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22 Dec 18
11:11
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Date Joined:
14 Jan 16
FFS. Until everyone else gets here I'll just have to put the turntable on ...
1. So Long Fischer Z https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2QcYY-I5hE
2. Hey St. Peter Flash n the Pan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZY5bWuJ3ong
3. Street Cafe Icehouse https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCo_AlMKAo4
1. So Long Fischer Z https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2QcYY-I5hE
2. Hey St. Peter Flash n the Pan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZY5bWuJ3ong
3. Street Cafe Icehouse https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCo_AlMKAo4
Show More
HondoLomboHanoveLobell, BurningSpear, Kamikazee Drinking Machine, Lady Darlinghurst, MistyCue and of course any other nickname invented by the ever-creative minds of TQ & DA also invited.
4. Shark Attack Split Enz https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2A3h7t6GZ0
What I went to Melbourne a few months ago, I caught the train down to Cranbourne one Sunday afternoon and walked the three or so kilometres from the station, through the shopping centre, past some sort of racing club not associated with the actual racetrack and then into the ****g racecourse. Melbourne has more bookies believe it or not for provincial meetings than Sydney does, nevertheless, it was still crappy that only 6 bookies were there that day.
So I'm sitting there at a big round table underneath the grandstand in between races and wondering where my fuquing mate Joel is when out of the blue a huge big fat guy comes my way. I thin - I wonder if this is Joel? I always pictured Joel wearing his school uniform reciting his times tables, but it was at this instant that I realised that Joel, like anybody online could be anything from an Adonis to a beach ball and I'd be none the wiser.
I don't judge people, but I am judged myself - a lot. I'm judged by people who don't see trans people very often, and so I don't often put myself in situations where I know I'll be judged. But the races is one of the places where people do judge me, and I feel very much on the outer there these days despite loving the game like nothing else. So just being there, which is not very often these days, puts me on edge. It makes me look at everyone wondering where the next distasteful is coming from.
So Joel, I want you to know that you should get out more.
I feel a desperate need to JUDGE some people. Don't know why. Not sure what is involved in JUDGING but I'm willing to give it a crack.
Is it like I see some old ancient Chinese woman sitting on the lounge in Westfields dismantling her jaw so her old brown teeth can be picked at her by her fingernails so maybe I can make some kind of JUDGEMENT?
Is it like I see some old ancient Chinese woman sitting on the lounge in Westfields dismantling her jaw so her old brown teeth can be picked at her by her fingernails so maybe I can make some kind of JUDGEMENT?
Chris, you contact me and I'll stop the idiot ****. Let's have A AFNK DRING YOU NUMBSKUL
Small fields, small crowds and small collects.
But it was OK, I dont mind it there.
But it was OK, I dont mind it there.
I hate small people. Whenever I see a small person I never fail to point out to them how loathsome they are. I'm talking Anglo Saxons here obviously. If I had to stop every Chinese fxcker I see at the shops to point out how small they are and as a consequence I despise them then I'd never get to the BOOZATORIUM.
That's good, I am not small. There was quite a lot of old people there. Most of them were small.
Where's Teen Queen?
Lightweight.
Lightweight.
Remember Da Judge? He was a funny cxnt. He could get a bit feisty sometimes. He knew his sh1t when it came to racing though.
I see TQ mention Lazza in her opening thingy. He was a fxckin LEGEND. An All Time Great Forumite.
Who could ever forget the war between Da Judge and Lickthefarts
I remember now. You mean Laythefav.
Burning Spear worked for him for a while.
Well you did know it once you've just forgotten it. I'll find you the relevant thread.
I can't find it. It was one of Burning Spear's best efforts. He details a week he spent under Mark Read's bed accompanied by Laythefav. I did however find a thread where Burning Spear worked for Let's Elope. It's not as good as the Laythefav post but it's still pretty good. Although you have to know Let's Elope to fully appreciate it.
BurningSpear 11 Mar 12 11:05 Joined: 28 Jun 11 | Topic/replies: 577 | Blogger: BurningSpear's blog
I'll tell you about the worst job I ever 'ad. Years ago I was working as a punting consultant. I ran a service where I advised punters on how they might improve their gambling skills. It was interesting stuff and I met many good people.
One day a punter called 'Lets Elope' approached me for some advice and I was happy to help.He explained that he was the greatest punter since Pittsburgh Phil,the greatest handicapper of horses in Australia,the number one expert on harness racing that ever lived,the nation's foremost video analyst and was unbeaten at table tennis since Gough Whitlam's dismissal.
I told him maybe he should help me if he's that good but he was insistent. He explained that despite his god like gifts he still needed some guidance.
I met him in his palatial one room bedsit above a sex shop and we got to work. He had trouble with odds. 6/4 13/8 7/4 left him completely bewildered to the point of breaking out into tortured sobs of frustration in the betting ring. He would clench his tiny fists and rush headlong at the nearest bookie just hoping he was getting the best odds. It was a pitiful sight.
At first we made good progress. But soon his headstrong character began to take over. He was convinced that Gammalite was a far superior pacer to Popular Alm and would back him as though there was no tomorrow.
One time he was so convinced that Gammalite would beat Poppy he went into a massive fit when I suggested it was unlikely. Grabbing hold of a passing toddler he pummelled the frightened child while his hysterical mother jumped on his back,screaming,with Lets Elope chanting 'Gammalite Gammalite Gammalite'.
When we went to the track that night Lets was strapped to a trolley,a hockey mask on,and off limits to the betting ring.
It was only by these extreme measures that I could prevent him from going into bankruptcy.
The day Dandy Andy beat Vo Rogue was the final straw. Lets had begged borrowed and stole to raise a stake to back Vo Rogue at 1/2. When the champ got beat and Lets lost $17 he went ballistic. I ran for my life from the enraged midget. When he calmed down he said he backed Dandy Andy. I said no you didn't. He said yes I did. He went on to explain how obvious it was to back Dandy Andy,that he had rated Dandy at 1/2 and Vo Rogue 50/1 and anyone who couldn't see that was an idiot. He went into a dreamlike state, explaining calmly that he was the best punter in Australia that's why he backed DA.
I slowly backed out of the room,careful not to make any sudden movements,and left him to a career of aftertiming.
BurningSpear 11 Mar 12 11:05 Joined: 28 Jun 11 | Topic/replies: 577 | Blogger: BurningSpear's blog
I'll tell you about the worst job I ever 'ad. Years ago I was working as a punting consultant. I ran a service where I advised punters on how they might improve their gambling skills. It was interesting stuff and I met many good people.
One day a punter called 'Lets Elope' approached me for some advice and I was happy to help.He explained that he was the greatest punter since Pittsburgh Phil,the greatest handicapper of horses in Australia,the number one expert on harness racing that ever lived,the nation's foremost video analyst and was unbeaten at table tennis since Gough Whitlam's dismissal.
I told him maybe he should help me if he's that good but he was insistent. He explained that despite his god like gifts he still needed some guidance.
I met him in his palatial one room bedsit above a sex shop and we got to work. He had trouble with odds. 6/4 13/8 7/4 left him completely bewildered to the point of breaking out into tortured sobs of frustration in the betting ring. He would clench his tiny fists and rush headlong at the nearest bookie just hoping he was getting the best odds. It was a pitiful sight.
At first we made good progress. But soon his headstrong character began to take over. He was convinced that Gammalite was a far superior pacer to Popular Alm and would back him as though there was no tomorrow.
One time he was so convinced that Gammalite would beat Poppy he went into a massive fit when I suggested it was unlikely. Grabbing hold of a passing toddler he pummelled the frightened child while his hysterical mother jumped on his back,screaming,with Lets Elope chanting 'Gammalite Gammalite Gammalite'.
When we went to the track that night Lets was strapped to a trolley,a hockey mask on,and off limits to the betting ring.
It was only by these extreme measures that I could prevent him from going into bankruptcy.
The day Dandy Andy beat Vo Rogue was the final straw. Lets had begged borrowed and stole to raise a stake to back Vo Rogue at 1/2. When the champ got beat and Lets lost $17 he went ballistic. I ran for my life from the enraged midget. When he calmed down he said he backed Dandy Andy. I said no you didn't. He said yes I did. He went on to explain how obvious it was to back Dandy Andy,that he had rated Dandy at 1/2 and Vo Rogue 50/1 and anyone who couldn't see that was an idiot. He went into a dreamlike state, explaining calmly that he was the best punter in Australia that's why he backed DA.
I slowly backed out of the room,careful not to make any sudden movements,and left him to a career of aftertiming.
1.
