Monday, 16 April 2012


Fuck, really need to stay consistent with my writing. Heaps of shits just been going on work-wise, and haven't had the time! But I'm working on a few stories for all of your amusement, watch this space!


Saturday, 7 April 2012

Snitches Get Stitches

Ahh yes, "Snitches Get Stitches", 'twas a motto that many of the members of my immediate social circle could quite happily live by. 

See, there's two types of risk management. Either a) Preventative or b) Curative.
But, who necessarily says that they can't be the same?

With the things that I got up to in my time at boarding school, neither me nor any of my friends could afford to be caught out due to loose lips or big mouths. By enforcing this rule, we could both prevent and cure the problems at hand. We could cure it through vengeance, and prevent it by setting an example. It may seem harsh, but we'd learnt through trial and error that when someone crosses you in this world, you've got to take them so far down that they'll never even consider wronging you again.

The first was Pinga.

Pinga was fat. And a mess. And he smelt. He had the personal hygiene of a barnyard animal and the social skills of a brussel sprout. Because of this, he was prone to "toot his own horn" in front of his peers.
Pinga had somehow made it into my group of acquaintances because he was a smoker. Yes, we were on first-name terms. No, I did not like him.

See, we were in the "clean up" process of one of our nights of ruckus (as described in The Nights, an earlier post of mine), and Pinga had managed to deduce what we were up to, and wanted in. Naturally, it was easier to give him a few alcoholic beverages than to refuse and run the risk of his resent turning against our group.

That was our first mistake.

Within 24 hours, word was spreading about our activities. This was the first time that we'd had this problem, so we evaluated the entire situation as a whole, and deduced that the most likely leak of information was to come form Pinga, he was the unknown variable in the equation.

After deliberation with the group, it was decided that Yeah Man and The Bird would converse with Pinga, and aim to stop this leak. Within an hour they had come back, after a verbal warning and slight interrogation of Pinga, and told us that we had nothing more to worry about.

That was our second mistake.

He was a fucking good liar, old Pinga. I'll give him that. While we were thinking of how we could be more discreet than we already were, he was desperately trying to raise his social profile with tales of our exploits. Imagine a fat, greasy, mess of a man reading you all the stories that are on this blog, changing details as he sees fit. Oh and before you ask, I'm not fat, and I'm not fucking greasy.

Anyways, to cut a long story short, myself and The Chaser ended up stumbling upon a lead with regards to Pinga. Turns out he had been pilfering our supplies of alcohol and sharing it with other undesirable fellows. We confronted one of the people he had drank it with, and they confirmed this. With concrete evidence, and a solid reason to punch someone, The Chaser was in his happy place.

See, The Chaser never liked Pinga. But what The Chaser did like, was punching people. Coupled with the anger over the stolen alcohol and the huge huge danger that Pinga had put our group in, The Chaser was in an almost blind fury.

Pinga was in trouble.

So soon after school had finished, The Chaser and I started the hunt. We started at The Dairy, the smokers frequenting ground, but to no avail. The same with the ovals, and the more common bong-spots. However, Pinga was nowhere to be found. Deflated by this, me and The Chaser started walking to The Fortress in order to consume some leafy greens to lift our moods a bit. But as we were walking down the path, the unmistakable form (and smell) of Pinga became apparent. How he managed to get down there never ceases to amaze me.

Looking up, you could almost see a glint in The Chaser's eye as he started running to The Fortress, with me close behind. As he ran up, you could watch Pinga's facial expression go from surprise, to concern, to shock, the absolute ball-numbing fear as The Chaser drew his fist back (whilst still running) and threw it full-force into Pinga's cheek. Never have I seen a more distinct look of satisfaction on The Chaser's face, than after that moment.

You also have to remember that The Chaser was by no means a small boy. standing at 6'0 at age 16, and weighing in at 85kg, as well as being notorious for fighting around the school and town, a punch from him would quickly put all but the largest of men on their backs. Immediately after, Pinga was stunned, on his back, bleeding from his mouth and a near-instant black eye forming. But after that, nothing was said. Pinga left The Fortress, and obviously thought about his misdeeds, as he came to me later and apologised for his mistakes. He begged me for forgiveness, to be given another chance to be in our circle.

Did I forgive him?

I sure as hell wasn't going to make a third mistake.

Monday, 2 April 2012

Oh shi-

I just realised I left word verification for comments on too. Probs to those who've made comments, I know how much Captcha sucks. All fixed now though.

Yeah man!

So, dear readers, let me tell you a story. This is a story of a friend, we called him "Yeah Man". We called him this because the most memorable thing about him was how he would stand with his arms crossed, bob his head, and say "Yeah man!" when agreeing to something. It was hilarious.

Yeah Man was one of those guys who are so engorged by self-belief, that they feel invincible. An opportunist, he would always be looking for the next form of excitement, ranging from mushroom trips to his personal favourite, Butane. However, he was malleable. A follower. It mattered no though, as this was always the cause of hilarity too. When trying to convince him of something, you could hear his mind changing. His dialogue would go from "Nah man!" to "Maybe man!" and then to "It's possible man!" to "Yeah man!". all the while bobbing his head.

Now, me and my circle of friends knew that Yeah Man lived by the saying "If you're gonna do it, do it big", but one Sunday afternoon was saw "doing it big" get taken to a whole new level.

As the college was Catholic, on a Sunday we would have to travel in buses, en masse, to the local church in order to celebrate Zombie Jesus or something. Normally we would go to the congregation pleasantly buzzed from some fine leafy greens, and Yeah Man had talked of eating magic mushrooms beforehand. We warned him against the idea, citing the risk involved for himself and those around him. However he was adamant that he do it.

So on that particular Sunday, that crazy motherfucker ate 50 Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, and went to church.

When I saw him, the first thing I noticed was his face. Drained of all colour, he resembled a store mannequin.
Then his eyes. His pupils, the size of dinner plates. No colour left in his eyes.
Oh, and the bobbing of the head.

My good friend The Bird came to me for advice. As Yeah Man's best friend, he felt obliged to stay by his side, sober, to guide him through the afternoon. But he was worried. He explained to me that Yeah Man was plunged so far deep into a psychoactive pit that he had suffered complete ego loss. He know longer knew of himself, his friend nor family. All he knew was to follow The Bird.

See, nobody knows what happened to Yeah Man at that church service. I didn't wish to associate him in the state that he was in, and neither did anybody else. So he hung around the back, flitting among the edges of the pews, absorbed in his own world. He refuses to say what he learnt from that day, and up until today still doesn't talk about it. But he was changed. He had not only toed the point of no return, he had leaped over it.

Probably while bobbing his head.