Time After Time

On Monday 21st August at noon, the bongs of Big Ben will sound for the last time for a four-year conservation programme.

I was telling Red Frank about it in the ‘sew below’ on MEROVEE yesterday…

Roob tells Frank about Big Ben Falling Silent

Sew it seamed… 😉

Merovee Time

*Oh brilliant, Clicky! I haven’t heard that in ages… /lights up… Did you know, Culture Club considered calling themselves The News?*


*Yeah, I saw it on an interview years ago. Apparently the four band members were living in north, east, west and sarf London when they got together… /taps fag… N, E, W, S… /deep drag… Hence, The News…*

*/exhales… Talk about poisoned minds… /sigh…*

*Not so much a culture clash there, Clicky, as a culture mash…*

*/sucks dog end… Yep… /stubs out… Butt knot so upbeat though, eh? /looks confused… What was this post gonna be about again? …/looks up… Oh yeah…*

Big Ben, the clock’s bell, weighs 13.7 tonnes… That’s 137 (see Pointless Exercise), and there was another clock associated with that number… The ‘World Clock’ Wolfgang Pauli dreamed after striking up a great friendship with Carl Jung…



*/cough… Leggy put up another great post last night, Clicky…*

*/looks at clock… Yikes! It’s getting late… Do you think Dear Reader will mind if I snuck off, Clicky?*

*Okay, just leave a Song… /lights up… make it a good one…*

Flying Blind…

Twitter is down for me at the moment, Dear Reader. I wanted to get hold of Leggy to ask if I could publish a paragraph of Cultish

Cultish by Hugo Stone Leg Iron Books Start of Chapter 5

*Clicky, NO! I don’t have permission… And neither do YOU!*

*I know you both worked for Dumey, Clicky… Butt I could get in to trouble!*

rut roh


The paragraph, Dear Reader was to add some context to a comet I left on Red Frank’s latest last night, Where East meets West


*Oh yeah…/lights up…*

… Whereas Leggy posted on Left and Right

*/sings… Any fin goes…*

Meanwhile in the mindlines, The Prez of US is waxing on about East and West… And shifting Pols

*Wise words, dolphin assistant o’ mine… Also knot a good idea to abuse the pilot… /smacks lips… Fancy a swift ‘alf, Clicky?*


*Blue Frank’s place, then… /picks up cigs… Oh and don’t forget to leave Dear Reader a Song…*



Norman’s Full House

A shambolic post about books, Dear Reader, inspired by the passing of a man called Barry, best known for his love of films…

*Fucking hell, Clicky, how did you find that? I remember watching that interview on telly at the time…*

*No fucking way! That advert was shown every time I went to the pictures…*

Legs and Roobs discusses animals

… And conversations last night with Leggy and Cade…

Cade and Roob discussing physics

I discovered my Native American animal is Stag, Dear Reader…

Pre-Stag Weekend nights out. Jesus. You know the kind.’


Hugo’s a beaver apparently…

*’Cultish’ is incredibly offensive, Clicky… Funny as FUCK but liable to give those with a weak constitution an attack of the vapers…*

Leggy has now published Longrider’s anthology of short stories, Blackjack… And what a stunning collection of tales it is…

Blackjack front and back

*I offer him copy editing services for free, Clicky… That way I get to read the stories for free… It’s a kinda win/win situation…*

Whilst the publisher provided the front cover, the author supplied the artwork for the back…

While a count of 17 is a good hand, the player may wish to draw for a higher total.

Three of Blackjack’s stories appeared in The Underdog Anthology...


… Along with Hugo’s story Jesus Saves

*I hope he publishes it at The Probe, Clicky… I think a lot of people will want to read ‘Cultish’ after that…*

Roob tries to talk to Hugo

*Ah, I can’t make him listen to me, Clicky… I can’t make anyone do any fing…*

Anyhoo, Leggy has now managed to publish a book a month since Christmas. Well done him! And I really hope he’ll publish one of his own stories in July…

*Knot at all, Clicky, it’s ready… He let me read it… /lights up and exhales… It’s been ready for fucking ages…*

UBU The Writing Bug

Of course a ‘full house’ isn’t a term in blackjack, but it is one in poke ‘er

*I guess my shambles can be a bit gaga, Clicky… /bites lip… Oh well, shall we finish up and have a Song?*




