The human body is an incredible thing when it comes to adapting to life threatening situations. This afternoon I was buzzed by a particularly large bee on the way home, it was pretty much a dirty tennis ball with wings and a drawn on face full of hell, someone clearly got out of the wrong side of the hive this morning.
My body instantly went into self defence and I found myself making involuntary ducking motions as if shadow boxing a spazaming ghost whist simultaneously managing to activate a special fit like wiggle throughout the rest of my body, demonstrating some sort of ancient tribal ritual in the centre of Newcastle, at one point I thought some onlooking Charvs were going to pop over with their “Ghetto blaster” and ask me to stick a donk on it, so impressive were the shapes I was throwing at my insect assailent.
Accompanying my groundbreaking street dance I also attacked the bee by blowing at it, hard, like a fat super girl trying to blow out an inferno, the bee at this point just seemed to be happy that I was cooling it off and enjoyed the breeze being spat out from my fat and terrified face, it did nothing to harm it other than give it a yellow and black quiff which I’m sure the rest of the bee’s would be well jealous of.
Fortunately I managed to stagger away like an outcast from the ministry of silly walks, whilst the rest of Newcastle I can only assume looked on at me thinking I was the Bee’s Knee’s. Yep, all kinds of cool honey.
Bee safe everyone. It could happen to anyone.
A kind soul dropped a small polythene bag on the floor of the bakery section of Asda and I’ve just managed to slip impressively on it for quite some distance.
Fortunately I managed to turn it into something quite balletic and was seen to glide the length of the aisle with the grace and majesty of a butterfly, it was a scene from scone lake and I was rasin eyebrows, I was the current star, the crust of the North and the audience would fall instantly in loaf.
To me I was the picture of elegance as I near floated across the stage, to everyone else I was a pink hippo surfing a bin liner, but art is very subjective isn’t it, and they can kiss my buns.
When you’re on the top deck of the bus, wistfully daydreaming out of the window in your own world and suddenly the bus noisely catches some branches from an overhanging tree. I must apologise to the other passengers for my somewhat overreaction as I all but propelled upwards through the roof, complete with exaggerated panto gasp for fear of being slapped and fingered by one of those massive tree people off Lord of the rings.
Daves decision to not take a coat to work this morning, though now his loss, was his neighbours gain, for the spectacle they would witness on his return home would be the very essence of man.
Pulling onto the drive, Dave parked too near the garage wall meaning his door would only open half way. Rather than reversing and parking properly like a normal person, he decided that a much better idea would be to try and squeeze out of the van through the tiny gap like an inflated contortionist dry humping through a doughnut.
With his stomach sucked in so hard that it threatened to burst out of his arse he forced his exit between seat and door. Onlookers would witness what resembled a giant square metallic bull giving birth to a stupid red faced fat man beast, with surgeons on standby with blocks of butter to assist lubricating the ailing creatures entrance into the world. Half way out of the van it looked like Dave could be spending the night trapped, his rounded pie frame doing little to assist his exit. With one final push he was free, like a giant arse slamming out a difficult stool, he was fired from the van and he rolled onto the drive.
To his neighbours, he moved in slow motion, this was diet coke break live – in Northumberland.
Dave picked himself up. With the rain pouring down, his sodden shirt clung to every sweeping curve of his body. His love handles exposed, bellowing out above his jeans like a sexy soufflé. His jelly tot nipples now taught from the chilly spring deluge, and sadly pointing down from the ends of his wilting chesticles.
Once inside the raging display of sex didn’t end. Upstairs Dave drew the curtains and began to get changed. Attempting to peal off his soaking shirt over his head, it became stuck half way and he wriggled around with his arms in the air, shirt rolled up above him, like a sultry enchilada.
From the outside, backlit from the bedroom light, a silhouetted dance played out. Dave’s shadow clear through the cheap George home curtains. The grand finale was just like one of those shadow dance acts from Britain’s got talent, whereas where they were often moving and poetic, this was vile and shit.
I applaud you hotching unwashed bus passenger, it must take some considerable effort to make an entire double decker bus smell like the inside of a perishing false leg. I’m half tempted to ask the gentlemen next to me if I could bury my face between his buttocks just for some relief from the caustic whiff thats peeling off the paint and making even flies throw up around the bus.
There’s a visible “Ahh bisto” trail traversing the aisle and I fear if I touch it I’ll explode into a dust cloud like those poor people in war of the worlds.
Nearly home though, hopefully I’ll stand in some dog shit on the way back and i can take my shoe off to use as a respirator.
So tonight was the first “Gym Session”
I started with the rowing machine.
Slowly sitting into position on the incredibly uncomfortable seat and grabbing the handles on the stupidly tight pully cord thing, I wasted no time and the “rowing” motion began.
The first lunge forward sent my now scrunched and bulbous belly rolling up my body until my stomach was in my neck, so I now resembled some sort of male exotic bird puffing up it’s chest, but instead of a plethora of impressive feathers on display there was a stack of lard tires that threatened to tumble back down at any moment, like some sort of shit game of jelly Jenga. I pulled back with all my strength and my belly was released from my neck, I swear I heard it say “Thank fuck for that” as it collapsed back to what seemed like my feet, I imagined the same kind of gushing release that you would get if you were to slice open a waterbed that was filled with custard.
Pretty soon I was in full stride and as I lurched back and forwards my belly continued to traverse the length of my body, up, and down, just like one of those fair ground rides where people sit in a circle around the big pole and it shoots up and down, my organs “ooooing and ahhhhhing” as they were raised and dropped.
Next up, the exercise bike.
First up, this thing was higher than I thought, I swung my leg over like John Wayne mounting a fuck off giraffe and sat down with far too much force so that my arse all but swallowed up the seat, after checking i didn’t need to retrieve the seat from my now ruptured colon, I slid my feet into the plastic stirrup things on the pedals.
