Thursday, February 11, 2016

The Girl Who Felt Nothing - the next stage

To be Sectioned 13

Rocking up at Fritz's place with usual German punctuality (30 minutes early), he seemed a little nervous. No, I don't mean he was sweating and mopping his brow and silly descriptions like that – nah – this bloke reminded me of a giant human tuning fork that had just been whacked rather hard against a concrete wall.

'Frau, Frau, Frau Schimdt, Schimdt Schmidt,' he stuttered bloody obviously, 'Zee meeex ov zee silber und zee zehn kilos graphite pow wow da, eet fick up zee spray gun'

Of course he didn't talk like that. He may have been German but he wasn't an illiterate idiot. I just wrote that like that for a laugh.
Anyway -
'Show me my car,' I replied authoritatively. Very, actually, since I had shoved two rather sharp finger nails into his nostrils and was guiding him to his workshop.
In the well lit area he pointed to the middle of it - 'That is the problem.'
There was going to be problem all right, there was fuck all there in it.

'Now before I break every finger of your hands, please be so kind as to tell me where the Lotus is?'
'It is there, Frau Schmidt look carefully. In the middle of the workshop.'
I looked and just for rubbish writing looked again. Oh sheet. There was a hole. A rather large one. Not in the floor because you could not see it! In fact...

'Jesus fucking Christ!' This was beyond even my wildest dreams of a swearing cliché.
I wandered over tentatively and after groping around a bit had the driver door open. Ahh – now we can see. Bit weird though. Like, the inside of a door and the cockpit. I slicked in. Nice. Very. Fritz had done a perfect job of attaching one way mirror folio to the windows. I turned on the head lights and got out. That way I could sort of gather where the car was.
'Good, Fritz, very good. How she look in natural light?
Opening the garage door, 'Frau Schmidt, this is illegal if you intend to drive it on a public road.' He boringly told me in typical German attitude of 'We do not think – we simply take orders.'
Did I give a shit? Exactly. Besides, in natural light the Lotus was still invisible. Rather nuts watching light beams coming out of nowhere.
Sorting out Fritz's social conscience was a breeze at 1k cash, but I had terrible intestinal convulsions known in the tired trade of writing as a queasy tummy. How the fuck was I gonna drive this without getting killed?

I needed to fink. The Germans struggle to pronounce 'th', so when in Warsaw do as Warzones do and start finking. Opening the lap top (you can't use it with the lid closed), I went to a site I use periodically – the periodic table. No idea why they named it that, but within 30 minutes I had a solution to my quandary.

'Fritz, come here and grow your hair for fuck's sake, you look like something you shove down a toilet to clean crap squirts on the porcelain. Give me some paper and a pen.' (Obviously I need a pen as I wasn't intending to fold the paper into a look alike Concord and throw them out the garage door.) Rapidly and almost frothing at the mouth rabidly, I had it solved.

'Listen Fritz, I need four, 20 litres containers of these colours mixed to this recipe. I also need a battery powered air compressor, connected to a spray paint thingy my jig and get me a dozen ultra violet lights – and stop looking like your best friend just disliked you on Facebook. 'I WILL BE BACK' (giving it the Terminator touch), in four hours. Now pull finger.'

With a bit of time - I needed to eat. Up on the High Street there were some joints, but not selling them.

'Ja Bitte. Wat U wont,' said the sad looking waitress who was obviously a Syrian refugee as she had a black bin liner over her head with slits for her eyes and her German was atrocious. Plus she ponged worse than the local pond.

'Just give me something traditional and try not to touch it. I don't fancy catching Zika virus.'

Three Weisswurst, a pretzel, sweet honey mustard and a Weissbeer was duly presented. I looked at the amputated white willies with trepidation. I was not sure which hole they were supposed to go in!

Whilst munching and suffing on the stuff, I checked my Emails. Ahh, it seems 'they' were a tad upset just by looking at - Re: Killing the Clown and Re: We hunt you down and Re: You owe us a lot of money. I ignored all that but there was one that made me smile with delight (well you don't smile with sorrow do you?), 'Congratulations, you have just won 10 million dollars as your Email address came up. Please reply here to claim your prize'.

I love this stuff. 'They' had not only taught me well, they had also given me some serious software.
So my reply was 'Thanks hey, I just fucked your entire system. Come on line to me again I will personally rip your vocal chords out and shove them up your arse so you can chat with yourself.' Cool hey!

With time to kill (yawn, another boring cliché) I had this thought (I was finking), why not make a Facebook account dedicated to me on my insane quest to kill people? Not yet sure who I want to send to the great hole in the ground to be eaten by worms as they rot and explode from intestinal gas from the bacteria in their guts, but I ponder on that.

Part… 14

After depositing last night's dinner when the armband sent messages that I needed to shit or will explode, I wandered back. Which is rather daft as I was actually walking forwards. Stupid backward language – I mean, why not just say 'I wandered forwards?'