Fangs For The Mammaries…

This is going to be a post that requires you to employ your own ‘Clicky’, Dear Reader… It starts with a word

wolf (n.) Old English wulf “wolf, wolfish person, devil,” from Proto-Germanic *wulfaz (source also of Old Saxon wulf, Old Norse ulfr, Old Frisian, Dutch, Old High German, German wolf, Gothic wulfs), from PIE root *wlkwo- “wolf” (source also of Sanskrit vrkas, Avestan vehrka-; Albanian ul’k; Old Church Slavonic vluku; Russian volcica; Lithuanian vilkas “wolf;” Old Persian Varkana- “Hyrcania,” district southeast of the Caspian Sea, literally “wolf-land;” probably also Greek lykos, Latin lupus).

This manne can litle skyl … to saue himself harmlesse from the perilous accidentes of this world, keping ye wulf from the doore (as they cal it). [“The Institution of a Gentleman,” 1555]

Probably extinct in England from the end of the 15th century; in Scotland from the early 18th. Wolves as a symbol of lust are ancient, such as Roman slang lupa “whore,” literally “she-wolf” (preserved in Spanish loba, Italian lupa, French louve). The equation of “wolf” and “prostitute, sexually voracious female” persisted into 12c., but by Elizabethan times wolves had become primarily symbolic of male lust. The specific use of wolf for “sexually aggressive male” first recorded 1847; wolf-whistle attested by 1945, American English, at first associated with sailors. The image of a wolf in sheep’s skin is attested from c. 1400. See here for a discussion of “wolf” in Indo-European history. The wolf-spider so called for prowling and leaping on its prey rather than waiting in a web.

…Last night I posted about a certain ‘wolf‘ on MEROVEE

Merovee Twilight Sleep

Some background: last July, the Red Granite Hollywood production company was accused by the DOJ of using $100 million that prosecutors said had been diverted from the 1MDB fund to finance DiCaprio’s 2013 film “The Wolf of Wall Street.” Last October, DiCaprio said he was cooperating with the probe and would return any gifts or donations if they were found to have come from questionable sources.


…And MJ put up two posts overnight at Blade and Chalice. She’s been to visit the Scopes Trial museum in Dayton, Tennessee:

There’s a specific message for Hugo in Part 2…

House of S-tone, please read this. https://at37.wordpress.com/2012/02/06/137-69-draft/

…Of course I’ve also had sum ideas about 137….


…So I was interested to read today that grocery stocks are crashing in the US and Europe…

Whole Foods stock was halted for ‘news pending’… and now we have the answer – Amazon to acquire Whole Foods Market for $42/share in an all-cash transaction valued at ~$13.7b, including Whole Foods Market’s net debt.

…Amazon is one of the FANGs…

A little bit of paranoia is always healthy.

In the 1980s, the totalitarian fear was that some overenthusiastic government agent would go to the library and pull your library card to see if you were reading seditious texts.

Seems a bit quaint now, doesn’t it?

It didn’t at the time.

Of course, the East German Stasi went to those lengths to spy on its citizens, but there was never any real danger of it happening in the US.

Fast forward to today.

  • Facebook knows who your friends, friends of friends, and acquaintances are. It knows what you look like, and what your friends and family look like. It knows what TV shows you watch, what music you listen to, and in all likelihood, your political activities.
  • Amazon is today’s library card—it knows every book you’ve ever ordered, along with more pedestrian purchases like vitamin supplements.
  • Netflix is a database of pretty much every TV show and movie you’ve ever watched.
  • Google has a repository of every Internet search made by every American citizen.

F, A, N, G. What does that spell?

Those four stocks have outperformed over just about any timespan.

Does anyone else find it more than a coincidence that they are also potentially the biggest threat to online privacy?

Like I said, that library card thing seems a bit quaint.

… Library card and groceries… Food for thought…

Also last night, I read Part 5 of a series at The Secret Sun, that seemingly started with a drowning in Wolf River Harbour…

I first began to follow this story when I heard about the drowning death of Jeff Buckley. I’m not sure why but the first thought that came into my head was that it had something to do with Elizabeth Fraser.
I had no idea that all of this had been prophesied for years and years before, in ways that actually give me chills.

