Pigeons, Angels. Same thing. Neither will be of much use here.
I'm hoping for an epiphany, or a moment of clarity. That sounds like his best hope right now.
A brief moment of enlightenment where he suddenly wakes up, not just in the physical sense.
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Pigeons, Angels. Same thing. Neither will be of much use here.
I'm hoping for an epiphany, or a moment of clarity. That sounds like his best hope right now.
A brief moment of enlightenment where he suddenly wakes up, not just in the physical sense.
Porky Pig has never been used so prophetically before.Quote:
Originally Posted by chalice
Well that is that. It was a sorry and predictable conclusion. Stuttering Freak Brother stutters no more. He's gone to the great speech therapist in this guy.
I am very disappointed, to say the very least.
Sorry to hear that mate.
So, this is now the Stuttering Freak Brother Conclusion thread. No climax, just an ending.
I found white feathers. Granted, totally unrelated, but feathers. White ones.
Now no-one can save me from Dave.
We tossed his organs into the bio-sphere. Our Kid's, not Dave's. I hope at least some of them end up in someone good. The upshot of this and the post mortem is the incineration might not happen til Wednesday. Ash Wednesday. True story. Catholic churches can only say one reading on this movable feast. Look it up. I got the priest to splice the funeral and the Ash Wednesday mass. It'll be appropriately horrific.
Had to deal with a priest today. It felt unnatural. All of my cousins are fucking blimps, the greasy cunts. Got accidentally thudded in the lachrymal glands when Desperado came on my wireless. It's so fucking accurate, I blubbed. And I'm not much of a blubberer.
My mother looks translucent. Like all of her substance has seeped out. Might start a Stuttering Freak Brother Aftermath thread.
I think the thread has already gone that way on it's own.Quote:
Originally Posted by chalice
Her Royal harsh Wednesday indeed.
In a situation like this, with tentative relatives and dubious friends drifting in and throughout my domicile, one is faced with the perversity of existence.
I am above it all. Literally. There is the constant burble and squeak in the West Belfast funeral parlance rumbling under my feet, while the blackening corpse I refuse to see hovers in the living room, of all places. It's like being in a queue with the worst cunts imaginable. So, I can only unimagine what it's like for those poor fuckers being in a queue with me. Especially one that I have blood claim to.
I pad the floors upstairs. Their shrieks are doing my fucking face in.
I had to give him my bestest suit to get incinerated in. And shirt. I haven't looked at him, so I'll never know if it suited him better. I did carry him into the house, however. That was pretty balls.
Where is Dave is all of this? Dave, I need your hatred more than ever. Fight me.
Even a jew will do. Well, at least two jews. Let's be fair.