I gradually became aware that I was beginning to awake. This is often for me the most scary part of the day. With eyes still closed I realised that I was not alone. Feigning sleep a little longer I tried to detect in who's company I might be. Possibly my Landlady,Mrs Streicher,or maybe if I was lucky,a lady friend with considerably more charm. I heard some giggling from some kids. Perhaps my new lady friend had kids and they were now meeting their new uncle for the first time. I must admit I couldn't for the life of me recall meeting a lady friend last night but it's possible. Unlikely but. Just then I felt warm breath pass my face. I hope to God that is not the lady in question because that breath is putrid! Reflexively I squeeze my left hand am reassured to feel the neck of a bottle. I just hope there's something in it.
I decide to put it off no longer and join the world of the living. I open my eyes just a little to see three pairs of eyes staring back at me. Two pair belong to a boy and a girl roughly 4 years old. The third pair are much more alarming. A black kelpie is giving me the most intense stare. I look closely for some hint as to his intentions. I decide that he is undecided. By his stance I can tell that he would like nothing more than to round me up and force me into a pen and shut the gate and get a 'good boy' off his boss. A low growl makes me think he wants to tear this intruder to pieces. The wag of his tail I see as hopefulness."Please take me with you. I can't bear it here any longer." I decided to lift the bottle to my lips and take a draught of whatever is it's contents and think about the options. Aaaaahh.......Port! My favourite.
I took a look around my surroundings. I was sitting in a tiny yard,almost identical to Mrs Streichers' with my back against a hills hoist. I can see what's happened here. I've come in through the wrong back gate. Must have had a little rest. It's all good. As soon as I feel up to it I shall resume the perpendicular and be on my way. I wonder what time it is? The children have become bored by me and have gone to fetch implements to prod me into activity. The boy pokes me with a plastic cricket bat while the girl rains blows on my head and shoulders with a foam noodle. The kelpie is tickled pink with this development and all a tremble at the prospect of an imminent kill. The kids grow tired of prodding and pulverising and go inside. Thank God that's over. Unfortunately the respite is brief. They return with water guns. This is getting ugly. I notice the kelpie,no doubt remembering some bitter experience decides he is no longer interested in this game and goes and hides under the house. I wish I could join him as the kids find their range and accuracy.
Just then the sun is suddenly gone and I am cast in shade. I look up to see a most alarming sight. 25 stone of the ugliest beast that ever squeezed into a Fitness First leotard. Greasy lank hair hanging down over a bright red face. She greets me in the typical Waterloo manner. 'What the FCKK are you doing here??? I don't want some homeless cntt sleeping in my backyard. Go on,get up and FCKK OFF!' I mutter my apologies and get to my feet. I do my best not to look directly at the creature in case some of my precious Port is ejected from my stomach. 'Hang on a sec',she says. 'I know you. I've seen you around here before. You live at Mrs Streicher's joint don't you? You're that cntt Flaming Turd.' 'Actually it's Burning Spear.' 'Whatever. You're a fckkin weirdo.' 'That,my fat friend,is just like,your opinion. Love to stay and chat but I've got a pub to go to.Byeee.'
I quickly ducked out the gate and into the back lane accompanied by the foul language of one of Fitness First's Finest. I looked down to see that I wasn't the only one to make a lucky escape. The Kelpie had come too! As we reached to top of the street I could still distinctly hear the roar of an indignant pet owner. 'WHERE'S THAT FCKKING DOG????!!!'
I gradually became aware that I was beginning to awake. This is often for me the most scary part of the day. With eyes still closed I realised that I was not alone. Feigning sleep a little longer I tried to detect in who's company I might be. Possibly my Landlady,Mrs Streicher,or maybe if I was lucky,a lady friend with considerably more charm. I heard some giggling from some kids. Perhaps my new lady friend had kids and they were now meeting their new uncle for the first time. I must admit I couldn't for the life of me recall meeting a lady friend last night but it's possible. Unlikely but. Just then I felt warm breath pass my face. I hope to God that is not the lady in question because that breath is putrid! Reflexively I squeeze my left hand am reassured to feel the neck of a bottle. I just hope there's something in it.
I decide to put it off no longer and join the world of the living. I open my eyes just a little to see three pairs of eyes staring back at me. Two pair belong to a boy and a girl roughly 4 years old. The third pair are much more alarming. A black kelpie is giving me the most intense stare. I look closely for some hint as to his intentions. I decide that he is undecided. By his stance I can tell that he would like nothing more than to round me up and force me into a pen and shut the gate and get a 'good boy' off his boss. A low growl makes me think he wants to tear this intruder to pieces. The wag of his tail I see as hopefulness."Please take me with you. I can't bear it here any longer." I decided to lift the bottle to my lips and take a draught of whatever is it's contents and think about the options. Aaaaahh.......Port! My favourite.
I took a look around my surroundings. I was sitting in a tiny yard,almost identical to Mrs Streichers' with my back against a hills hoist. I can see what's happened here. I've come in through the wrong back gate. Must have had a little rest. It's all good. As soon as I feel up to it I shall resume the perpendicular and be on my way. I wonder what time it is? The children have become bored by me and have gone to fetch implements to prod me into activity. The boy pokes me with a plastic cricket bat while the girl rains blows on my head and shoulders with a foam noodle. The kelpie is tickled pink with this development and all a tremble at the prospect of an imminent kill. The kids grow tired of prodding and pulverising and go inside. Thank God that's over. Unfortunately the respite is brief. They return with water guns. This is getting ugly. I notice the kelpie,no doubt remembering some bitter experience decides he is no longer interested in this game and goes and hides under the house. I wish I could join him as the kids find their range and accuracy.
Just then the sun is suddenly gone and I am cast in shade. I look up to see a most alarming sight. 25 stone of the ugliest beast that ever squeezed into a Fitness First leotard. Greasy lank hair hanging down over a bright red face. She greets me in the typical Waterloo manner. 'What the FCKK are you doing here??? I don't want some homeless cntt sleeping in my backyard. Go on,get up and FCKK OFF!' I mutter my apologies and get to my feet. I do my best not to look directly at the creature in case some of my precious Port is ejected from my stomach. 'Hang on a sec',she says. 'I know you. I've seen you around here before. You live at Mrs Streicher's joint don't you? You're that cntt Flaming Turd.' 'Actually it's Burning Spear.' 'Whatever. You're a fckkin weirdo.' 'That,my fat friend,is just like,your opinion. Love to stay and chat but I've got a pub to go to.Byeee.'
I quickly ducked out the gate and into the back lane accompanied by the foul language of one of Fitness First's Finest. I looked down to see that I wasn't the only one to make a lucky escape. The Kelpie had come too! As we reached to top of the street I could still distinctly hear the roar of an indignant pet owner. 'WHERE'S THAT FCKKING DOG????!!!'
2.
I needed to strangle a darky so I headed over to Maccas on Mcevoy St. I considered using the bogs at Waterloo Oval but these days I am vary wary about using public conveniences. Not long ago I entered the bogs at Erskineville Oval and was confronted by a Naked and Very Excited Member of the Punters Show asking me if I'd like a Free Tip, so these days I stay clear of such places. By the time I got to Maccas the urge had gone so I just made do with helping myself to a copy of the Daily Telegraph and pushing over a bin in the carpark so the Kelpie could get some scraps.
I walked up the road to the Cauliflower. This is the pub I go to when I want to remain incognito. I had some Profound Thinking to do,plus a formguide,and didn't want to be disturbed by any of Waterloo's best. No one knows me at the Cauli so I'll be safe. I stepped and oh fxckk me. "SPEAR YOU DOG CNTT!! COULDN'T SPARE A DOLLAR MATE?' Slack Betty was straight onto me. Fortunately I keep a supply of gold coins for these pests. As I handed over a couple to the ingrate I said to him,'You know,Slack Betty,you've been asking me for a dollar for the last 25 years. Haven't you heard of inflation? You should put your price up.' He looked at me with a mixture of disinerest and incomprehension and said 'Eh?' Nevermind.
I got a schooie of Tooheys Old and settled into some serious form study. It was 11am. I estimated if I had 2 or 3 beers I'd have time to read the form and get back to check on the progress of the greatest thread in the history of threads. HenryLuka. That cntt is gonna make me RICH,man,RICH!!. As soon as I figure out what he's talking about it's the Pink Cadillac for the Spear. I have every faith in the man.
