PoetsBumCheeks Postmodern Prose! - With Added Irony

[poetsbumcheeks]

Mediocrity through a Post-Modern Lense - With Wolf Bush Muncher.

Wayne came home from work and began his usual ritual. He kicked off his shoes, slung his clothes on the couch and slid into his jogging bottoms. He liked to wear these while he was mooching around the house. Not that he really mooched, rather he sat in front of his computer. He hadn’t seen the upstairs of his two-bedroom terraced house in nearly two years. He flicked the button to his computer and booted up, his computer immediately began to log itself into the online game “3rd Life in a Box With Wolvesâ€. He was well known amongst the on-line gaming community as “Wolf Bush Muncherâ€, that was his pseudonym, he was a born killer and second in command of the third largest army on 3rd Life; “Eternally Bored and Armed With Guns – 2nd Regimentâ€.
Wayne noticed that the date was the 3rd of April, he became excited and began to perspire a little as his breath quickened. Lucinda Lacy Lank Pants would be back from her holiday; which meant it was time for her shift on ‘You the Man, You the Muthafuckin’ Man†website. She would do anything for him; they had become very close, once she even rubbed her own fecal matter on her breasts for him. Since then, their relationship had kind of gone up a level. He often felt he was something of a Father figure to her; she had let it slip once that she was studying a Master’s in Psychology at Liverpool University, and that she was funding it by working on the website. Well Wayne, what with all the money he had spent on her in the last month, felt like he was helping put food on her plate and a roof over her delicate, beautiful head.
He had been a little nervous for a while, the phone bill had arrived at over a thousand pounds; but by sheer chance and luck he had won the pools to the tune of a cool two thousand pounds. He’d put the lot on Lucinda; now he had Wank Credit for nearly two months. He chortled to himself, content and lost in his happy world. First the feck he thought, then I’ll win the War; sorted.

 

[poetsbumcheeks]

Harry The Hamster

Harry the Hamster snapped out of the trance he had been in. It was a trance he had been in for the majority of his Hamster life. But something was happening, what was it? His wheel was slowing down and his little Hamster nose was moving away from the Grindstone that was in front of him. It was an uneasy sensation but he allowed himself to feel it. The World (Est; -1,000,000BC) was becoming extremely vivid to him and he began to laugh.
Harry looked behind him to see his Brother's Bureaucracy and Pension Scheme still running very quickly around their wheels, appearing almost dazed and confused, their noses red and raw from their own grindtstones. Harry stepped off the wheel, it was his time; he felt a sense of both trepidation and liberation. He was his own Hamster again.
Condemned to be free. What was he going to do?

 

[poetsbumcheeks]

The People's Terrorist?

Osama had been a terrorist for as long as he could remember, many years had passed by. It was the same old thing; dingy room above someone else's kebab shop making and planning bombings. It had been many years since his best bombing, he was still wanted by virtually every possible government agency. MI5, CIA, FBI, KGB. You name it, they wanted him. But being wanted didn't make him feel valued and loved. He was sick of making bombs, he didn't want to be above anyone ELSE'S kebab shop; he wanted his OWN kebab shop. Osama snapped out of his daydream and remembered where he was. In a dirty old cave, wet and cold after another recent (and successful might I add!) bombing, hiding from his foes. If only he hadn't backed himself into such a corner; he rued the day he had decided to try and convert the WHOLE world to Fundamentalist Islam.

 

[poetsbumcheeks]

Less Is More

Rosie walked into her younger sisters bedroom. She absently mind picked up a copy of 'More'; the magazine for girls, lying next to the dolls house. She flicked through the pages, with a sort of slightly bored air, exhaling with indifference as the articles passed by her eyes on the pages. Rosie then happened upon an article called; "A Guide to Giving Your Boyf Great Head! - In 10 Easy Steps". Her attention was caught and she began to read, momentarily forgetting where she was. She felt around next to her for something phallic shaped, her hand passed over a small toy Kaleidescope, her hand clasped around it and she bought it to her mouth. As Rosie practiced the 'art ' of Fellatio, she reminisced about sucking Tony's cock. They had been together for about three years. He used to stay at her house all the time and eat her Mother's food. She had lent him hundreds of pounds that he never paid her back. She chuckled to herself and remembered how they really it hadn't been compatible at all. Funny it hadn't seemed an issue really, at the time.

 

[poetsbumcheeks]

Hitler Was a Sensitive Man

There was a bit of commotion at the bottom of the escalator off the train, it was always like this
on a Saturday. Derek struggled to negotiate his sandwich board around the oncoming traffic of
saturday shoppers, rastas, moochers, b-boys, chavs, muslims, young couples, drunks, excecutives, fashionistas and
other assorted walks of life that made up the city crowd. Would he make it to his destination? Dereks' anorak kept getting hooked on other peoples handbags or jackets jostling him about. They all seemed in such a hurry, so confident as they strode by him. He tried to push his way onto the bottom of the moving stairs, bugger! His Sandwich board had been knocked
by a drunk, his body swung round and he went face first into a young boy with neon green hair and
a ring through his nose. "Watch it you weird twat!" Sneered the boy, and pushed Derek onto the escalator.
Oh well he thought, he had traversed the worst of it now, on and up to the summit.