Passing by the local ALDI (local? Huh!), I stopped passing by and popped in. I needed four bottles of that stuff which claims it removes every bit of grease and grime and the blah blah is just a load of lies. Hey, remember that washing powder a few years ago? Brilliant stuff – guaranteed to REALLY remove EVERY stain. And just for a change, the bastards were not lying and the stuff did work. Except for one small problem. It happened to me after I got a real bad blood stain on a blouse. Not my blood, that's besides the point, and using this magic stuff, out it came from the washing machine (I wasn't exactly going to clean it in a microwave), and lo and behold a cliché at its finest, the stain was gone and instead there was a huge hole! No wonder the stuff was removed from the market.

Anyway, I like shopping in ALDI. Best is Thursday at 8.00 am. (They close at 8.00 pm, so hence the former rather than the latter time), because all the asylum seeking bitches start ripping each others bin liners off and scratch, bite and kick over four pairs of children’s socks going for a Euro 1.50 cents. And the smell! They walked 2000 kms and never had a wash! Almost as much fun as teasing the baboons at the zoo.

Oh. I have to tell you about that. Laugh? It was so funny, I think I accidentally filled my panties. It was one of those days when I needed to entertain myself; so I went down to London Zoo with a couple of bananas. I wanted to do an experiment with some baboons if they can conquer greed through pain.

Peeling the banana seductively, it wasn't long before this huge alpha male was up against the fence with a hard on that could roger an elephant. Ignoring the sign 'Do not feed or tease the animals', because luckily for me I can not read English when I so desire, I poked the banana through the fence. Just as he snatched it, I whipped out a Tayser and gave the fucker 10 thousand volts.

Hah-hah. What a scream, not just from the baboons, but the peasants gawking away at this thing spurting a load of semen into the air whilst crapping itself. Even funnier was the rest of the pack rushing over and eating its shit!

As I said – I was doing a scientific experiment, so I buggered off for an hour, reckoning the baboon would come to is monkey senses by then and to stop my boredom Tasered a penguin to see if it could fly over the fence. Sadly that failed and it kicked it, rather promptly.

Back at the baboon pen, (Pen – I thought that was a Biro), the big git was up on a rock looking rather sulky. Not sure how baboons look sulky but I had a distinct impression it was not happy.
So... I pulled out the other banana and again seductively peeling it, waved it at him.
Hard to believe this, the fucking daft thing again got a hard on and scrabbled to the fence.

Oh well, experiment failed and I gave it another bolt in the hope it would awaken some primate brain cells. But in the ensuing twitching, vomiting, more shitting and screaming, I concluded it was in its death throes, which was confirmed in the Daily Mail the next day under the headlines 'Teased Bobo Taysered to Death.'

Is it really Part 15?

Moving on, I pitched up at Fritz's place to complete the next part of my plan...

Fritz had done wonders. Not that surprised, he had been given some serious dosh and the alternation (a much superior word than alternative), was having his bones broken so badly he could be packed in a duty free shopping bag. Still, he had some face on him hey. Well, besides if that loon Hannibal Lester gets hold of you, most people retain their face (the outer cover of the front end of your skull) until it rots off...

'Frtzy boy, now paint the machine in, that colour,' pointing to one of the plastic containers.

'But, but, but, Frau Schimdt, I have other customers and one is at the front desk and making a lot of noise why I not paint his car.'

'Get on with the work and I sort your customer out – kapeeto?'


'Hi, I am Veronica, and I gather you have a problem about some spray job?'

The middle aged twat, with almost no hair and a beer gut that would have passed as a Rhodesian Front, started some yowling and moaning. I can't be arsed to write the translation, but basically he had expected to pick up his resprayed car today. I told him that due to an 'emergency' Fritz was busy and maybe he should come back tomorrow. That went down like a feather coated in lead and the daft git started to come over rather heavy like.

I guess as you read this memoir, you can gather I do not tolerate such nonsense..

'Please turn around and look out the window. Do you see an ambulance?'


'Would you like to be in one, whilst unable to see, if I put my finger nails into your eyes? So fuck off and come back here tomorrow to 'see' if Fritz has finished your car.'


Nice. The acrylic paint had already dried. The formula could resist rain.

'Thanks Fritz, catch Ya later'

Programming the GPS (complements of the Porsche rebuild), I was soon on the motorway doing 280 kmh and heading towards Serbia. I needed to get some real fancy weapons.


Anonymous said...

I can't be sure if you (the writer) are a complete, sideways, piece of shit, scumbag, or whether you just have serious mental health problems. I hope for your sake that it is the second but I fear that in fact you just crawled out from under a rock in (I guess) middle America, with your head so far up your own arse that you cannot see the wood for the trees because both your eyes and mouth are full of shit.

It's really easy to write in the pathetic style that you use. Maybe one day you'll open your heart/mind, read a book and come join the real world.

Best of luck champ!! (chump)

Karl (aka Lore) said...

It seems someone has not quite clocked that 'The Girl Who Felt Nothing', is a complete spoof based on how to write bad fiction.

After receiving several first drafts from budding writers and I gave them a well good kick in the rear - I wondered if I could write so much shite that they clock - do not go in this direction.

So who is the chump, champ? Sadly you have been hooked, lined in a spider's web and well sunk.