Toxic Junction from several years back, on which were a lot of execution videos. I understand there are execution videos on YouTube. Really not my cup of my tea. Instant nightmares if you ask me. Maybe I’m being a bit of a wuss. I’m no good with the red stuff though, unless it’s a poorly-budgeted horror movie. The Substance (2024) featured a ton of red stuff, a comic amount actually, I would have turned it off if I [had of been] [were] [was] alone.

Sorry, still learning to write hard being the best.

I’m just trying to stress how sensitive and gentle I am as a big buck 21^st century male here in the UK. One sight of blood and I’m trembling, one bone-chilling scream and I’m out of there. My estate feels pretty lawless so wish me lorry loads of luck. I think the local residents are in the process of framing me for some serious offences on a girl or woman. I think it’s happened before. I think the police insert these false crimes in the ‘miscellaneous’ section of my criminal file. Extra-judicial punishment gets you for them either way. How paranoid do you think I’m being here, in all seriousness? Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not really doing it…

One time in the middle of the night a police officer wakes me up and asks me if I’m alright. How the hell did you get in? I say. There have been occurrences in the living room when I’ve been spaced out on brain killer powder when I’ve been convinced that the bedroom is full of hostile unfriendlies. Fakers in joke shop police costumes, masons, perps, regular break n enterers from the boozer, you name it. They climb in through the window, I deduce.

Did I ever tell you, that once when I peered up in the dark from the living room floor, where I was brain killered up in the subtle comforting PC screen glow of an erotic film, I was met by a man holding a knife, just staring at me cooly, leaning against my hallway door frame, only six feet away? It was this way many times over with giant caterpillars and wild cats and tarantulas and mutant rats and other general assassins, but hardly ever with a human being holding a blade.

I always read that perpetrators got close, but nothing could prepare me for touching distance.

At the same time I noticed another faint glow, aside from the movie screen I was watching, it looked like a ring of Christmas decorations encircling me, beaming into perceptible effulgence in sync with my concentration upon them as a distraction from the articled fellow. I believed this to be a special force field from somewhere so I was able to keep my fear in check. I suspect for years that something up there has been looking after me in the darkest times, but it never let me know, I had no idea I was safe, so still trembled with fearsome foreboding accordingly most of the time.

Even after a paranormal sighting of lips in the sky promised me eternal love, I kept jacking off to the same old negative dark energies and spurning my good nature’s prowess, laying open my chances at survival from the literal pit below my floorboards, a chasm that to this day chants mantras about my doomy forthcoming downgrade. Forthcoming if I don’t halt present vulnerable behaviours, like blowing my own grey matter out with toxic powder and then slumping there being spellbound by their orgies.

Now, due to an increase in my enemies attack, and a general shrinkage in my spiritual guard, I consider myself living on the edge, in extremis, under threat, an endangered species. Rather than being the hero, and saving the world, I focus on not being ripped apart by wild dogs each day.

You wouldn’t believe how I’m having my sleeping hours attacked. I’d try and tell you but it wouldn’t make much sense! The truth sounds insane when telling what the insane are doing…

I remember a comment Alex Jones made on Infowars some years back, about what companies were doing to chimps in secret bases around the corner. Something about what companies are doing to chimps in secret bases around the corner. That’s all he said, but it stuck with me. I’m the same! I think if only you knew what they are doing to me…in a not-so-secret council flat around the corner.

I hope they are only testing perfume on the chimp. The way he said it makes one wonder though.

I imagine them all [the chimps] sat on surgical chairs with electrodes on their open brains watching a bank of TVs playing old shows like Jeremy Kyle, Oprah and Montel Williams, eating cornflakes with lukewarm milk and drinking cups of tea with crusty toast.

This is much like me on a comedown. Except my head ain’t open because they don’t need no electrodes, it’s done wirelessly. The bedroom is still chock-a-block with threatening strangers, including a porous one who has walked through the wall to check I am reactive to his cattleprod, which smarts alarmingly because my force field is gone.

