J Bov Explodes Rhetorically


“Sure, I Can Clean Your Flat For A Few Extra Quid.”
14/04/2012, 3:01 AM
Filed under: Arty-Type Stuff, Gibberish, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Fateful words, on that fateful day. I should never have uttered them.

What I thought was a simple task threw me headlong into a darkened world of filth and occult experience wherein I saw things… such things…

Never had I encountered such fetid, foul and fungal morphology, extruding itself from crevice and crack, oily tendrils of despair, slick with the forgotten nightmares of ancient man, the deepest aversions that plague our genealogy still.

I made my boldest effort. I slaved with spray, wipe and sometimes chisel to free the domicile of this vile affliction. Items oft were good for nothing save to be thrown into the bin, usually with minimal contact with my person.

There are things in there even now that remember me.
“So,” They would remark upon my return, “The little cleaner boy has returned, a man now.”

Meekly I would survey them.

“You do not recognise me, but I remember you. I remember the day you killed my brother. You darken our door once more, cleaner boy. With nary shame or remorse you look upon the land you decimated with yellow cloth and the accursed Cillit of Bang.”

Deep in it’s history, enshrined in it’s DNA is a plate of nachos, but it’s current form is beyond comprehension.

There are things in mugs there even still that know my name.

They shriek it in their fitful sleep.

For they do sleep now, and as do all sleepers they dream.

Always the same dream.

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1 Comment so far
Leave a comment

Damn, Brother. Manic, brilliant but still hilarious, this still manages to display an obviously impressive talent.

That day’s coming. You know the one.

Comment by Thomas MH Kalish (@spearofhope)




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