Absorbed in the details of race 3 at Hawkesbury I heard a great bellow of "SPEAR YOU CNNT OF A MAN!!" and turned around in alarm to be confronted with the unmistakable GUT of "Mr Digby" so named because of a massive win he had on the neddy when it beat Vo Rogue. His stupendous girth hung several inches over his straining belt and bore so heavily against his shirtfront that the buttons looked ready to pop and wild belly hair escaped from the gaps between. I quickly looked away. There was no hope of escape. Mr Digby pulled a chair away from the table,wisely a considerable distance, and sat down heavily with much groaning and heavy breathing. 'You like anything today Spear?' he asked. 'Hilarious Honour in the sixth at Hawkesbury looks good.' 'No chance Spear. Lay of the day in my opinion. Disperse will sh1t that in.' As Bridget Jones used to say-Note To Self. Double your bet on HH and lay Disperse. Mr Digby hasn't backed a winner since Mr Digby and that was in 1987 or something. Fat cnnt.
The fat cnnt returned to the table with a lovely schooie of Tooheys Old for me AND a glass of cheap champagne. He must want something. 'What's this for? ' He goes,'What? Can't a mate buy his mate a drink? Even if it is a very gay drink. Just drink it.' So I do. And then I say 'come on. Out with it. If you think I'm going to drive you to Orange to find the one girl in Australia who was dumb enough to have sex with you back in 1989 then forget it. We tried finding her once. Never again. She'd be an old bag by now anyway Digby. Just get over it.' He put up his hands and said,'No mate nothing like that. Though by the way I hear she's living in Lithgow now. Not so far eh?' He must have seen my thunderous expression because he hurried on. 'No it's do with the Betfair Forum. Me and some of the other Lurkers were wondering when you might make a return? The place hasn't been the same without you. Nowadays it's all this sh1t about Mongolia. Who gives a fxckk about Mongolia? If I ever go to Latin America you can be sure Mongolia wouldn't even be in the first ten countries I'd go to. I mean,the Forum could really do with you help Spear. You were a Legend on that place. Remember your thread on "The Worst Jobs You Ever Had" where you and Laythefav spent a week under Mark Read's bed? We miss that stuff.' I was feeling very smug at this moment. I took a long sip of Black and basked in the Digby's adulation. I indicated that he should continue in a similar vein. 'Of course Double Agent was the Main Man. Jeez he knew the Forum business. Real professional he was. Me and the boys always agree he was the Champion Of The Forum.' Mr Digby beamed at me still glowing with reminisence. I on the other hand found myself suddenly exploding my schooner across the table in OUTRIGHT INDIGNATION. I was on my feet bearing down on the alarmed Mr Digby and shouting,'DOUBLE AGENT?? DOUBLE AGENT!!?? ARE YOU FCKKING KIDDING ME?? That no talent piece of SH!T he STOLE ALL my good ideas. The WORLD OF DOUBLE AGENT? Remember that? Remember the Champion's Famous Thread?' Mr Digby was looking up and nodding in fear. 'That was MY IDEA. I told that CNTT I was starting a thread called THe World Of Burning Spear and outlined to him what I envisaged. He said it was SH1T and not to waste my time. A week later he's out there with WODA. WTF is WODA?? WOBS would've been way cooler. It's got a ring to it. WOBS. WOBS.WOBS....' I sat back and finished my beer.
Mr Digby tried again. 'Well I was just thinking,you know,maybe you could come back and make a few contributions. Give us something to read other than Mongols and AFL. Kamikazee Drinking Machine's been doing a good job,he's got some good stuff and he's been putting in the yards since Double Agent went on holiday and maybe.....' his voice trailed off as my laughing got louder and LOUDER!! 'Kamikazee Drinking Machine?? You can't be serious. The man is a CLOWN. And an ALCOHOLIC. He never posts until he's had 15 beers. ( Neither do you I heard Digby mumble but I chose to ignore it). His threads are ludicrous. Classic OZ Choons. He's so bourgeois. He's so straight. Straighty Mcstraight. He's a Lightweight. A nonentity. He is no challenge at all. I SPIT ON HIM!!'
Mr Digby was trying to sneak off into the pokies lounge but I collared him and pushed my face up against his. 'Let me tell you something else Digby. Your little hero,your Champion, Double Agent isn't on holidays you DUMB CNTT!! He's gone. He ain't coming back. And you know why? Because I GOT RID OF HIM!!! That's right! Me! BURNING SPEAR!!!!!!How do you like that eh??!!!'
I laughed all the way back to the bar and got another schooie. Now,where was I? That's right. Hawkesbury.
I needed to strangle a darky so I headed over to Maccas on Mcevoy St. I considered using the bogs at Waterloo Oval but these days I am vary wary about using public conveniences. Not long ago I entered the bogs at Erskineville Oval and was confronted by a Naked and Very Excited Member of the Punters Show asking me if I'd like a Free Tip, so these days I stay clear of such places. By the time I got to Maccas the urge had gone so I just made do with helping myself to a copy of the Daily Telegraph and pushing over a bin in the carpark so the Kelpie could get some scraps.
I walked up the road to the Cauliflower. This is the pub I go to when I want to remain incognito. I had some Profound Thinking to do,plus a formguide,and didn't want to be disturbed by any of Waterloo's best. No one knows me at the Cauli so I'll be safe. I stepped and oh fxckk me. "SPEAR YOU DOG CNTT!! COULDN'T SPARE A DOLLAR MATE?' Slack Betty was straight onto me. Fortunately I keep a supply of gold coins for these pests. As I handed over a couple to the ingrate I said to him,'You know,Slack Betty,you've been asking me for a dollar for the last 25 years. Haven't you heard of inflation? You should put your price up.' He looked at me with a mixture of disinerest and incomprehension and said 'Eh?' Nevermind.
I got a schooie of Tooheys Old and settled into some serious form study. It was 11am. I estimated if I had 2 or 3 beers I'd have time to read the form and get back to check on the progress of the greatest thread in the history of threads. HenryLuka. That cntt is gonna make me RICH,man,RICH!!. As soon as I figure out what he's talking about it's the Pink Cadillac for the Spear. I have every faith in the man.
Absorbed in the details of race 3 at Hawkesbury I heard a great bellow of "SPEAR YOU CNNT OF A MAN!!" and turned around in alarm to be confronted with the unmistakable GUT of "Mr Digby" so named because of a massive win he had on the neddy when it beat Vo Rogue. His stupendous girth hung several inches over his straining belt and bore so heavily against his shirtfront that the buttons looked ready to pop and wild belly hair escaped from the gaps between. I quickly looked away. There was no hope of escape. Mr Digby pulled a chair away from the table,wisely a considerable distance, and sat down heavily with much groaning and heavy breathing. 'You like anything today Spear?' he asked. 'Hilarious Honour in the sixth at Hawkesbury looks good.' 'No chance Spear. Lay of the day in my opinion. Disperse will sh1t that in.' As Bridget Jones used to say-Note To Self. Double your bet on HH and lay Disperse. Mr Digby hasn't backed a winner since Mr Digby and that was in 1987 or something. Fat cnnt.
The fat cnnt returned to the table with a lovely schooie of Tooheys Old for me AND a glass of cheap champagne. He must want something. 'What's this for? ' He goes,'What? Can't a mate buy his mate a drink? Even if it is a very gay drink. Just drink it.' So I do. And then I say 'come on. Out with it. If you think I'm going to drive you to Orange to find the one girl in Australia who was dumb enough to have sex with you back in 1989 then forget it. We tried finding her once. Never again. She'd be an old bag by now anyway Digby. Just get over it.' He put up his hands and said,'No mate nothing like that. Though by the way I hear she's living in Lithgow now. Not so far eh?' He must have seen my thunderous expression because he hurried on. 'No it's do with the Betfair Forum. Me and some of the other Lurkers were wondering when you might make a return? The place hasn't been the same without you. Nowadays it's all this sh1t about Mongolia. Who gives a fxckk about Mongolia? If I ever go to Latin America you can be sure Mongolia wouldn't even be in the first ten countries I'd go to. I mean,the Forum could really do with you help Spear. You were a Legend on that place. Remember your thread on "The Worst Jobs You Ever Had" where you and Laythefav spent a week under Mark Read's bed? We miss that stuff.' I was feeling very smug at this moment. I took a long sip of Black and basked in the Digby's adulation. I indicated that he should continue in a similar vein. 'Of course Double Agent was the Main Man. Jeez he knew the Forum business. Real professional he was. Me and the boys always agree he was the Champion Of The Forum.' Mr Digby beamed at me still glowing with reminisence. I on the other hand found myself suddenly exploding my schooner across the table in OUTRIGHT INDIGNATION. I was on my feet bearing down on the alarmed Mr Digby and shouting,'DOUBLE AGENT?? DOUBLE AGENT!!?? ARE YOU FCKKING KIDDING ME?? That no talent piece of SH!T he STOLE ALL my good ideas. The WORLD OF DOUBLE AGENT? Remember that? Remember the Champion's Famous Thread?' Mr Digby was looking up and nodding in fear. 'That was MY IDEA. I told that CNTT I was starting a thread called THe World Of Burning Spear and outlined to him what I envisaged. He said it was SH1T and not to waste my time. A week later he's out there with WODA. WTF is WODA?? WOBS would've been way cooler. It's got a ring to it. WOBS. WOBS.WOBS....' I sat back and finished my beer.