The Secret Sun The Eyesies

That’s a lot of ‘Clicking’ and reading for you, Dear Reader, so I’ll finish up with a snapshot of Red Frank’s MEROVEE post…

Merovee Twilight Sleep The Long Way Round

… And a drawing I created to depict the process of construction logistics for my boss’s book, for the layman (‘Sun’ reader) to understand, showing how employing a logistician on a construction project ensures your mega costly building is achieved on time and budget… And the client at the top who Doo’s knot…

TIT at the top is the client going the long way round

… Alas he didn’t use it…

*Clicky! …/rolls eyes… That Song! …/huffs…*

Enough of this shambles, Dear Reader… Have another…



2017: Whiz You Were Here…

Thoughtful Man and I were just settling down to watch the latest episode of ‘Sherlock‘ yesterday evening when my iPad pinged to let me know that I’d received an email…


“Don’t,” Thoughtful Man told me rather tetchily – we’d waited a long time for the resumption of Sherlock and he didn’t want anything interrupting the next couple of hours.

I looked anyway. “Oh My God! It’s a email from Whizzie!” I squealed with delight.

Thoughtful Man harrumphed but as the show had yet to start, it was in a more conciliatory manner. “Oh yes, how is she?” he asked.

“She’s okay,” I said quickly scanning the email. “Her family’s okay. Blimey, her mum and dad are still going.” Whizzie is my oldest friend, although we hadn’t been in contact for a good number of years; her parents were elderly then.



“Shush. It’s starting,” Thoughtful Man said turning his attention back to the TV screen.

I didn’t need the recap so continued to read Whizzie’s email and then decided to sneak a quick Twitter DM off to Hugo…


I chortled at the mention of ‘lolly’…

CLICKY: Available on Amazon

… That got me particularly evil squint from Thoughtful Man. I put the iPad down guiltily and gave my attention to the show. Synchronicity be damned – I, too, had been eagerly awaiting the return of the great detective…

*Oh, Clicky, did you have to?*


*/rolls eyes… I’d better get started on my email reply… Where to start…*


Cork on Stone: The Cultish Interview

Dear Reader, a few days before Christmas, author Hugo Stone was interviewed by Kirsty Cork, feisty anchor of the topical daily TV news programme ‘NoozNight’. Here is a transcript of that interview…


*Oh tush, Clicky… It’s not that bad…*



As 2016 nears an end, a year that has been rocked by political upset and an avalanche of celebrity deaths, I am joined now by Hugo Stone, author of the novel ‘Cultish‘ and soon to be published ‘Bunny Snuff‘, to review this past year and discuss the implications for 2017. Hugo, thank you for coming…




Er, quite. Well let’s start with your seminal work ‘Cultish’, your first novel. It’s very robust in its graphic descriptions of sexual depravity, where did you get the idea?




*shifts uncomfortably in seat* It’s both irreverent of organised religion and scathing of the Establishment…




 … Yet big on the idea of family. How do reconcile these very differing ideas? *shifts gaze from author’s hand in trouser pocket*



Obvious? *shifts gaze back to author’s hand in trouser pocket*




*touches ear* But if we could just turn back to politics. The biggest upsets in 2016 were the Brexit vote for the UK to leave the EU…



… I’m sorry, did you say ‘the anus’?



So you foresee a strengthening of ties with the Commonwealth?




*maintains professional decorum* Fundamentally, you feel the failure of the Vote In side was due to a lack of any meaningful engagement from the EU?




… And what about the US erection…



*blushes*…Election of a billionaire reality TV star to the highest Office. Is that also an embrace of ‘the anus’?




*Shocked expression* Um…




*glares toward control booth* If I may now change the subject to the plethora of celebrity deaths this year. For you, which was the most poignant?



Living your book? What on earth do you mean?




Thank you, Hugo Stone. *smiles thinly* That’s quite enough for now *violently removes earpiece*







*Alright! I was just trying something different… /pouts… Okay, okay… see if you can retrieve the situation with a Song…*

*Fuck! He just died as well… Probably to turn in his grave… /sigh…*

*No! Stop. It. Now…*

Missive from ‘Merica: :O Our American Cousin…

Dear Reader, I’ve had a perfect Christmas Eve… */shrugs…* Well, I’ve enjoyed mine. First up Hugo, author of Cultish, has been sending me installments of a Christmas story he’s writing. It’s about bunnies…


*/coughs… Something like that, Clicky…*

Thoughtful Man, too, gave me a story to read when he came home from work. It was an impulse buy whilst refueling his taxi. Bastard! I haven’t bought him anything…


*Completely! …/facepalm… We agreed, Clicky, we wouldn’t buy each other presents… I really thought he was going to stick to it this year… Bastard!*

Finally, I received a Christmas missive (“for YOU!!!”) from The Okie Devil, Cade…


*/jaw drops… How did you know? Only one video shows up below… /looks down… He did something to it, Clicky… /squints… Fucked if I know…*



How much money did YOU spend this year?