Same sh*t, different day.

Thank God I’m not holed up today, in my greasy lair, but am busy up and about doing this and staying positive. It’s hard work, because my home has great temptations, I can hear sexy ghouls sporting lipstick who are actively waiting to get me where I need to be. The mind slips away like red and white fluffy dice down a bubbly stream as the pleasures of the flesh are kindled for action. I have to careful as it’s a horrible affliction. What I’ve just wrote about will happen again, only these days it is far worse, these days I get surrounded by genetically-enhanced monsters.

Anyway, instead of execution videos, I’ve been watching a young girl on Microsoft Bing, and have just realised that I am receiving a fair share of character ideation in my mind while connecting with her. CI is in my opinion, falling in love with a complete stranger for no obvious reason. It always happens to me, and usually with the younger generations. This one is with Nikita, and she is 17. It has nothing to do with sex. Methinks it is mostly empathy.

song of the day:Pale X Androids

 

Tensile Rod

Imagine if, when, after having enough, we were offered a check out option from life? This could be a hangman’s noose appearing from the ceiling, or a trapdoor appearing in the floor. All we have to do is step in. My personal fave is a small red button. Press the button, and you get evaporated away from existence on the Earth. When does life get stressful beyond belief, that one realistically considers one of these options?

As someone who is going through a testing situation, I contemplate these imaginary escape routes all the time. It’s a little game I play. What famous last words would you leave behind? If asked to focus on a final happy image, which one would you settle on, when facing the be all and end all?

This strain of thought started when contemplating death row inmates. It must be utterly depressing being made aware of what time you’re going to die. I get panic attacks when sitting peacefully in the pub, so imagine what it’s like when waiting for the electric chair to be made available. I’m so pleased I was born in a country who opposes capital punishment because a crime of passion can happen in a split second to anyone of us.

Last week, due to visual and auditory disturbances severely grinding me into the ground, I started to feel myself begin to lose my temper. This was a mood that had been building over several hours of the day. I was getting snappy, and jumpy, as if wanting to lunge for someone, like a trapped rodent in a corner. I was on the verge of snarling. The general public were winding me up as well.

I became aware of what felt like a tensile rod in my body, in front of my spine. I’d never felt a sensation like it before. It would flare up like a hot magnetic pole and pulse a cloud of rage into my chest. At one point I felt like walking out in front of a car from the pedestrian crossing. Something in me, this tensile rod I call it, physically prompted me to step out into the road. I felt my leg begin to move.

Later on it made me furious in my mind. A cloud swept over me. My patience broke, my tolerance snapped, I turned into the Incredible Hulk and started smashing traffic mentally. I believe it was a surge of raw anger and adrenalin mixed up in my bod. If I’d have had a weapon at that point, and access to someone’s throat, I believe I could have quite happily caused them grave injuries. I was mad with fury for just a couple of seconds.

It would be a wonderful feeling to bottle. For rugby players and the like.

That’s the chemicals in the bloodstream which crimes of passion are enacted out on, I thought, consolidating myself. I could have bombed the whole world with that feeling, I wanted to thrash destroy-flatten-squash-and-stamp over somone’s head. For just a moment, I was capable of some very epic violence.

Acting it out mentally helped lift the vexation from my flesh. I went home and lay down and thought deeply about what had just happened. I might have just shot someone, or stabbed someone, or drove over someone on purpose. I felt both elevated and relieved from merely acting out some frustration in my mind.

The DeNNis (Part 2)

The DeNNis sat up in bed, wiped his eyes, yawned, looked at the mousetrap in the corner of the bedroom. Success! A little mite had been caught overnight. That was the third one. He wondered how many more? Mice never came on their lonesome. He hoped he wasn’t in for a dozen or more or so. What if they were baby rats, with a tubby mother lurking nearby somewhere?