Mr Digby tried again. 'Well I was just thinking,you know,maybe you could come back and make a few contributions. Give us something to read other than Mongols and AFL. Kamikazee Drinking Machine's been doing a good job,he's got some good stuff and he's been putting in the yards since Double Agent went on holiday and maybe.....' his voice trailed off as my laughing got louder and LOUDER!! 'Kamikazee Drinking Machine?? You can't be serious. The man is a CLOWN. And an ALCOHOLIC. He never posts until he's had 15 beers. ( Neither do you I heard Digby mumble but I chose to ignore it). His threads are ludicrous. Classic OZ Choons. He's so bourgeois. He's so straight. Straighty Mcstraight. He's a Lightweight. A nonentity. He is no challenge at all. I SPIT ON HIM!!'
Mr Digby was trying to sneak off into the pokies lounge but I collared him and pushed my face up against his. 'Let me tell you something else Digby. Your little hero,your Champion, Double Agent isn't on holidays you DUMB CNTT!! He's gone. He ain't coming back. And you know why? Because I GOT RID OF HIM!!! That's right! Me! BURNING SPEAR!!!!!!How do you like that eh??!!!'
I laughed all the way back to the bar and got another schooie. Now,where was I? That's right. Hawkesbury.
4.
I returned to Mrs Streicher's ready for my day on the punt. Hopefully Henryluca will have worked a bit more on his fascinating sports algorithm so I can retire from the tedious study of horse racing. Hopefully Mrs Streicher is out,I could do without a lecture today. Unfortunately Mrs Streicher was in and launched into the lecture as soon as I stepped through the front gate. 'Where have you been? You didn't come home last night. (Like most women she is overly fond of stating the obvious). You probably fell down drunk and slept in a doorway. Or maybe one of those disgusting old sluts that hang around in those sh1thole pubs that you spend most of your time in felt sorry for you and took you back to hers. I've got a good mind to report you to the police. (WTF?) I suppose it would be too much to ask if you'd found a job. Not bloody likely. When was the last time you had a job? You know your rents overdure. (One day!)
I went in the toilet to get away from her but it didn't work. She just stood outside the door and continued on. I have given up pointing out to her that she is not my Mum,I'm a grown man and therefore can come and go as I please and whatever I do is none of her business. At least in the toilet I don't have to look at her. She never removes the cigarette from her mouth when she talks so it waves up and down like some demented sea-saw. Or smoke curls up and into one eye which she closes and that makes her look like some villain from a black and white movie. I just wish she would SHUT THE FCKK UP!! I've told her this many times but it's never worked. Her husband was killed in an horrific motor accident 20 years ago which she often talks about in a maudlin and boring manner. Everyone knows he stepped in front of the 310 bus on Botany Rd deliberately.
Her rant coming to an end she then gave me some alarming news. 'By the way. You've got a visitor.' 'WHAT? WHERE? WHO IS IT?' 'You know who it is. The mouse. She's waiting for you in your room.' Oh for fckks sake!
I returned to Mrs Streicher's ready for my day on the punt. Hopefully Henryluca will have worked a bit more on his fascinating sports algorithm so I can retire from the tedious study of horse racing. Hopefully Mrs Streicher is out,I could do without a lecture today. Unfortunately Mrs Streicher was in and launched into the lecture as soon as I stepped through the front gate. 'Where have you been? You didn't come home last night. (Like most women she is overly fond of stating the obvious). You probably fell down drunk and slept in a doorway. Or maybe one of those disgusting old sluts that hang around in those sh1thole pubs that you spend most of your time in felt sorry for you and took you back to hers. I've got a good mind to report you to the police. (WTF?) I suppose it would be too much to ask if you'd found a job. Not bloody likely. When was the last time you had a job? You know your rents overdure. (One day!)
I went in the toilet to get away from her but it didn't work. She just stood outside the door and continued on. I have given up pointing out to her that she is not my Mum,I'm a grown man and therefore can come and go as I please and whatever I do is none of her business. At least in the toilet I don't have to look at her. She never removes the cigarette from her mouth when she talks so it waves up and down like some demented sea-saw. Or smoke curls up and into one eye which she closes and that makes her look like some villain from a black and white movie. I just wish she would SHUT THE FCKK UP!! I've told her this many times but it's never worked. Her husband was killed in an horrific motor accident 20 years ago which she often talks about in a maudlin and boring manner. Everyone knows he stepped in front of the 310 bus on Botany Rd deliberately.
Her rant coming to an end she then gave me some alarming news. 'By the way. You've got a visitor.' 'WHAT? WHERE? WHO IS IT?' 'You know who it is. The mouse. She's waiting for you in your room.' Oh for fckks sake!
5.
One thing Mrs Streicher was right about was her description of the Mouse. The Mouse is a little petite thing in her late 20s with lank mouse coloured hair that has never been touched by a stylist,small breasted,small hipped,plain faced,a self effacing shy socially inept woman with aspirations to a literary career. She has worked for Australia Post sorting mail at night since she left school. It is her literary interests that has led her to Burning Spear,a man of letters by Waterloo standards. She is in awe of my past achievements such as working for Picture magazine and can't get enough of my stories and anecdotes. She is quite an avid listener and extremely gullible and believes any ludicrous tale I tell while I'm knocking back a bottle or two of Seaview. One time when she came around she said 'My Mum said you were full of sh1t that there's no way Mick Jagger invited you on stage to sing Gimme Shelter for while he went to the toilet.' Fcking hell I didn't remember that one! I told her that these stories were private and I only told her because she was special and I didn't like the idea of her repeating them to her Mum. She liked that.
Did I say she was special? Well she is. She's about the dumbest human being I've ever met. I think the Kelpie that now follows me around has a higher IQ. I'll give you an example. One day she was at my place while I was watching the races on TV. She is one of those people that think because they have nothing to do then you must have nothing to do as well. She looked at the TV and the coversation went like this.
Mouse: So who is racing? The horse or the man riding it?
Me: They both are. He's a jockey.
Mouse: So if they win does the jockey win or the horse?
Me: They both win, they're like a team.
Mouse: But why do they race? Do they get a prize?
Me: They win money if they win.
Mouse: But who gets the money? The horse or the jockey?
(By now my blood pressure is rising alarmingly)
Me: The jocky gets some money and the owner gets the rest.
Mouse: Someone owns the jockey?
Me: No someone owns the horse.
Mouse: But that's not fair. If the owner gets the money then he should be in the race too.
Me: That's a good point and well made. I'll raise that at the next Annual General Meeting of the Australian Jockey Club.
This seemed to please her. Very early on a conversation like this would make my brain explode and I'd start screaming and swearing. But the crestfallen face of the Mouse followed by her silent tears would make me feel like I just kicked a puppy so nowadays I find it easier if I just change the subject.
One thing Mrs Streicher was right about was her description of the Mouse. The Mouse is a little petite thing in her late 20s with lank mouse coloured hair that has never been touched by a stylist,small breasted,small hipped,plain faced,a self effacing shy socially inept woman with aspirations to a literary career. She has worked for Australia Post sorting mail at night since she left school. It is her literary interests that has led her to Burning Spear,a man of letters by Waterloo standards. She is in awe of my past achievements such as working for Picture magazine and can't get enough of my stories and anecdotes. She is quite an avid listener and extremely gullible and believes any ludicrous tale I tell while I'm knocking back a bottle or two of Seaview. One time when she came around she said 'My Mum said you were full of sh1t that there's no way Mick Jagger invited you on stage to sing Gimme Shelter for while he went to the toilet.' Fcking hell I didn't remember that one! I told her that these stories were private and I only told her because she was special and I didn't like the idea of her repeating them to her Mum. She liked that.
Did I say she was special? Well she is. She's about the dumbest human being I've ever met. I think the Kelpie that now follows me around has a higher IQ. I'll give you an example. One day she was at my place while I was watching the races on TV. She is one of those people that think because they have nothing to do then you must have nothing to do as well. She looked at the TV and the coversation went like this.
Mouse: So who is racing? The horse or the man riding it?