I started peddling, at first this seemed ok, I looked at the clock and thought, “Twenty minutes” I can do this. I went for it, it wasn’t long before i could feel my heart beating in my eyeballs. I looked up thinking I’d been going a good ten minutes – three minutes had past. This wasn’t the first time i felt like i’d been going much longer than a couple of minutes in an act of physical exertion. I pushed on as long as i could but decided I’d have to have a breather half way through. Then as if I wasn’t already having a miserable enough time, just as I was slowing down to dismount I spotted on the garage floor under me an extremely unwelcome guest, spider…
To say I’m not a fan of spiders goes in the same box of understatements as me saying I don’t like salads. I took a double take to check it was in fact the horror to which i thought, but there was no doubt, an eight legged intruder was directly underneath me. It was at this point I did something rather worrying, I peddled faster, for some reason, just for a moment I thought by doing so I could get away from it. In those ten seconds I probably got more speed up on the bike than i had in my whole ten minute exercise marathon, the spider stayed where it was, it didn’t gain on me, but I didn’t put any space between us, we were even in the pursuit. I soon realised i wasn’t going anywhere, and nor did it seem was the spider, I imagined it had just popped out to see what was going on and was now laughing it’s eight spider tits off at the sight of me and my Olympic efforts, I’d be the laughing stock down at the Queens Web later on when him and his mates we’re enjoying eight pints.
Eventually the spider got bored of waiting for me to have a stroke and moved on. I took this opportunity to call it a day on the bike and moved onto the weights.
I lay down on the bench. I totally nailed this part, in fact I may have just found my sport. I grabbed the bar and built myself up mentally, taking deep breaths, I counted in to the first lift, one, two, three, lift…Nothing. It wouldn’t move. Surely they weren’t that heavy. Fortunately for me it wasn’t that I was much weaker than i thought, apparently there are “safety clamps” that stop the weights from rolling off. I released these and attempted again, it wasn’t much easier. I was on about lift three when I started making noises I didn’t know i could make, I persevered, my cheeks exploding with every lift in a gibbering slavering explosion of exhaled strain, anyone passing by must have thought there was a man fucking a seal in his garage.
Luckily for me my allocated half hour in the gym that I promised myself I’d do was finally up. To be honest I’ve probably burnt more calories typing the whole thing up than i actually did in there, and let’s face It the only thing that’s ever likely to be totally ripped on me are my pants, but it’s a start. The plan is to do this every night this week. Let’s see how I go. Right now I’m off to meet a few spiders for some drinks and eight kebabs.
Chapter 1 – Bait
Dave stepped out of his works van which he had parked badly on the drive, his urgency to get home threw all sense of accuracy out of the window and he ploughed the corner of the lawn and flattened some of the shite plants he bought in the B & Q closing down sale.
He held his mysterious companion with one hand and used his other hand to open the door, soon realising that a key would in fact be better, rather than trying to insert his hand into the tiny key hole.
He pushed the door with his shoulder and marched straight in. A man on a mission he kicked off his scuffed work shoes carelessly and slipped his hotching work feet into his well worn Primark slippers, his shoes lay untidy on the floor, sole face up, displaying the £12.99 Asda George sticker candidly face up for the world to see, “Dirty, cheap, shoes” he thought to himself.
His trusty companion Snoopy bounded down the stairs and greeted him with the usual enthusiasm as he did every night. He jumped circles, wagging his tail, before nestling his head into Dave’s testicles- longer than was really deemed acceptable, had Snoopy been a human man, he’d be sparked out on the floor missing many of his teeth, however it had been many years since Snoopy had testicles of his own, so Dave allowed him to feel the comforting bulge of two intact pods for a while longer before luring him away with the promise of a biscuit.
With Snoopy distracted Dave wasted no time in throwing his companion onto the bench. He tore, rather than unwrapped the paper from it, upon ripping strips off the package the smell hit him instantly, pungent, unmistakable, Fish.
Battered, golden and more inviting than anything he had seen that day, the fish lay on it’s bed of chips, tail slightly curled up. “Cheeky thing” Dave thought.
Snapping out of the intoxicating gaze he found himself hearing the fish in his head “Stop, you’ll have to use a Condiment”. The fish was right, it was wrong not to, for all it may delay the moment to which he had thought of constantly since picking it up on the way home it was only right to do this properly.
Dave grabbed the ketchup from the cupboard, popped the cap and squeezed it firmly whilst gently shaking, sending overwhelmingly beautiful arcs of red sauce over the fish and it’s companion chips, for a moment he thought he could hear it sigh, or maybe that was himself.
He picked up the fish and chips marched them to the table, not even waiting to sit down before scoffing two of the larger chips on the short journey. At the table, he devoured the fish with a ferocity that scared even himself, fuck knows what the fish was thinking.
All the time both Dave and the fish were aware of someone watching them, it was Snoopy, but neither of them cared, if anything it added to the danger and excitement of the moment, the constant threat that someone might try to grab a chip during the furious feast that was taking place.
It felt like it was over in minutes. But the length of the encounter did not matter, for Dave was satisfied.
Dave sank back in his chair, spent. The fish was gone, and all that was left of the chips were the really shite sharp ones that threatened to lacerate your throat should they be eaten.
There was a silence now, interrupted only by an enormous climatic man belch, which served as a signal to all that the devouring was complete. The air was still, and thick with grease smells. Dave wasn’t sad that fish was gone, they had shared something special that both of them knew couldn’t last for ever, a consumption neither of them had experienced before.
There would be other fish, as they say, plenty more left in the sea.
“Come on snoopy” Dave said. “You can have these sharp dangerous chips for being a good boy”