He didn’t worry about a vermin problem. He was currently encountering a moment of peace after a medley of pleasant dreams, in which he’d been juggling a strange variety of objects on a rooftop with a squad of cheerleaders. He’d left the heating on, so he felt clammy. The blankets were warm and cozy. His pjs clung to his forearms via a cool film of perspiration, he pulled them up to his elbows absent-mindedly. Reeling himself back into the present, he considered the morning ritual looming before him, swinging his feet over the edge of the mattress to don his slippers and face the day.

He prided himself on facing the days. Each was difficult and brought with it its own set of unique challenges.

Breakfast was the first skirmish, consisting of ‘facedown museli’ in ice-cold skimmed milk. He called it facedown museli because he knew a fitness freak triathlete friend who collapsed in it and died. When your number is punched, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, The DeNNis always thought. He ought to know, he punched enough tickets.

A combination of fruit would require dicing to be added to the cereal. Blueberries and raspberries mainly, thin slices of banana and finally some sprinkled flame raisins. Topped with brown sugar. Enough to sweeten the dish, but not enough to rot the teeth. He’d eat it at the breakfast bar with an electronic version of The Telegraph newspaper, and aromatic percolated coffee, thinking he was the business. He usually thought he was the business when perched at the granite breakfast bar.

He’d skip a bath this morning, as the bath was for ‘tying’ young dumb and dozy daft homosexual mongoloid victims to for funny bloodsport games later in the evening.

‘Tying’ was the only applicable word, because he always used his work tie for the job. Rather comically he opted for jolly bright colours and cartoon characters, if he could find them. Looney tunes (putting it bluntly), teddy bears, Garfield and Snoopy featured from Temu. The last things some people ever saw on Earth. This light-hearted aspect of fashion reflected the only natural jovial streak in his personality: The only time The DeNNis brightened up was when a poor homeless gent was strapped to his boiling hot water tap.

He usually sat there then, staring at them quizzically..

Oddly, none of them ever screamed at this stage. A percentage of them thought it was a practical joke. He didn’t know any decent jokes apart from an overlong one about Camilla Parker Bowles, Queen of The United Kingdom, featuring a flattened Corgi, and he’d forgotten how to tell it. Last time he’d tried recounting it to Fiona in the works canteen, unrehearsed, he’d tripped over the punch-line and bitten his tongue. Ever since, he’d started biting his tongue on purpose to snap himself awake when feeling drowsy.

Pro Plus was famed for drowsiness, but referred to as ‘wired’ tackle, he’d heard about kids snorting it on the streets, along with Codeine and Pregabalin and Paracetamol. He reckoned one could make a fairly lethal DIY dose of synthetic white uppers with mixed-up products like those.

On the subject of stimulants, he had problems with simple coffee, substituting it for hot chocolate instead, until, that was, he heard the news that there was just as much caffeine content in hot chocolate as there was in coffee. So he relaxed, after a hard day in the office, being a working stiff, with an Ovaltine. This is before what he genuinely considered the real work began. The real work, in truth, of casually pulling unsuspecting gay individuals on street corners in the evening, of calmly luring them back to his bathtub, and of deliberately poisoning them.

It was a double-issue kind of poison, as they shared perfectly legal LSD chocolate together before he surreptitiously added tranquilizer to the cocktails. He remained firm friends with his victims right up until the very end. Dosed up, they frequently confessed to him more or less everything from their short but eventful lives. One particular overawed gent had proposed to him, in a state of Radox-infused mental disarray. Rather than be honest, The DeNNis had pretended to be married. Not a civil partnership, but a regular marriage with a woman.

What breed of happily-married council clerk keeps butt-naked drugged out rent boys tied to the hot water tap in the bathroom in the broad expansive light of day with the blinds wide open and birdsong very merily chirping on outside?

The DeNNis does, that’s who.

And why does The DeNNis do that, you might ask?

Well, because he’s The DeNNis, that's why.