That much eh?

Perhaps you should spend more.

May I suggest…a better paying job.


So…”what’s this all about?”…you may ask yourself.

I dunno. 

What’s it all about?

What do you want?

What do you need?

OBVIOUSLY…you have a shitload of spare time, otherwise, you wouldn’t be wasting your time reading my bullshit. I’m just drifting along on my rocket-powered jet boat…headed the wrong direction as fast as I possibly can. Against the current. With the current. Sideways-ish to the current. Whatever works.

What works for you?

I dunno what works for you. And what works for me may not work for you.
One thing is obvious tho. The more shit you can cram into your head in anticipation of what may be to come down the road? The more spare time you would appear to have to waste time on preparing for something that may never happen.

Not that I am trying to dissuade you from anything or anything.

So why would you attempt and dissuade me from anything?

Not that you are or anything.

Look at it like this. In most “developed nations”…I don’t think anyone can argue, that if public water supplies were suddenly unavailable for whatever reason(s)? Yeah. A lotta people are gonna be in deep shit real fucking fast and in short order. So what do we do? I dunno. What DO we do? I guess the better question would be…

Q: What are we doing and why?

A: ???

Are you reconciling the past with the present for the sake of the future? Or are you living in the present? Are you ARE living in the present are you? Then explain the retirement fund.

The 401K?

The “college fund”?

The life-insurance policy/policies?

Health insurance?

Do these thing bring you happiness?

Or security?

Or both?

Cause if so…what are you bitching about?

Diseases you may never contract?

Accidents you may never have?

Freshman years that may never arrive?

Lotta insurances and assurances there for people to be so goddamn glum. So let’s bring it to the day to day, and let’s use something simple…
Q: What were you prohibited from doing today?

A: Say fucking WHAT?!?!?!?

Q: Today. What were you prohibited from doing, that you wanted to do, and who prohibited you from doing it?

A: ???!!!???…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I’m gonna stop right…fucking…there.

If you read the article above, in the fourth paragraph of the article, second paragraph under the “Cellular Morphology” section, there is the following statement…

Saccharomyces produces ascospores, especially when grown on V-8 medium

What in the FLYING MOTHER FUCKING FUCK…is a “V-8 Medium?!?!?”

Any why “especially” should I be growing this shit on “a V-8 medium?”


I have an idea!


Learning to go fast.

It’s something that you have to learn fast.

You also have to learn how to go slow…fast!


So thinking about speed, which means we need to think about time…and when thinking about speed and time TOGETHER…that means we also need to add distance. So I’ll reference the equation Distance over Time = Speed, or D/T = S. Which of these are most important? All…DUH! Can’t have one without the other eh? Can’t have the one without the three, that makes one outta two via one. Sound confusing?

Q: What is the dropout rate in any level at any age for any school of any type in any country anywhere on this planet Earth/Terra of ours?

A: ???

While you chew on that…

Q: What would that dropout rate be if there were no schools?

A: (GIMME A FUCKING BREAK…you might be saying)


There’s all kinds of neeto stuff to learn on this planet. And we owe ALL of that to our forefathers and foremothers and other motherfuckers like that. Sorry, but I don’t like to discriminate when speaking in generalities.


But yeah…um…school and schools and schooling and stuff like that. There we some people that I grew up with, who’s relatives opened one of the first public schools in The State of Texas. That has always stuck with me, because I always wanted to be a teacher. I like teaching, I enjoy it, but I was too stupid and too poor to even think about college. I’ve always had trouble SPELLING the fucking word “college”…and never knew what the fucking difference between college and university was, other than neither concerned me, nor would they ever. But thinking about “a public school”…that sounds to me like it should be something that would have it’s doors open to anyone who wanted to attend…NOW we have to be certified and educated in educating, and treating all of the little eggs the same, because…their just stupid kids who don’t know shit from Shinola anyway.

Q: How easy is it to learn?

A: ???

Q: What if you learn “too fast” or “too easily” in comparison to the other little eggs?