Me: They both are. He's a jockey.
Mouse: So if they win does the jockey win or the horse?
Me: They both win, they're like a team.
Mouse: But why do they race? Do they get a prize?
Me: They win money if they win.
Mouse: But who gets the money? The horse or the jockey?
(By now my blood pressure is rising alarmingly)
Me: The jocky gets some money and the owner gets the rest.
Mouse: Someone owns the jockey?
Me: No someone owns the horse.
Mouse: But that's not fair. If the owner gets the money then he should be in the race too.
Me: That's a good point and well made. I'll raise that at the next Annual General Meeting of the Australian Jockey Club.
This seemed to please her. Very early on a conversation like this would make my brain explode and I'd start screaming and swearing. But the crestfallen face of the Mouse followed by her silent tears would make me feel like I just kicked a puppy so nowadays I find it easier if I just change the subject.
6.
When I enter the lounge I see the Mouse studying my bookshelves for the umpteenth time. She says,'You've got about twenty books by Elmore Leonard.Is he any good?' Like as though I'd have 20 books of an author I hated!! So I say,'he's brilliant. Greatest writer of humorous crime fiction ever. Great characters. The man is a legend. Quite a few of his books have been made into movies. Have you seen Get Shorty?' 'No.' 'Jackie Brown?' 'No.' 'Life Of Crime?' 'No.' I have a sudden inspiration! I grab a handful of Elmore Leonards and say,'hey you can take these with you if you like. It's an allniter job once you get started.' She took them then sat back down. DAMN!
She says,'when you were a journalist working at a magazine what was the best bit?' Oh fckk. Not this again. We've had this discussion a hundred times. I said,'the part I liked best was having an expense account. Those were the days.' I got a beer out of the fridge in the loungeroom and sat down and cranked back the recliner. Fckk it I may as well enjoy myself. 'I remember some pencil neck geek coming from the accounts department brandishing a swathe of chits.'What does this mean? he demanded. I read it out and said,'It's self explanatory. "Taxi there.And back. $150." If you can't understand that mate you should hand in your degree. Fckk off now you're stifling my literary creativity. I'm trying to decide between "BAZOOKAS" or "MASSIVE MAMMARYS".'
It's not as though I don't like the Mouse. I do. She's a really sweet person. It's just that I have stuff to do. The races are on. I'm busy. She never understands that. At this moment I feel like picking her up and throwing her outside so I can get on with it. But something stops me. And that something is a little bit of flesh I can see. The Mouse has on a skirt and she has her legs crossed and I can see the underside of her thighs and just the hint of her undies.Now the Mouse is a fairly plain girl with no sex appeal at all but she does have a couple of things in her favour. She eats like a sparrow and as a consequence has a flat tummy and a perky butt. She also doesn't mind putting out if it suits her. She may be dumb but I'm fairly sure she knew what I was looking at.
The Mouse is a bit of a bore and mostly unattractive but like any animal she knows how to make the most of what she's got. We have had a fairly half hearted sexual relationship now for a while. It would appear that it's always at my request but in fact that is not the case. The Mouse always initiates it in some small way. She's had very little experience over the years. The mindless brutes that inhabit Waterloo have largely ignored her. But some cunning instinct kicks in. If she thinks I want her to go home and she doesn't want to go home she can start doing things to change my mind. Bending over to look at the books on the bottom shelf for example. Saying she has an itch and asking me to scratch it for her that happens to be near her bottom. She is a fairly terrible sexual partner. She is quite happy to put out but without any enthusiasm or reciprocal enjoyment. She sometimes jerks me off while she watches TV. She gives about the worst BJs I've ever had. But I think HEY,at my age I should be grateful a woman in her 20s will give us a suck. I remember one time fckking her with me on top. I was really getting into pounding away and nearing climax when I heard the sounds of masticating in my ear. I stopped and looked at the Mouse. She was chewing away and absorbed in reading a Fantales wrapper. She said,'Hey have you ever heard of an actor called Henry Fonda?'I rolled off and grabbed a beer. She said,'can't you finish? You shouldn't have had that last bottle of champagne.' Yeah ok.'
So I'm desperate for Mouse to go home. I've got a Special today at Hawkesbury. I still haven't read Henryluca's latest on the sports algorithm plus there's a cold beer in the fridge. If only I could stop looking at that undimpled,non cellulite smooth underside of the thigh of the Mouse!
When I enter the lounge I see the Mouse studying my bookshelves for the umpteenth time. She says,'You've got about twenty books by Elmore Leonard.Is he any good?' Like as though I'd have 20 books of an author I hated!! So I say,'he's brilliant. Greatest writer of humorous crime fiction ever. Great characters. The man is a legend. Quite a few of his books have been made into movies. Have you seen Get Shorty?' 'No.' 'Jackie Brown?' 'No.' 'Life Of Crime?' 'No.' I have a sudden inspiration! I grab a handful of Elmore Leonards and say,'hey you can take these with you if you like. It's an allniter job once you get started.' She took them then sat back down. DAMN!
She says,'when you were a journalist working at a magazine what was the best bit?' Oh fckk. Not this again. We've had this discussion a hundred times. I said,'the part I liked best was having an expense account. Those were the days.' I got a beer out of the fridge in the loungeroom and sat down and cranked back the recliner. Fckk it I may as well enjoy myself. 'I remember some pencil neck geek coming from the accounts department brandishing a swathe of chits.'What does this mean? he demanded. I read it out and said,'It's self explanatory. "Taxi there.And back. $150." If you can't understand that mate you should hand in your degree. Fckk off now you're stifling my literary creativity. I'm trying to decide between "BAZOOKAS" or "MASSIVE MAMMARYS".'
It's not as though I don't like the Mouse. I do. She's a really sweet person. It's just that I have stuff to do. The races are on. I'm busy. She never understands that. At this moment I feel like picking her up and throwing her outside so I can get on with it. But something stops me. And that something is a little bit of flesh I can see. The Mouse has on a skirt and she has her legs crossed and I can see the underside of her thighs and just the hint of her undies.Now the Mouse is a fairly plain girl with no sex appeal at all but she does have a couple of things in her favour. She eats like a sparrow and as a consequence has a flat tummy and a perky butt. She also doesn't mind putting out if it suits her. She may be dumb but I'm fairly sure she knew what I was looking at.
The Mouse is a bit of a bore and mostly unattractive but like any animal she knows how to make the most of what she's got. We have had a fairly half hearted sexual relationship now for a while. It would appear that it's always at my request but in fact that is not the case. The Mouse always initiates it in some small way. She's had very little experience over the years. The mindless brutes that inhabit Waterloo have largely ignored her. But some cunning instinct kicks in. If she thinks I want her to go home and she doesn't want to go home she can start doing things to change my mind. Bending over to look at the books on the bottom shelf for example. Saying she has an itch and asking me to scratch it for her that happens to be near her bottom. She is a fairly terrible sexual partner. She is quite happy to put out but without any enthusiasm or reciprocal enjoyment. She sometimes jerks me off while she watches TV. She gives about the worst BJs I've ever had. But I think HEY,at my age I should be grateful a woman in her 20s will give us a suck. I remember one time fckking her with me on top. I was really getting into pounding away and nearing climax when I heard the sounds of masticating in my ear. I stopped and looked at the Mouse. She was chewing away and absorbed in reading a Fantales wrapper. She said,'Hey have you ever heard of an actor called Henry Fonda?'I rolled off and grabbed a beer. She said,'can't you finish? You shouldn't have had that last bottle of champagne.' Yeah ok.'
So I'm desperate for Mouse to go home. I've got a Special today at Hawkesbury. I still haven't read Henryluca's latest on the sports algorithm plus there's a cold beer in the fridge. If only I could stop looking at that undimpled,non cellulite smooth underside of the thigh of the Mouse!
8.
The Mouse can see I'm wavering. She knows I don't like her hanging around of an arvo but she doesn't want to go home and who could blame her. She lives with her maniac of a mother who can barely go a week without publicly brawling with whatever man is stupid enough to go near her. So Mouse plays her trump card. The bottom shelf. It's an oldie but a goodie. She keeps her legs straight and bends over at the waist affording me a glorious view of her little rear end. I immediately feel a stirring in my trackie daks. I've forgotten all about the first at Hawkesbury. I go over and lift her skirt revealing a very average pair of old undies. I scrunch them up and put them in her crack to give the appearance of a g-string. The Mouse makes no reaction she just continues her inane prattle. 'I see you've got a few books by George Eliot. Is he any good?' Yes and it's not he it's a she.' 'But his name's George.' My hands are roaming all over the exquisite white bottom of the Mouse and I'm barely listening to her. 'It's a pseudonym.' 'What's that?' The trackie daks are off in an instant and I'm rubbing the Spear all over. This is heaven! If only she'd shut up! I'm dry humping her in the crack and go to remove the undies in order to take this to next level. Suddenly she stands up straight and turns around and says,'sorry I can't do that today I'm on my period.' FCKKK!!
