Tuesday, February 26, 2019

Billy Baker – Boozing British biltong maker.

Billy Baker Boozing British biltong maker.

Billy was born in 1957. His parents were wealthy and very clever. His father was a professor giving lectures at the University of Rocket Science - his mother, was the first person to clone a clown that died laughing.

It became apparent that there was something wrong with the gene pool regarding Billy. His mother, a genetic, DNA manipulator, concluded that he was a kick back from Neanderthal times. Billy never went to school and simply sat in front of the TV watching repeats of Dr Who.

He did not speak much but when he did -

I am a Dalek exterminate, exterminate.

When Billy turned 18 his father said -

You want to exterminate? Okay, here is a one way ticket to Rhodesia, a digital watch, and 500 pounds.

Dropping his son off at the airport, he pinned a notice to his back -

Please look after this idiot

At Salisbury International airport, where only planes from South Africa arrived, so sort of international, Billy was recruited into the RLI as soon as he went through Customs and Idiotintergration. He would be trained to become cannon fodder.

Billy loved the training. Standing at 6 foot four and built bigger than a Siberian dancing bear with looks that made a granite cliff face shiver, his fellow recruits loved him. But Billy would become addicted to beer and biltong down at the troopie recruits bar every night! He broke many records - mostly because he hated them playing Gary Glitter.

It was whilst he was ripping the legs off the snooker table because he had lost a game he had a revelation. He would become Scottish. (Although he had been born in Northern Ireland.) Explaining to his OiC in clear language -

Oooch mon, ee me Daleek, haggis, haggis, exterminate, exterminate. Whisky Whisky, Billy want more, he could wear a camouflage kilt and paint his face in weird colours of blue and shiny white.

Sent out on patrol, he was point and would constantly hollow out Oooch mon, there is whiskey in the jar. I am a Dalek exterminate, exterminate.

Leading up to Independence, Billy and his faithful comrades would never once get in a form of aggressive contact with the enemy. The only aggression was if any of his chinas would be replaced and they might be sent to real combat. Then his stick mates threatened mutiny

Just before Independence, Billy cottoned the game was up and must return home. But, before he went, he managed to fathom how to make biltong for truly he was addicted to the stuff. His troopie mates had explained beef, spices, cardboard box, light, heater.

When Billy arrived back on British soil, he had quite a lot of money on him. Real money. He had hardly spent a cent in four years. His bank manager responded most amicably when he strode in and explained
Pounds I have whisky in the jar, I am a dalek exterminate, exterminate.

s parents were not quite overjoyed to see him, especially as he smelt bad, wore no shirt and tucked the ends of his beard into his kilt. However they did have a super-dooper caravan at the bottom of their large garden with all the mod cons and let him stay there if he kept quiet and did not frighten the neighbours.

Billy had become so acclimatized with crates of Rhodie Castle beer, he could not stomach the local stuff, but found a store selling Carlsberg Special Brew
7.3% - which could, after 20 cans, make him think straight.

Night after night he struggled with his addiction
biltong-biltong-biltong- cardboard box, beef, spices, light, heater he needed his fix.

One night, It was after his 37th beer for the night. He had a plan.

1. Cardboard box
2. Beef
farmer Paddy O Brian had a bull next door doing nothing much but chewing the cud.
3. Heating - get some second hand flame throwers from the local army sales.
4. Light.
steal a few street lamps.

Now that left only spices. This is where Billy got a bit unstuck until

He was watching MTV and a strange song permeated through his head
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want?

Billy knew what he wanted
biltong and he had just found his spices. But how to get them?

Stay tuned for Part Two. (If you really, really want.)

Monday, February 25, 2019

William Waster - Washout

Recruit Trooper William Waster Washout.

In 1975, William received his call up papers. The date to rock up to be drafted had almost run out because his address, In Cardboard Box, No 13, Under a Bridge, Salisbury, had the poor postman in tears finding him.

William was actually delighted being called up. At last he could focus on a future beyond scratching at his fleas and scrounging from the indigenous natives at shebeens for a sip of some Rufaro Ngoto.

Arriving two hours and three days late, explaining he had forgotten to wind up his non-existent alarm clock he soon caught up with the rest of the intake by getting a rapid hard kick in the rear. Now he would be taught how to become a man to fight for his country, which, meant, as far as William was concerned meant he got a new cardboard box.

I, the writer, will not delve into to much details that would fill a three page book, but suffice to say, his instructors realised after a few days the oke was insane! He was caught looking down the barrel of his gat to see if it was dirty whilst, with a round in the spout and the safety off.

Called into the OiCs office he was told -

Recruit Waster, you are a danger not only to yourself, but to friends and foes alike. You will finish your national service here at the barracks washing windows.

William was delighted and replied -

Will I get my RGSM at the end?

William was soon put to work washing away and swigging at the window cleaner soap because he concluded If it smelt nice it must taste nice. What he did notice was that when he botty burped foam came out of his bottom and bottomed out the bottom of his camo trousers.
All was well and good- until he had to clean the windows on the outside of the first floor and was given a ladder.

The problem? William suffered from severe vertigo hence the reason he lived under a bridge rather than on top of it. He refused. Would rather be shot at dusk, just before the firing squad hit the bar. (It was impossible to be shot at dawn in Rhodesia, as at that time; those responsible to pull triggers were still sleeping it off.)

And now?

His OiC literally went mental he was trying to run a war, not a lunatic asylum.

Give him a job washing washers.

This was duly done, and William had a table, a basin full of soapy suds, a tooth brush, ten thousand washers, and a clothes line to hang them on. He was happy and scrubbed away. But it is NOW that YOU the reader, will be stunned by what William had done he had entered the zone of quantum physics.
Because William would wash and feed 5000 washed washers onto the washing line and attempt to tie one end to a tree. As he lifted the washing line up - all the washers fell off the other end into the dirt.

So he had to wash them again. This went on for decades. Through Independence, through every financial crisis- he just kept washing away at all those washers.

Until in 2019, the local government officials confiscated all his washers. They would now be used as currency. William was devastated he was now unemployed and never did get his RGSM.
But he had a backup plan

Saturday, February 16, 2019

The weird Dream

The weird Dream-

I  just awoke from intoxication with this weird dream still in my head.

There is this beautiful woman, blonde, petite, 50 plus- a hippy sort of gal and I grab her at the bus stop and behind some councils flats rape her.

She kicked up no fuss and when I had finished said That was nice can you do it again please.

So I did and when I was finished she said That was nice can you do it again please.

So I did and when I finished and quite frankly wondering if any doctor on the NHS can repair a very well burnt out bell end - when she sits up and says -

That was nice can you do it again please.

Well . as I said, she was very sexy looking and when I  finished she said

That was nice can you do it again please.

Now I am suspicious.

So I gave her a kick to the head a really big one and she fell over and said

That was nice can you do it again please.

Now I was really frightened. I found a lump of wood and shoved it up her bum hole and she said -

That was nice can you do it again please.

I am not a person to panic in a strange situation as I am a Rhodie so I jumped on her head so much hoping she would be dead and she said -

That was nice can you do it again please.

In Part Two of this saga
we find out she is actually an android that escaped from an experimental mental house and running on Windows XP.

you are allowed to laugh now.