A: ¿¿¿

Lemme guess…that makes you “a bad egg.”

Not that I have any experience with that sort of thing or anything.

Yeah…I got no answers either. I just know that “life sucks and then you die” or “life’s a bitch, and then you marry one” or insert whatever clever and witty whatever type of cliche that also will make absolutely zero sense to me personally. I’m pretty big on examining both points at each end and all points inbetween. But words like “inbetween” kinda say it all for me. Cause that’s where it all appears to be. It’s all in there. Not that I’m a middleman or anything. I did make a pretty nasty bet with God once.

I wonder if I’ll lose that bet.

Wanna bet?

Receptor Antagonist
Calcium Channel Blocker
Spin (Aerodynamics)
Busy Waiting (Redirected from Busy spin)
Real-Time Clock
Spin (Physics)
Spin Tensor
State (Redirected from States)
Oxygen Fluoride
Metal Spinning
Muscarinic Acetylcholine Receptor
Nicotinic Acetylcholine Receptor
Electronic Cigarette
Mineral Wells, Texas
Mineral Spring
Hot Springs, Arkansas
Crazy Water
Methane Clathrate
Methane Clathrate-Hydrates in Natural Gas Processing

As we can see…”Natural Gas”…is natural. It says so right fucking there in the name. And anything that is natural? Is fair game. First come, first serve. The rest of you…welp…sorry!

Better luck next time!

Mystery = Solved! Next!


Yeah…I took Lithium once. Twice even. It takes a while of taking it to “build-up” to a certain level in your bloodstream…a few days or so, and then, you have to go get your blood drawn every fucking week to check the levels and make sure that they are at or between certain levels, and not above those certain levels or A certain level…cause it can and will kill you. Not that I have any experience with that sort of thing. But I DO know, that the “extended release” lithium that my doctor gave me for a while? Not so good. I’m thinking that there is a connection there with respect to someone that may have bowel and or digestive tract type(s) of issue(s)…like me. Not that I have any issues or anything. Nothing major anyway. So they tell me. My body says otherwise. But what the fuck does my body know?

My point?

Hmmm….didn’t know I had one. But I do wonder about change and changes over time and over times sometimes.

Just sayin.

I dunno where you are, nor do I know where I am. But I do know that it is currently 13:35 or 01:35 PM in the afternoon of Christmas Eve here in the North Texas area near Dallas where my fat ass is currently parked on one hard assed cement floor that is painted shit brown, meaning the date is 2016.12.24. Whatshername is gonna make homemade pizzas tonight, and they are planning on watching Christmas movies and playing that goofy assed dice game called Tensies or Tenzies or whatever it’s called. I’m here for another day or so, then back to elsewhere. All that to say, I have no idea who you are, or where you are, or when you are reading this. I only know where I am and when I am writing this shit where I am…or something.

Wherever you are…

Merry Christmas.

X: You gonna leave me out?
Cade: I’d never do that. You?
X: What?
0: He wants to know if you are gonna leave him out.
X: Oh.
Cade: lol…thanks…I needed that.
X: 😉
Cade: ❤



*/squints upwards… Yeah, he’s definitely done something to the text, Clicky…*

*… See! It works fine now… /holds up hands… Why are you looking at me like that? Clicky? What are you doing? …/steps back… Gerroff, you filthy beast… /taps snout…*

Merry Christmas, Dear Reader. Enjoy!

*Go on, off with you! Bed… No, knot mine… /sigh…*


Update: It’s the afternoon of Saturday 4th February and I’ve not got anything particular to do now that Thoughtful Man has left for work. Boys are busy doing their thang and Popstar is curled up asleep beside me in my roomy Library chair, dreaming doggy dreams.

So I juzzied up my formatting of the text above.

Just like a dog…

Cade’s missives aren’t just for Christmas 😉


‘Secret Santa’: 2 Sleeps to Go (Part 1)

Dear Reader, at last it is Friday and the day the F A Kontrell office Christmas shindig. In this two-post conclusion to my Christmas tale, we’ll find out if Harry’s devious machinations to woo the fragrant Josie actually bear fruit…

*/rolls eyes… Way too much, Clicky… Come on, just relax, put your fins up and let me tell the story…*

So, for your pleasure, the fourth installment of ‘Secret Santa’ in three, two, one


Friday evening seemed to take forever to roll around, but at last I found myself, suitable attired in sartorial elegance, at the pub the Fat Kontroller had selected to host the evening’s events. He’d hired the dining room, but most of us were gathered at the festively decorated bar while we waited for the stragglers to arrive. The pub was called The Exchange, a converted bank, with high vaulted ceiling and polished wooden floors. The Secret Santa gifts had been transferred from the office by Shazza – who else? – and were piled up in the dining room. The heap of presents was dominated by one conspicuously large parcel with a gift tag that read ‘To the gorgeous Josie, with lots of love from your Secret Santa xxx’.