Seeing my disappointment and fearing it might mean her imminent eviction she says,'I'll give you a suck if you like?' I don't like. Call me crazy but there is logic to that. I looked over at SKY and see it's only seven minutes to the first and I'm planning on having a big go on something I like. The Mouse is so bad at BJs it will take me 20 minutes at least to come. I was beginning to deflate when I felt the light touch of the Mouse on my manhood. 'What about a handjob?' she asks while her little fingers were doing their work. Fckk it this has GOT to be done! I race into the bedroom and grab some lube and race back and sit in the chair. The Mouse kneels in front of me and sets to work. I swear my d1ck looks bigger in her hands. Six minutes to start time. No problem this won't take long at all. The Mouse however cares not one bit for the emergency nature of the situation. She starts to talk. 'When are you going to start writing again? I'd love to be here when you're creating something. It's been years. You really should start again.' I reply,'actually I bumped into a mate down the pub this morning he wants me to write again for the Betfair Forum. I think I might just do that.' As soon as I said it I knew I had made a catastrophic error. The Mouse squealed in delight and leapt to her feet.'That's fantastic. I can't believe it. Can I help? (she WAS helping very much now she's NOT helping at all) The Betfair Forum. It sounds so grand. Is it a place where distinguished writers display their latest works?' 'Yeah something like that. Not really. It's just a bit of fun. Just something to read between races.' I nod at my c0ck and start waving it around to indicate that we have unfinished business here. She kneels back down and and does a pitiful job while talking constantly about my new career on the Betfair Forum. This is all going to sh1t. Two minutes to start time. I make a decision.
'Just stop there a minute Mouse. I'll do you a deal. Get this job done properly (pointing at my nob) that means no talking no stopping just stroking. When it's done I promise we'll get to work straight away on making something for the Forum.Deal?' I've never seen the Mouse so keen on c0ck! Both hands working like crazy and a look of grim determination on her face. I felt myself approaching the promised land but something wasn't quite right. I kept looking over at SKY and knew I wasn't going to get my bet on. Plus I was worried about my rash promise to write something for the Forum. Write what? I've got no ideas. Nothing. The truth is Kamikazee Drinking Machine can wipe the floor with me. And the Mouse would be no help at all. Just then the Mouse stopped stroking and started rummaging in her bag. What is this idiot doing now? Her hand came out with a packet of Mentos and she popped one in her mouth. 'Want one?' No doubt she could tell the answer from my face. Also my deflating member told it's own tale. There's an old saying. When the going gets tough the tough get going. The Mouse stepped up.
With one slippery little hand pumping furiously she bent her head and started licking the ballsack. Now this was more like it!! My head went back and I let out an involuntary moan.That tongue work was amazing. I didn't know the Mouse had it in her. I looked over at SKY and saw the horse I was going to back two lengths clear and travelling nicely about 400 out. I didn't care. Fckk it. I'm in heaven. I think I'm in love. I looked down adoringly at the Mouse as she relentlessly pumped away. Then it got better. Somehow the Mouse fitted my entire ballsack in her mouth. I nearly jumped out of the chair! And guess what else? The horse I didn't back got swamped 20 metres out and didn't run a place!!! Then the Mouse somehow knew I was about to blow and stopped the ballsack treatment and instead stuck her mouth over my nob. My pelvis thrust forward all on it's own as I bucked out a most intense orgasm with the Mouse bravely hanging on. FCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I slumped back in the chair feeling like I'd just run aroun the block. I was in a daze. The Mouse was having none of it. A promise is a promise. 'Come on get up. You've got work to do.' 'Work? I've always hated that word. What work?' 'The Betfair Forum? Remember? You've got to write something. WE'VE got to write something. Let's do it.' Oh Fcckkkk.......
The Mouse can see I'm wavering. She knows I don't like her hanging around of an arvo but she doesn't want to go home and who could blame her. She lives with her maniac of a mother who can barely go a week without publicly brawling with whatever man is stupid enough to go near her. So Mouse plays her trump card. The bottom shelf. It's an oldie but a goodie. She keeps her legs straight and bends over at the waist affording me a glorious view of her little rear end. I immediately feel a stirring in my trackie daks. I've forgotten all about the first at Hawkesbury. I go over and lift her skirt revealing a very average pair of old undies. I scrunch them up and put them in her crack to give the appearance of a g-string. The Mouse makes no reaction she just continues her inane prattle. 'I see you've got a few books by George Eliot. Is he any good?' Yes and it's not he it's a she.' 'But his name's George.' My hands are roaming all over the exquisite white bottom of the Mouse and I'm barely listening to her. 'It's a pseudonym.' 'What's that?' The trackie daks are off in an instant and I'm rubbing the Spear all over. This is heaven! If only she'd shut up! I'm dry humping her in the crack and go to remove the undies in order to take this to next level. Suddenly she stands up straight and turns around and says,'sorry I can't do that today I'm on my period.' FCKKK!!
Seeing my disappointment and fearing it might mean her imminent eviction she says,'I'll give you a suck if you like?' I don't like. Call me crazy but there is logic to that. I looked over at SKY and see it's only seven minutes to the first and I'm planning on having a big go on something I like. The Mouse is so bad at BJs it will take me 20 minutes at least to come. I was beginning to deflate when I felt the light touch of the Mouse on my manhood. 'What about a handjob?' she asks while her little fingers were doing their work. Fckk it this has GOT to be done! I race into the bedroom and grab some lube and race back and sit in the chair. The Mouse kneels in front of me and sets to work. I swear my d1ck looks bigger in her hands. Six minutes to start time. No problem this won't take long at all. The Mouse however cares not one bit for the emergency nature of the situation. She starts to talk. 'When are you going to start writing again? I'd love to be here when you're creating something. It's been years. You really should start again.' I reply,'actually I bumped into a mate down the pub this morning he wants me to write again for the Betfair Forum. I think I might just do that.' As soon as I said it I knew I had made a catastrophic error. The Mouse squealed in delight and leapt to her feet.'That's fantastic. I can't believe it. Can I help? (she WAS helping very much now she's NOT helping at all) The Betfair Forum. It sounds so grand. Is it a place where distinguished writers display their latest works?' 'Yeah something like that. Not really. It's just a bit of fun. Just something to read between races.' I nod at my c0ck and start waving it around to indicate that we have unfinished business here. She kneels back down and and does a pitiful job while talking constantly about my new career on the Betfair Forum. This is all going to sh1t. Two minutes to start time. I make a decision.
'Just stop there a minute Mouse. I'll do you a deal. Get this job done properly (pointing at my nob) that means no talking no stopping just stroking. When it's done I promise we'll get to work straight away on making something for the Forum.Deal?' I've never seen the Mouse so keen on c0ck! Both hands working like crazy and a look of grim determination on her face. I felt myself approaching the promised land but something wasn't quite right. I kept looking over at SKY and knew I wasn't going to get my bet on. Plus I was worried about my rash promise to write something for the Forum. Write what? I've got no ideas. Nothing. The truth is Kamikazee Drinking Machine can wipe the floor with me. And the Mouse would be no help at all. Just then the Mouse stopped stroking and started rummaging in her bag. What is this idiot doing now? Her hand came out with a packet of Mentos and she popped one in her mouth. 'Want one?' No doubt she could tell the answer from my face. Also my deflating member told it's own tale. There's an old saying. When the going gets tough the tough get going. The Mouse stepped up.
With one slippery little hand pumping furiously she bent her head and started licking the ballsack. Now this was more like it!! My head went back and I let out an involuntary moan.That tongue work was amazing. I didn't know the Mouse had it in her. I looked over at SKY and saw the horse I was going to back two lengths clear and travelling nicely about 400 out. I didn't care. Fckk it. I'm in heaven. I think I'm in love. I looked down adoringly at the Mouse as she relentlessly pumped away. Then it got better. Somehow the Mouse fitted my entire ballsack in her mouth. I nearly jumped out of the chair! And guess what else? The horse I didn't back got swamped 20 metres out and didn't run a place!!! Then the Mouse somehow knew I was about to blow and stopped the ballsack treatment and instead stuck her mouth over my nob. My pelvis thrust forward all on it's own as I bucked out a most intense orgasm with the Mouse bravely hanging on. FCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I slumped back in the chair feeling like I'd just run aroun the block. I was in a daze. The Mouse was having none of it. A promise is a promise. 'Come on get up. You've got work to do.' 'Work? I've always hated that word. What work?' 'The Betfair Forum? Remember? You've got to write something. WE'VE got to write something. Let's do it.' Oh Fcckkkk.......