Derek was one of those, well what are they? God shouters? Preachers? Prophets? Nutters? Even he did
not know sometimes. He was part of a group though, and it gave him a much greater sense of purpose than when he preached alone. They had placards and even a small stage and microphone from which they would sermonise and preach to
indifferent and dis-interested passing members of the public, who were wholly unconcerned that their
hearts were full of sin and that we're all condemnned to hell unless they repent and gave their lives to Jesus.
His group were called; "Unless You're Like Us You Burn For Eternity (UYLYBFE)". How the four of them liked to laugh at
their light-weight opposition, groups such as "Jesus Loves Everyone" or the "Sunshiners For Christ", they were such
wimps! Their namby pamby ideas of love and forgiveness were laughable, the UYLYBFE were the hardcore, the one true way.
Kill or be killed, join or die, that was the truth damn them, Jesus was was no pussy!

Derek stumbled off the escalator dragging his battered sandwich board behind him, he pulled his dirty green anorak around him and began the unmerciful trek through the cruel Saturday crowd. He loathed the hustle and the bustle, the smiles and the laughter, the talk and the banter, just another 100 metres and he would be there.
As he rounded the corner he could see his fellow members of the UYLYBFE, they had already begun the mornings preaching. Each of them had their blue UYLYBFE sweater on. Dimitri mother, who one of the the members's had made them for them. Each had a small logo on the right breast, with the slogan "Burn or Join" surrounded by the image of flames beginning to engulf the words. They wore the sweater's with great pride and a sense of belonging. The main placard they had
lent itself as a backdrop to the stage and depicted a cartoon heart with the word 'SIN' on it in bold; above the picture was the word 'X-Ray'. The voice of the current member preaching, Leonard, could be heard wafting
around the square, banishing all and sundry to the fires of hell unless of course they were to join the UYLYBFE, and repent through the way of the'truth'.

Next it was Derek's turn to unleash his message upon the shopping public, he blasted, he lambasted, he lampooned, he cajoled, he screamed, he gesticulated, he lectured, he downright insulted, he spat, he snarled and taught the great message. He looked down upon his flock only to see Dimitri, Leonard and Ahmed looking up at him and nodding,
although Derek felt a great deal better after every turn he had on the stage for the UYLYBFE, there was a question that kept nagging at him; Were they just preaching to the converted? He hopped off the stage and pulled out his lunch from his backpack. He sat and continued to think about the
question while he nibbled his sandwich looking somewhat like a squirrel; 'was the UYLYBFE just a futile exercise?'

 

[poetsbumcheeks]

JODIE

Jodie Marsh woke up the day after being ejected from her debacle in the BB House.
Most of her stongly held beliefs about the nature of fame and celebrity had been
proved to be utterly false. Way back, when she was first entering into the public eye by
by aping Jordan, then slagging Jordan off and then trying to be like Jordan; she had formulated a number
of princples by which she would operate in order to get what she wanted and satisfy her
insatiable lust to adorn the pages of 'Heat' magazine. She had created a list that included nuggets of wisdom
such as; wear next to nothing, swear, get tits out, get arse out, pretend to fall in love, shag anyone who
has ever had a photo taken of them, always have a tan, always shoew your g-string etc.
She had though, rather astutely boiled it down to one single principle; Act like a Slag.
She had even created a mathematical formula for fame;
Be + ing A Slag = FAME and named it 'The Slag Principle'.
Jodie had become more and more preoccupied with fame, as the cult of celebrity had grown around her,
and everything seemed to fit her belief that she was 'meant' to be famous.
1st - She had a fake tan.
2nd - she WAS a slag.
3rd - She loved money.
4th - She loved famous rich men.
It was practically as if her CV guaranteed fame. She was in the words of
Craig David 'Born to Do It', destined to join the pantheon of other slags such as
Aguilera, Spears, Jordan, Titmuss, Leilani.
Not only that, she knew what pain was, she knew what it
was like to be a lonely slag, she had much to offer the great British Public, maybe the
world itself, who could know the boundaries of her potential to be the worlds greatest slag!
But alas, it had all come undone after BB, the world had slipped through her greasy fingers
and broken her fake nails. What had happened? Barrymore that's what, he bore the brunt
of Jodie's incandescent rage for destroying her dreams. She had even pretended to have
REAL feelings for christ sake, she had cried, what more did people want? she had pretty much
even offerered to shag that Rodman guy for cock's sake AND talked graphically about her slag exploits.
Life was so unfair, bollocks to it, feck everybody she thought.
She picked up her Paris Hilton voodoo doll and stabbed it violently through the head three times.
Then, in a rare moment of lucidity, Jodie pondered the truth of the old adage 'You can't buy class'.
She looked at the doll again and thought, "farking slag" and burst into tears. Her poster of Marilyn Monroe
gazed down upon her and smiled like a benevolent Mary over her tortured soul.