Unfortunately, the object of my affections turned out to be one of the stragglers and was nowhere to be seen. I lounged against the bar with one eye on the door and the other on my watch while I swigged my drink, trusting the alcohol to sedate the butterflies that had congregated in my gut. Around me, my colleagues made small talk about work and gossiped about the latest office romances. The former was tedious beyond belief, so I tuned in on the latter just in case I heard Josie’s name mentioned. Or my own for that matter. Damn! I thought. Where the fuck is she?

A stream of cold wind blew in as the door opened and everyone looked up expectantly. The Fat Kontroller stood in the doorway, beaming and looking natty in DJ and bow tie. The man loved to make an entrance. I caught the barmaid’s eye and ordered a double scotch, his favourite tipple. It arrived just as he reached the bar.

“Harry! Is that for me?” he asked and downed the drink before waiting for an answer. He smiled at the barmaid and indicated for another. “Splendid! Let’s get this party started!”

“Oh, are we all here then?” I said as nonchalantly as I could. We were most definitely not all here; Josie had still not arrived.

He finished the second drink and looked around. Shazza appeared as if by magic and hovered at his elbow.

“HR Josie called, Mr Kontrell,” she said with a glance in my direction. “She can’t make it tonight. Her washing machine has flooded or something.” On hearing the news, the butterflies in my stomach instantly disappeared, leaving a hollow as cavernous as the pub we stood in.

The Fat Kontroller frowned at the news. “Oh, that’s a shame. She’ll miss a cracking evening,” he said, then shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, can’t be helped I suppose. Come on Sharon, lead the way,” he said as he grabbed her fleshy bare shoulders and steered her toward the dining room.

I followed them through the crowd with leaden legs. When I reached the dining table I discovered that the seating plan had placed Josie in the seat next to mine. It felt as if the universe itself was conspiring to rub salt in my wounds. Shit! Fuck! Bollocks!

The seasonal set meal tasted like ash in my mouth as it progressed through starter, mains and dessert. I tried to look interested as the conversation swirled around me, but all I could think about was the empty seat beside me. Eventually, after coffee and petite fours had been served, the Fat Kontroller stood up and announced the start of the Secret Santa gift-giving ritual. Shazza served as his assistant: she passing him the gifts and him calling out the names. One by one we trooped up to collect them.

Eventually, he got to me. It was inevitable really. “Harry! Where’s my PA? Harriet!”

I scraped my chair back and wandered up to the top table. The Fat Kontroller was holding a gift. Not a voucher-shaped envelope that I was expecting, but a rectangular box wrapped in shiny silver paper and curly blue ribbon.

“Harry,” he beamed, handing it over, “this is for you.”

I was dumbstruck. Somebody had bought me a proper gift. “Thank you,” I said, turning it over in my hands.

“Well open it then,” Shazza urged excitedly. “I love shecret Shanta pressies,” she slurred.

“Quite sure you’ve had enough wine, Shazza?”

“Nearly,” she hiccuped and giggled into her hand. “Go on open it.”

I pulled at the tight ribbon and eased it off. Something inside the box rattled. Fuck! Somebody actually bought me a present, I thought as I started to rip off the paper. And then I saw what it was and my face fell.

“OH MY GOD!” Shazza shrieked with barely contained glee. “SECRET SANTA GAVE HARRY A BUTT PLUG!!!”

The room fell silent for a moment, and then the laughter began, triggered by a booming guffaw from the Fat Kontroller. All the blood in me seemed to leave my limbs, rush to my face, and combust there. I looked up into the Fat Kontroller’s eyes. They twinkled with mirth, unlike Shazza’s which glowed with something else altogether.

Somebody must think you’re a pain in the arse, Harry,” she said coolly before joining in the merriment with exaggerated howls or laughter.

She set me up… the fucking bitch!!!