9.
Mrs Streicher entered the room and literally caught me with my pants down.'Good Lord' she cried and turned away only to see the frightened Mouse,her hands shiney with lube clutching onto some used tissues. 'This is disgusting. Not only do you turn my home into a gambling den not to mention your non stop drinking now you've made it a bordello. I'm calling the police!' and she stomped off.
I stood to pull up my trackie daks and looked out the window to see a familiar figure outside. He was upending the last drops from a stubby of VB before placing the empty bottle on top of Mrs Streicher's front fence. She won't like that. Now he pushed open the gate and headed for the front door. Oh fckk no. It's the Ferret. I ask Mouse to open the door while I do a quick scan of the room to make sure there's nothing laying around that might somehow find itself in Ferret's pocket. I can hear Ferret at the door.'I know you. You're Mouse.I know your Mum.' Ferret is dressed today much like any other day. A dirty ancient Souths woollen beanie on top of his head. Chopstick arms poking through a threadbare t-shirt which is tucked into tiny nylon Souths rugby league shorts revealing a great expanse of his skinny white hairless legs. Big W runners complete the ensemble. He gives me a smile which I wish he hadn't. Ferret is clearly a stranger to the dentist as he is to soap and water and good living in general. A life of drink, drugs,minor criminal activity and long periods of idleness have taken their toll. I wonder why on earth he is here.
He gets straight to the point. 'Owyergoin'Spear? Just thought I'd pop in to give you that $20 I owe you.' I was flabbergasted. For a start it was a lot more than 20 and just the fact that Ferret has come here and voluntarily offered me cash is beyond comprehension. Clearly he is up to something. 'That's very nice of you Ferret. Very nice. It'll come in handy too.' Ferret digs a crisp new 20 out from somewhere and hands it over though I do notice a look of extreme reluctance. I wonder if it's Centrelink day. I'm not sure what day it is actually. Just then Mrs Streicher storms back in for round 2 and her eyes open wide at the sight of the Ferret. 'What's going on here? More gambling,drinking and fornication!' while she looks accusingly at Ferret. Ferret looks nonplussed 'What? Fornication? ...Eh?' Mrs S continued,'Now it's a den of thieves. Filling my house with criminals.' 'Who you calling a criminal? I done nothing wrong. Just come here to see me old mate Spear now some old bag is calling me a criminal.' 'I know you Ferret. You've done time. You've got a criminal record. That makes you a criminal. I'm calling the Police!' Ferret looked alarmed and ready to leg it so I said 'don't worry about her Ferret she always says that.'
Ferret adopted that whining tone of the permanently aggrieved. 'Jeez I just come here to give a bloke a 20,doing a good deed and I get called a criminal and threatened with the Police. Makes you wonder what the worlds coming to. Makes a man a bit thirsty too.' He looks meaningfully at the barfridge in the corner. 'You want a beer Ferret? I'll get us one. Take a seat and tell us what this is about.' He sits down in the old recliner,the one I don't use anymore and takes a long swig. 'I seen Mr Digby today and he said you've got a special today at Hawkesbury. Reckoned you'd got it wrong that he thought it was a lay. That's why I come round hoping you might want to share. You got a good record with your specials.' I replied 'didn't Digby tell you what it was?' 'Nah mate. Fat cnnt tells me nuthin.' Fckkin hell. It was flattering I suppose. The Ferret willing to part with a 20 to find out my special. He must have a lot more somewhere. What I need to do is be there when or if he collects so I can get the rest of the money he owes me. I didn't mind telling him the special. I would've told him for free! 'What price do you reckon it'll be? He asks. 'Probably $3 or $4' Sweet. 'It's Hilarious Honour in the 6th at Hawkesbury. I can't see it losing.' Ferret smiles his rancid smile,takes a sip of his beer then leans down to pull the lever for the recliner.
Mrs Streicher entered the room and literally caught me with my pants down.'Good Lord' she cried and turned away only to see the frightened Mouse,her hands shiney with lube clutching onto some used tissues. 'This is disgusting. Not only do you turn my home into a gambling den not to mention your non stop drinking now you've made it a bordello. I'm calling the police!' and she stomped off.
I stood to pull up my trackie daks and looked out the window to see a familiar figure outside. He was upending the last drops from a stubby of VB before placing the empty bottle on top of Mrs Streicher's front fence. She won't like that. Now he pushed open the gate and headed for the front door. Oh fckk no. It's the Ferret. I ask Mouse to open the door while I do a quick scan of the room to make sure there's nothing laying around that might somehow find itself in Ferret's pocket. I can hear Ferret at the door.'I know you. You're Mouse.I know your Mum.' Ferret is dressed today much like any other day. A dirty ancient Souths woollen beanie on top of his head. Chopstick arms poking through a threadbare t-shirt which is tucked into tiny nylon Souths rugby league shorts revealing a great expanse of his skinny white hairless legs. Big W runners complete the ensemble. He gives me a smile which I wish he hadn't. Ferret is clearly a stranger to the dentist as he is to soap and water and good living in general. A life of drink, drugs,minor criminal activity and long periods of idleness have taken their toll. I wonder why on earth he is here.
He gets straight to the point. 'Owyergoin'Spear? Just thought I'd pop in to give you that $20 I owe you.' I was flabbergasted. For a start it was a lot more than 20 and just the fact that Ferret has come here and voluntarily offered me cash is beyond comprehension. Clearly he is up to something. 'That's very nice of you Ferret. Very nice. It'll come in handy too.' Ferret digs a crisp new 20 out from somewhere and hands it over though I do notice a look of extreme reluctance. I wonder if it's Centrelink day. I'm not sure what day it is actually. Just then Mrs Streicher storms back in for round 2 and her eyes open wide at the sight of the Ferret. 'What's going on here? More gambling,drinking and fornication!' while she looks accusingly at Ferret. Ferret looks nonplussed 'What? Fornication? ...Eh?' Mrs S continued,'Now it's a den of thieves. Filling my house with criminals.' 'Who you calling a criminal? I done nothing wrong. Just come here to see me old mate Spear now some old bag is calling me a criminal.' 'I know you Ferret. You've done time. You've got a criminal record. That makes you a criminal. I'm calling the Police!' Ferret looked alarmed and ready to leg it so I said 'don't worry about her Ferret she always says that.'
Ferret adopted that whining tone of the permanently aggrieved. 'Jeez I just come here to give a bloke a 20,doing a good deed and I get called a criminal and threatened with the Police. Makes you wonder what the worlds coming to. Makes a man a bit thirsty too.' He looks meaningfully at the barfridge in the corner. 'You want a beer Ferret? I'll get us one. Take a seat and tell us what this is about.' He sits down in the old recliner,the one I don't use anymore and takes a long swig. 'I seen Mr Digby today and he said you've got a special today at Hawkesbury. Reckoned you'd got it wrong that he thought it was a lay. That's why I come round hoping you might want to share. You got a good record with your specials.' I replied 'didn't Digby tell you what it was?' 'Nah mate. Fat cnnt tells me nuthin.' Fckkin hell. It was flattering I suppose. The Ferret willing to part with a 20 to find out my special. He must have a lot more somewhere. What I need to do is be there when or if he collects so I can get the rest of the money he owes me. I didn't mind telling him the special. I would've told him for free! 'What price do you reckon it'll be? He asks. 'Probably $3 or $4' Sweet. 'It's Hilarious Honour in the 6th at Hawkesbury. I can't see it losing.' Ferret smiles his rancid smile,takes a sip of his beer then leans down to pull the lever for the recliner.
10.
'FERRET NO!!!' Too late! It's the broken recliner that I don't use anymore. The backrest shot bacwards with alarming velocity all the way to the carpet behind upending the Ferret like a tip truck upending a load of gravel! The Ferret let out a yelp as he slid off the shiney old leather backwards upside down and head first into the lap of Mrs Streicher's old cat who was stretched out enjoying some winter sun streaming through the windows. The cat, aptly named Blood, has a demeanour very much like her owner and was ballistic with white hot rage at this sudden attack. Blood let out such a loud demented bellicose roar of anger that the Mouse squealed in fear. He then set about landing a succession of left and rights to Ferret's head with such ferocity that Mike Tyson would have been proud. The Ferret howled in confusion and terror. Luckily Ferret's beanie took most of the punishment and Blood continued to attack the beanie until it was dislodged from Ferret's head. Suddenly he stopped. I think he realised he'd been fighting a hat and now turned and walked to the door in embarrasment. He stopped at the doorway to give me a reproachful look. I wondered if we would still be friends.
