Rotten Bastards

It's a blog. It's a way of life. It's many things in between.

Sunday, 29 March 2009

The Confession of Sariel Thrawn

Those of you who have reached this point in the tale will know that I have much to confess.

More than most.

But it was not always so.

There was a time when this soul of mine was pristine and unfettered.
Pure and clean.

When I think back, it seems like so long ago. Another life. Another world. Another person.

I have, since that time, done innumerable things worthy of confession.
Crimes and misdemeanors.

My name has become famous. Or infamous.
Depending on your point of view.

Unspeakable acts of wanton cruelty.

The evil of the Georgetown incident would be enough to condemn billions of souls to hell's embrace.

But it was not billions.

It was me.

Nor is there a hell, except for the one I've made. For myself and for those around me.

The weak and the strong have been crushed under my boot-heel.

I have gladly choked the life out of kith and kin.

Feeling my brothers throat crumble in my hands. The tendons and muscles in his neck tightening twisting.


But it wasn't enough.

It's never enough.

The strength of Sariel Thrawn was too great.

But I confess, it wasn't always this way.

I confess that once I was a kind-hearted man. Who loved his brother.

I confess that there was a time when I was innocent and guiltless.

I confess that the man I was would despise the animal I have become.

This is my confession.
This is my life.

Thursday, 26 March 2009

Coup de Grâce

Okay, I'll cop to it. I killed the little towheaded bastard.

I must say in my defense that it was a mercy killing. He had been dying for over ten years. I only finished the job.

By the end, his crooked-toothed smile had disappeared and I just could not bear the pitiful look in his sad blue eyes any longer.

I decided to put him out of our misery.

He knew that it had to be done. He was expecting it. There was a look of resignation, if not relief, when the end came.

Good riddance, I say. He was morbidly shy and had always felt inferior. There was just no place for the timid, tender-hearted little pansy in this man's world.

Better off dead.

When I look at old photographs of him now, I feel a small pang of remorse. But mostly I feel resentment at missed opportunity and squandered talents.

There were many others who were complicit in his death, but they were only doing what came natural. They were just living their own lives.

No, I'm the one who did him in. I cannot blame anyone but myself.

He needed killing, as they say, and I was only too proud to bring down the axe. His murder was my rite of passage and I accepted the task willingly.

The killing stroke was delivered and he was dead even before he hit the ground.

I did not look back. There was no body to hide. I just stepped into his shoes and walked away.

Emotionally bronzed, I raised up the shield that he had always been too weak to carry against the slings and arrows.

And what of all the baggage that he had dragged along by his chains?

I still keep it in a secret safe place. I return to it only rarely when I can shed my armor.

I pick through the scabs and scars and occasionally catch a glimpse of his ghost.

And then I stand up straight, put on my trappings once again, and get on with our life.

Sunday, 22 March 2009

Mr Whippy is moonlighting

I shut curtain

I hear breath

I do not like

I fear

I admit I swore

I swore to my mam and dad

I tear

I never asked for this

I am becoming a stooge for some....

I will regret this, I'm sure I will regret....

3 Hail Mary's & an Our Farther

I am tree

I am football

I am the dirtiest knees in Barrow

I am an altar boy

I am crimped on neck by Canon.

Ok scratch all that shit. I saw all the bullshit as a kid, I saw that cunt canon cunt every time I had to do my time at church. I picked the duty as alter boy in school when some sister came round and asked for nominations. Me and Pete Craig put our heads together and decided it would be better to shake a bell than look at an old girls crotch whilst genuflecting.

I don't remember much, I had to wear that Lacey fucking thing, like a big doily over my head bordering a black gay suit with flaps. The "Lamb of God" or "Wafer" came in a massive transparent sack from some wholesalers. I grabbed hand fulls to eat or jam in my pockets for later.

When it was showtime I forgot my role every time. When the big man sticks the wafer up in the air, you got to ringading! When he did something else with the Tabernacle, I think? ringading! & some other shit. I forgot then, I'm not gonna remember now.

That cunt, Canon Nally, would clasp my neck and squeeze, squeeze and fucking squeeze every time I was on ringing duty. You know, if I could beat his head apart I would do. I'd fucking destroy that fucker any moment from..

He's dead, he died years ago.

Fat, bald fuck.

They have this candle in the Catholic churches called the "Eternal Light" which never goes out.

As a child I was amazed.

As a child I put it out and was more amazed.

my admission of guilt

anyone who has read my previous entries may know that i don't have a problem admitting fucked up stuff that has happened in my life. part of what makes you grow as a person is realizing that you are a fuck up like everyone else and getting shit off your chest. in a way this blog is like an anonymous counselling for me. so i will follow this with a list of things i like to get off my chest and since i am lazy, they will be in point form.

- if i am in a relationship i have a tendency to become infatuated with the person. no clue why, i don't have any mommy or daddy leaving issues. i just do.

- i was a mommy's boy until i was about a teenager. maybe it's because she was more lenient and let me do things i wanted that my dad wouldn't.

- i often think of what things would be like if i wasn't around. not in a suicidal sense but in a morbid fascination of if i died tomorrow, who would be at my funeral? call me emo but to me it's almost more of a curiousity of who i have impacted in my life.