Slowly, I turned toward the room and held the ‘Big Boy’ butt plug for all to see. “Thank you. Thank you, Secret Santa. If I ever find out who you are, I’ll know exactly where to put this,” I shouted.

I walked back to my seat, still holding it aloft, like a prize fighter displaying a glittering belt. This elicited further laughs and a round of applause, which slightly mitigated the fucking disaster the evening had turned into. I sat down and pointedly read the packaging before putting it in my handbag. I downed my drink and wondered how long I had to stay before getting the fuck out of there.

Not long as it turned out. Once the Secret Santa ritual was out of the way, those with babysitters to relieve began to make their excuses. It was the only perk of having children that I could see, so decided to slip out with them in the rush for the door. I rang for a taxi and started to gather my coat and bag.

“Harry!” the Fat Kontroller called and beckoned me over. Thankfully, Shazza was nowhere to be seen. If there was any justice in the world then I hoped she’d laughed herself sick and was puking her ring up in the toilets. “Leaving already, are we?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m driving up to mum and dad’s tomorrow,” I lied, “early start, you know.”

The Fat Kontroller looked at me kindly. “You handled that very well, Harry. That was very naughty of somebody. Are you getting a taxi?”

“Yeah, it’s on it’s way.”

“Here,” he said pulling fifty pounds from his wallet. “Shazza!” he boomed and mouthed the word ‘receipt’ to me.

Shazza appeared from thin air again, still grinning at her prank. She was obviously not the complete air-head I’d supposed her to be. “Yes Mr Kontrell?”

“You know where Josie lives. What’s the address of our missing HR manager? Harry here is going to drop her secret Santa gift off on the way home, aren’t you Harry?” His eyes twinkled.

“Yes,” I informed Shazza slowly, following his cue. “I’ll take HR Josie’s gift to her and tell her all about it. Let her know exactly what she missed this evening.”

Was that a gulp from Shazza? I hoped so, but I was too excited at the opportunity that had suddenly presented itself. I would get to see Josie and give her my gift. I might even get a cup of coffee for my troubles. I played it cool and strode off to collect Josie’s superbly wrapped gift, whilst the Fat Kontroller handed Shazza his pen and a discarded cracker joke so that she could write the address down.

We bade farewell, wishing each other a happy Christmas, and then I left to wait for my taxi…


Don’t miss the exciting conclusion to ‘Secret Santa’, which follows on in just a bit…

*/lights up fag and waits nervously… You know, Clicky, if this was on telly there’d be adverts now… /drags… Perhaps I should mention The Underdog Anthology and Cultish… /blows smoke… What do you think?*



Fumer Satire… A Cultish Thing

Er, I sat hear… smoking *…/takes drag* …Thinking about how to start this post, Dear Reader…


*’Amendment’? Yeah… ‘Morals and manners’? Most Definitely… ‘Accentuation’? …/wipes tear from eye… Doubly definitely, Clicky… ‘The self-satisfied’? I dunno about that, but I laughed like a drain…*

… See, my friend Hugo has written a novel


… And it’s all about SEX



… I started reading it back in June when Hugo confessed to me that a short story he’d written for The Underdog Anthology, had grown into something somewhat bigger…


*/lights another smoke…*

…I jumped at the chance to read it – I was struggling to write my own story contributions (writing horror fiction doesn’t come naturally to me)…


*/taps off ash…* 

… What I read, blew me away. I mean, I knew he could write, but what he’d written was incredibly sharp


*/drags some more…*

… Mind you, it needed some copy editing, so I offered to do that for him…


… For the next month, Hugo sent me his output daily, sometimes twice, three times daily…


*/stubs out butt… Yes, yes I am Clicky…*

… and I corrected typos, made some suggestions (not always taken but always considered) and generally helped my friend Hugo birth his first novel


*/lights up… Too fucking right, Clicky…*

… Hugo then sent his completed manuscript of ‘Cultish’ to my friend Leggy, to see if he would consider publishing it…


*/take puff and rests cigarette in ashtray… You know what Clicky, I’m so happy to have been able to help my two online chums in their budding ventures, I fancy having a little dance…*

*Nice! …/retrieves fag and resumes smoking…*

So, Dear Reader, I strongly suggest you get your hands on a copy of ‘Cultish’ by Hugo Stone… It’s ridiculously funny… It really, really is… And have a Song…