I helped the Ferret to his feet and apologised profusely. His beanie was a mess as was his hair. He was kind of dazed I'm not sure he fully understood what just happened but he soon recovered his composure. His second beer hardly touched the sides and he was soon feeling much better. He sat back down looking like his old self. Horrible and ugly. He looked around the room and nodded approvingly. 'Nice setup you got here Spoon. Got your Skychannel on. And your books. Nice TV. Let me know if you're looking to upgrade that. Get you one for a nice price. Got your computer there. Get sick of the races you can watch all that internet porn eh? He started chuckling and sneaked a furtive glance at the Mouse. She looked back with barely concealed contempt. Ferret was used to that. That's how everybody looks at him. 'I can see you're a real professional Spear.I respect that.' I basked in these flattering words. The Ferret was not such a bad bloke when you got to know him. I felt a bit sorry for him. Sitting there with blood trickling from various scratches on his head. Years of abusing pharmaceuticals had left Ferret almost numb so he probably didn't even notice it. I was getting a bit of a beer buzz myself,plus I knew that as soon as Ferret left the Mouse would want me to start writing something for the Betfair Forum. 'How about one for the road? 'Don't mind if I do'.
The Ferret took the beer and had a long slurp. 'Aaaaaahh that's lovely'. He sat back in the chair and reached down for the lever. 'FERRET NOOOO!!!!'
'FERRET NO!!!' Too late! It's the broken recliner that I don't use anymore. The backrest shot bacwards with alarming velocity all the way to the carpet behind upending the Ferret like a tip truck upending a load of gravel! The Ferret let out a yelp as he slid off the shiney old leather backwards upside down and head first into the lap of Mrs Streicher's old cat who was stretched out enjoying some winter sun streaming through the windows. The cat, aptly named Blood, has a demeanour very much like her owner and was ballistic with white hot rage at this sudden attack. Blood let out such a loud demented bellicose roar of anger that the Mouse squealed in fear. He then set about landing a succession of left and rights to Ferret's head with such ferocity that Mike Tyson would have been proud. The Ferret howled in confusion and terror. Luckily Ferret's beanie took most of the punishment and Blood continued to attack the beanie until it was dislodged from Ferret's head. Suddenly he stopped. I think he realised he'd been fighting a hat and now turned and walked to the door in embarrasment. He stopped at the doorway to give me a reproachful look. I wondered if we would still be friends.
I helped the Ferret to his feet and apologised profusely. His beanie was a mess as was his hair. He was kind of dazed I'm not sure he fully understood what just happened but he soon recovered his composure. His second beer hardly touched the sides and he was soon feeling much better. He sat back down looking like his old self. Horrible and ugly. He looked around the room and nodded approvingly. 'Nice setup you got here Spoon. Got your Skychannel on. And your books. Nice TV. Let me know if you're looking to upgrade that. Get you one for a nice price. Got your computer there. Get sick of the races you can watch all that internet porn eh? He started chuckling and sneaked a furtive glance at the Mouse. She looked back with barely concealed contempt. Ferret was used to that. That's how everybody looks at him. 'I can see you're a real professional Spear.I respect that.' I basked in these flattering words. The Ferret was not such a bad bloke when you got to know him. I felt a bit sorry for him. Sitting there with blood trickling from various scratches on his head. Years of abusing pharmaceuticals had left Ferret almost numb so he probably didn't even notice it. I was getting a bit of a beer buzz myself,plus I knew that as soon as Ferret left the Mouse would want me to start writing something for the Betfair Forum. 'How about one for the road? 'Don't mind if I do'.
The Ferret took the beer and had a long slurp. 'Aaaaaahh that's lovely'. He sat back in the chair and reached down for the lever. 'FERRET NOOOO!!!!'
I HASTEN to add this is a copy and paste job of the legendary Burning Spear's work from 2015.
Party Boys - Hold Your Head Up ... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hroG6zWQbdo&list=PLYyyBLvlpTHMWYycydS8fNyIeg...
Ringo Starr - Photograph - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGuPfCD9kdk
Just read it again. Great stuff.
I had some Fred the other day in Nelson Bay. Lovely beer.
His picture on the bottle is a good likeness of me at 3am.
Now that I know what you look like, I'll keep an eye out for you when I am in Sydney
I'll be the one on the right holding the one on the left.
I've SMASHED sales records for the BOOZATORIUM this Xmas. They've decided not to bother unloading the Brewery Truck there they just send it over to my house. My ass is in a terrible state though. I've got about $5000 worth of return and earn bottles and cans in the backyard but I'm too p1ssed to take them to the joint that I take them to. I hope I'm not doing any damage to my liver. I remember one time being at the doctor place and the doctor (who btw was an Indian. Actually every doctor seems to be an Indian these days) and she asked if I drank. I'm not a fan of answering impertinent and highly personal questions from someone I just met so I OBFUSCATED.
Doctor: Do you ever drink alcohol?
Kamikazee: CERTAINLY NOT!! What is being implied here? Alcohol is for Alcoholics. I only ever drink Beer.
Doctor: Beer is an alcoholic drink.
Kamikazee: I don't think so. Maybe a bit. I dunno. I just like it.
Doctor: So how many beers would drink a day?
I knew it would get to this. These health professional cxnts that look like sh1t probing into my private life to report back to the government and use my visit for vicious gossip with their doctor mates. I was onto this lark. I knew I had to make my BEER consumption seem as modest as possible while not making it so small that she didn't believe me. Check. Mate.
Kamikazee: Oh not much. Only about 15 a day. (Her eyes widened-she doesn't believe me!) Oh and usually a bottle of champagne. You know...just the cheap stuff.
Doctor: (taking a moment to compose herself). So you drink 15 beers and a bottle of champagne a day?
Kamikazee: Cheap champagne. Sparkling wine to be precise.
Doctor: I'm speechless.
Kamikazee: (She doesn't believe me. I knew this would happen. What kind of limp wristed noodle armed loser only drinks 15 beers a day?) I have a lot more on weekends.
Doctor: More on weekends? How is that possible?
Kamikazee: Easy. Loads more on weekends. And weekdays too. 15 is a conservative estimate if I'm honest. (Ah fxck it she's not my Mum)
Doctor: You must have liver disease.
Kamikazee: NUH!! Sorry
Doctor: Well we're going to have some tests. This is unbelievable. This kind of alcohol consumption is suicidal. You're going to have to go in a program.
Kamikazee: What program? There's some good sorts on Home and Away can I go on that?
Doctor: Are you intoxicated now?
Kamikazee: Define INTOXICATED!!!
Doctor: Do you ever drink alcohol?
Kamikazee: CERTAINLY NOT!! What is being implied here? Alcohol is for Alcoholics. I only ever drink Beer.
Doctor: Beer is an alcoholic drink.
Kamikazee: I don't think so. Maybe a bit. I dunno. I just like it.
Doctor: So how many beers would drink a day?
I knew it would get to this. These health professional cxnts that look like sh1t probing into my private life to report back to the government and use my visit for vicious gossip with their doctor mates. I was onto this lark. I knew I had to make my BEER consumption seem as modest as possible while not making it so small that she didn't believe me. Check. Mate.
Kamikazee: Oh not much. Only about 15 a day. (Her eyes widened-she doesn't believe me!) Oh and usually a bottle of champagne. You know...just the cheap stuff.
Doctor: (taking a moment to compose herself). So you drink 15 beers and a bottle of champagne a day?
Kamikazee: Cheap champagne. Sparkling wine to be precise.
Doctor: I'm speechless.
Kamikazee: (She doesn't believe me. I knew this would happen. What kind of limp wristed noodle armed loser only drinks 15 beers a day?) I have a lot more on weekends.
Doctor: More on weekends? How is that possible?
Kamikazee: Easy. Loads more on weekends. And weekdays too. 15 is a conservative estimate if I'm honest. (Ah fxck it she's not my Mum)
Doctor: You must have liver disease.
Kamikazee: NUH!! Sorry
Doctor: Well we're going to have some tests. This is unbelievable. This kind of alcohol consumption is suicidal. You're going to have to go in a program.
Kamikazee: What program? There's some good sorts on Home and Away can I go on that?
Doctor: Are you intoxicated now?
Kamikazee: Define INTOXICATED!!!
I had an Indian Doctor once who was also very annoying.
When was your last liver test?
When was your last liver test?
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