- i cannot hunt or fish because i cannot kill animals. if it was a life or death situation it may be different. i still eat and have no problems killing insects. at the same time i have no problem striking another man if i have too.

- of all the substances i have put in my body i would have to say alcohol is the worse.

- i have never had a prostate exam cause i don't want a finger in my ass.

- i often have the thoughts that maybe i could have saved a relationship if i didn't react suddenly to stuff that seems trivial now

- although i am a crybaby, i haven't cried in over a year. it's not that i don't feel upset or sad anymore but maybe that i know things will be okay.

- the majority of my time online (outside of work) i spend looking at porn. it's not really an addiction or habit but it's similiar to the same way a stock broker might constantly look at how a stock is trading.

- i shit quite often (3-4 times a day) and i piss quite regularly too.

- i have a soft spot in my heart for hair metal. although they knew they weren't serious and they made music only so they could fuck more groupies, they weren't pretencious about it like many musicians now a days.

- i read quite a few biographies and sometimes think of how unexciting my life is.

- there are certain movies i won't watch because of memories i have tied between the movie and certain people i've had in my life.

- part of me hates confrontation and the other part loves the adrenaline rush and the escape from monotony.

- i don't know if i know the difference between love and infatuation.

- i wonder if there is anything after death but i doubt there is

- i buy shit that i rarely use. maybe because i am often bored?

- when i write these blogs i like to pretend i may impact someone's life when in face i really know it's just taking up space.

Friday, 20 March 2009


I'm in love.


I said it.

Bring on the cliches.

Bring on the taunting.

I'm taking all comers.

The fact is, I'm happier now than I can remember being for what feels like forever.

And whether it lasts another week or forever, at least I'll be able to say "I felt something once. And I liked it."

Is this a confession? Or is it merely an admission?

I'm not sure.

The word confession gives the sense of owning up to a wrongdoing. And I've definitely done no wrong here (at least not yet).

So I admit, I'm in love.

As for a confession...

I remember stealing cash and various products from a former employer. Thousands of dollars worth.

They had no idea. I had free food and drink.

Win. Win.

Tuesday, 10 March 2009


I've always been broke and I always will be. The past has been my fault and the future the fault of a black man and I. There have been flourishes of money times in my stretch of life thus far but it gets spent almost instantly. I'm thirty four and more broke than I ever have been. I've been unemployed for just over five weeks, the first time in around 12 years. I applied for job seekers allowance over the phone to this cranky woman, a bear of a woman, I imagined. I forgave her for this though as she had a pleasant voice and I felt as if I knew her after the thirty five or so minutes of me saying 'yes' and 'no', mainly 'no'.

Somewhere between her, an interview, me lying and signing that dole form, everything got lost and I had to go through the same failure steps again with a much more chipper lady. Within a week, nothing. I call up and demand a supervisor, a cheque comes the next day for sixty four pounds and seventeen pence.

I am delighted.

This was a couple of days ago.

A couple of years ago I'm standing in a queue at the ATM of Barclays bank opposite where the Starbucks is now in Nottingham City centre, it's a warm day, the sun is out. I'm probably wondering if the machine will spit me some of the vile green backs and definitely wondering why the big black dude in front of me is holding an umbrella as there is no sign of rain. I get to the machine, I'm quizzed as to which service I require next. The big dude has left his card in the machine. I take a quick look around the corner to see him walking away from me, far enough away for me to steel his earnings. All of a sudden I'm on one of those vibro machines that people use to vibro shit or lose weight with. I press the cash button then the hundred pound button and I'm dissolving in paranoia as the machine "Nuuuuuurs" away. It fucks out a hundred as I'm looking for a camera.

I should have got more?

I shouldn't have taken any! I should have fucked him over for a grand, will they let you take that much?

I was raised racist, fuck him! He doesn't know how to structure his day around the weather let alone know how to retrieve a card, fuck him!

A fresh birth has more mettle than...

The walk home from there was in tradition of Henry Hill and I have lived a life much the same as his ever since. I don't have a monkey on my back I have this big rich looking nigger with an umbrella.

So I confess, I stole from this guy who I don't know and never will lest I show the cops my wrists for a hundred quid. The fuckers ruined me, I'm sure of it. I do loops around ladders to reverse the burden.

Monday, 9 March 2009

The Confession of a Hater

I have to confess something, not because it feels good to state, but because I’m curious if anyone else out there has similar feelings: I don’t think I truly like one person. Not my friends. Not my family. The only people I seem to like are those that I don’t know very well and as soon as I get to know them better, my likeness towards them disappears. The closer you get to look at someone, the more glaring the imperfections. Even Pam Anderson has Hepatitis. They are either stupid, crazy, annoying, or stupid crazy-annoying. Am I self-righteous? Too judgmental and unforgiving? Perhaps just a grumpy fuck. Is the prescription to stay far away and experience life through binoculars or to be consistently disappointed? Change myself, you say? Fuck you. What a popularly held, but completely ridiculous concept. How many lives have been ruined because of one person’s hope that another would change? I think relationships are much like life: bursts of greatness marred by excessive tedium. The occasional creation of an excellent inside joke placed within weeks of boring, repetitive, meaningless conversation. I suppose it’s better than being alone all the time, but not much.