Dead Heads and Threats...

Today has been a rather mixed bag. I have the threat of a kicking hanging over me, which is about as potent as Calpol is alcoholic, but is disconcerting nonetheless. Now I find myself trawling the net looking for a drawing of a dead Michael Jackson by a Polish journalist.

It's not a very nice drawing, it shows an emaciated bald man, eyes screwed up in different directions, a collapsed right nostril with surgical scars and burns on the scalp. It just struck me as very odd that a human being could cope with so many metamorphoses in a lifetime, but I have to remind myself that this was no ordinary human being. The Sunday newspapers have a knack of ruining my appetite.....

The kicking comes from a drunken night out with Cocky Balboa and BurT. A lesbianic, breasted ponce-girl had the nerve and audacity that her place in society permits to undertake jokes at our working-class expenses. I can't remember too much of the night, but I remember the word 'common' being thrown about and me responding with a series of drunken jibes. If sober, this would have washed over me and finished leaving me with the inevitable 'I should have said that' syndrome. However, I was fucked. So insults about lesbianism (she attended a local all-girls school, so there is logic there) and her social status ensued.....I'm sure there was something about pony fucking in there too....weak I know, but sharp wit was rendered useless by scores of Becks and pints of frothy stuff (insert sperm gag here). That was the end of it really, well, her trying to climb over a table to presumably slap me was stopped by a mutual friend.

On seeing her later that night at a bus stop I could have apologised when she said 'I didn't really like you tonight'. I intimated that I couldn't care less as I was drunk and when drunk I believe I could shove a badger up Chuck Norris' arse. So that was that.

A month passes and I hear it through the grapevine that I 'started' on her, her brother is out looking for me and knows where I live..if I'm honest near the exact location. The nature of the rumours could be from sheer hearsay or actual direct quotes, nothing could happen, something could. The former is more likely. The most disconcerting thing is that it plays on my well established paranoia. I know I'll be on my guard for the next few weeks, gauging threats in my head, being James Bond in my mind without the girls and the 60's chauvenist attitude. The threat of the sibling is an old one and one which rarely comes into fruition, but it's still not a nice thing.

I have level headed people around me telling me I have nothing to worry about and that if anything was going to happen it would have happened by now. I can see the logic, but my stomach still churns in the logic of the knowledge that I'm not a fighter..if anything I'm a bleeder. I wish a simple life without the threat - however much it lacks in potency - of a kicking.

Well, it may come to pass..it may not, I doubt it will, but if by some sheer twist of fate I do go by the way of MJ, please don't let there be a God-awful Britains Got Talent contestant singing within inches of my corpse.

Regards

JPH