Admin edit: picture removed - try to calm down, please

 

[poetsbumcheeks]

CHAVS IN CULTURAL REVOLUTION SHOCK

Last night citizens of Fafstord were in both shock and admiration as they stood and applauded revolutionary Chav Gary Wilmott while he gave a speech outside the town hall. Wilmott's speech gave both an insight into the world of the social phenomonem know as the 'chav' and a bitter indictment as to the causes of what has come to be
regarded as an unsightly blemish on the UK's towns and cities; as well as becoming the common enemy of the nation at large. Wilmott spoke on behalf of what he called the 'newly oppressed and disenfranchised' demographic of the UK's population, Wilmott
took part responsibility for the destruction and violence caused by chav's around the country, but also asked the nation themselves to try to avoid stereotyping chav's and treat them as potentially valuable human beings. He also cited the prevailing attitude
amongst Chav's, namely the belief that it's "not cool to care", as another contributory factor to the rising of this prevalent underclass. He spoke frankly about the life of a chav as a linear occurrence; from the seeds of standing on the street corners in the cold,
to trying to bribe members of the public to purchase alcohol and cigarettes, to failed attempts at petty crime which often evolve into a lifelong wrestle with government benefits forms. He spoke of the discontentment of the chav's with their lot and quoted from Nietzche, a German Existentialist Philosopher, to illustrate the plight of the Chav and their hitherto nihilistic existence;
"Brothers" He said. " For as long as you stare into the abyss, the abyss will surely stare back into you!". Wilmott then reached out to his fellow chav's to be more open minded with each other, to not harass or ostracise their neighbours and friends if they chose to act in unchavly ways. He spoke gravely of the destruction of a hedge and car, belonging to Barry Simons of 42 Penbroke Close, thought to have been a revenge attack due to Barry's neighbourly concern for Doris Winbray, who had suffered a recent stroke. Word had
'got round' that Barry had merely been spotted mowing her lawn. There were also mentions of similarly motivated attacks by other chav's; one example was of Lenny Bruce of 42 Wagner Avenue, who suffered multiple injuries at the hands of two youths, supposedly unimpressed with Lenny's kind attitude in a local shop. Lenny had simply offered his place in the queue to a lady who was also in the shop who appeared to be aprroximately 6 months pregnant.
It was this frankness by Gary Wilmott about the situation that has arisen in the UK's towns and cities that caused such an emotional repsonse from the crowd listening. He decried the mutual resentment that has arisen, and spoke passionately for the feelings of his fellow Chav's. At this point the crowd began to be somewhat more interactive with Wilmott. One member of the audience questioned Wilmott as to whether he believed that one of the reasons the Chav underclass had come into being might be due to the sense of inferiority the working classes appear to have developed due to living in capitalist/consumer society gone mad. In a culture where image and accessory is all and the only access to this culture is through money; did Wilmott feel that elements of society had become alientated from accessing mass culture and its wares. The audience member also included his thoughts regarding the breakdown of industry and the taking over of many working class jobs by machines, which consequently was helping to destroy what had been previously purposeful and peaceful communities. It was here where Wilmott showed himself to be a truly progressive thinker by deriding any attack on western society, he summed his argument up succinctly when he said; "Without the symbols of status such as chains, trainers, cars, stereos and ear rings; we Chav's would have nothing with which to say to society; this is me and I am proud. There is enough commission to be earned from sales jobs all around the country to go round, this is not Thatcher's Britain, unemployment rates are low! I am not looking to revolutionise society itself, but to revolutionise the mind!". The war cry was duly applauded loudly as Wilmott worked the crowd into a fervour.
Later one memorable moment came when he spoke of a young boy, who at 13 had punched a girl randomly in the face who was later arrested, albeit temporarily, the boy was reported to have actually expressed remorse in a moment of reflection, and had said "he was sorry". This statement brought a number of tearful reactions from Chav's in the crowd who cried out; "We're sorry too!". Wilmott was clearly reaching part of his audience.
Near the end of his speech Wilmott was asked what had inspired him to so very publicly stand up and shout out his beliefs, he paused and left the crowd with his final thought; "I am a chav, and i am proud to be one. I am sick of other Chavs giving me a bad name! A change must come, that is the reason, that and the fact i am sick and tired of trying to sell accident insurance to people on the street who give me a wide birth because I AM A CHAV! I want MY commission".
And with those final words ringing in the audience's ears, Wilmott the revoLutionary chav disappeared into the crowd.