Life, the universe…

One thing I love about creating fiction is that you can have fun. During the meaning of fingers on a keyboard Prince William married an alien, Prince Harry became King and put parliament in its place, and I introduced the concept that God has a sense of humour. I admit that is unlikely, mainly as I am an atheist, but suggesting that Charlton Heston wrote a new set of commandments to try and get the planet on track does have a certain ring to it.

At the moment I am resolving the dilemma of childhood, the one that should have been, rather than the one that never happened. Only it isn’t always a good idea dwelling on the past. However, as the characters are fictitious, more or less, I can reveal to all the world. Or at least those capable of reading between the line that my older sister was a right bitch. My quandary at the moment is whether the most evil character, my first wife, aka the whore of Babylon should have her name changed. After all, on the off chance she ever saw any text it might make her think. No, she was a heartless cow, animals that low down the food chain can’t apply reason.

It was fun in another novel when a guy was out walking with a friend and met his ex wife. When the hero says, you remember Dawn, he says, yes, if it wasn’t for her being such a bastard you wouldn’t be a millionaire.

A pity I can’t see that on my horizon.

Revision

as I failed to escape to Spain yesterday, partially because the bed it the van is soaked because condensation has been dripping from the roof, I am back grasping for straws. I am doing a little revision on a manuscript as I am not quite read to start a larger project yet.

i do have a few in my head but the bogey man keeps putting me off.

Anyway, I have to get some images sorted for Tuesday if I want to keep on the ball.

Pregnant

That was the answer to the riddle, just in case anyone was curious.

Not that there is anyone out there.

So, at the moment the wicked witch of the North and West is driving me insane. Not difficult for someone with a degree in mental cruelty. I may or may not make it through the night, at least without driving back to Spain. Only it might be worth booking a ticket on the ferry as the van doesn’t float.

If I was a recognised author I could make a fortune writing all my tribulations down, only I am not quite sure over the title. 50 ways to leave the planet or 50 ways to conceal a body from the police. Only the second title is suspect as I have never struck anyone in my life. Except a couple of times it self defence, and I wasn’t very good at that anyway.

 

Distance

I have just had a thought, how do you do a daily blog without the Internet? When I go back to Spain, which may well be sooner than intended I do not have access to the web unless I sit outside a cafe hich has wifi. A bit of a bummer.

well, and I have four of those in Spain, let’s hope I can grit my teeth and smile a little longer.

A blind girl goes on a blind date with three blind men. What does she get?

Dreams

I imagine you heard about the man who dreamt he was eating a giant marshmallow and when he woke up he couldn’t find his pillow! Well how about the guy who dreamt he was a Romam centurion way back when. In his reverie he was responsible for crucifying Jesus, not the most common of scenarios. No doubt if he were religiously orientated it could have been seriously depressing. When he woke up the dog was barking, it obviously wanted to go outside. Only when he opened the front door his wife was nailed to the outside. Naked. There were quite a few people in the street, so,e were on their knees, genuflecting, others filming with mobile phones, well without a stitch of clothing it would probably go viral rather quickly. Obviously he called the emergency services immediately and managed to find a hammer so by the time the ambulance arrived he had he inside, on the carpet.

It clearly wasn’t a good idea mentioning the images of the night but as he explained to the police, he had blood on his body from removing his wife from the torturous position. Although his fingerprints were obviously on the hammer, that may not have been the implement used, and anyway, at five foot four there was no way he could have held his wife, who was five inches taller, up to the door and crucified her without help, possibly from two other people.

Now we come to the interesting part, what actually happened? Was he involved in a group ambulatory dream? Was he drugged while asleep but sensed the event subconsciously? Was he still asleep? The police didn’t arrest him, he was too distressed to even stand, so no doubt they assumed he had slept through the abduction. Still, wouldn’t you like to know.

A pity this is where the narration stops then.

Bye.

Monday morning

After working out how to post, all I have to do now is think what I can put on to draw the hordes of bored blog readers on a regular basis. Apart from offering cheap holidays in Spain obviously. That is primarily as I am in Coleford. That is in the Forest of Dean to the geographically challenged, a place where the mobile phone network is insufficient and if you wander off the woodland path while walking in the leafy glades you may be trampled to death by the 1000 odd wild boar. Just kidding, they are too busy eating people who walk dogs.

There was a man in the Dean,

who hadn’t so much as a bean,

fresh out of goods,

he lived in the woods,

until his hair just turned green.

well you try thinking of something to rhyme with Coleford !

Revival

Just in case there is a possibility I could offend anyone please read the following disclaimer.

This piece of Flash Fiction has been created after picking out a random word. Anyone addicted to political correctness, narrow minded or without the ability to laugh at pure fiction should stop here. I will not apologise for my weird sense of humour.

 

Wild Sex

Ralph woke feeling like he had been drinking tar for much of the previous evening rather than Advocat and Jack Daniels, at the suggestion of his best friend. It was initially rather difficult opening his eyes, apart from the fact the eyelids seemed almost glued together, every time light entered, his world began to spin wildly. At least rubbing his groin made him smile, it was just pity that after his first night of wild sex in maybe a year he didn’t remember much. Fortunately he could still feel the warmth of her body against his back. Turning slowly the upturn of his mouth crashed into a bottomless pit of despair. It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but at least she was the right sex.
Eventually he analysed what he could from the previous evening of excessive drinking. After a while he seemed to recall asking for a favour from his best friend. Some favour it had turned out to be, but then it was partially his fault. If he hadn’t been completely rat-arsed he would have had more choice, an ability to make a decision on his own.
Ralph’s sexual partner had woken and was eating fruit from the bedside table, it was difficult to tell if she was smiling or not, but at least she was still there. Possibly partially because of her obvious youth, Ralph had yet to decide whether that was a good thing but at least he hadn’t been so useless between the sheets she had left the moment he had fallen asleep. The trouble with a cavernous void in your memory is that it demands to be filled, sometimes rather forcefully, as though sanity demanded it. With no recall just how good intercourse had been he slid his hand between her legs and toyed gently. Well, that certainly made her excited, her body was almost quaking with anticipation. Ralph slid onto her, wondering just how much he had kissed her the night before. Still, looks were not everything, a couple of times in the past women of the night had seemed little more than dogs. So, this time he didn’t know her name, that was hardly surprising anyway, and her appearance was, well different. In the past he wondered about visual appearances, whether an African, Indian or Chinese woman felt or performed differently to English females, it wasn’t that different, maybe she was rather young but he wasn’t going to start shouting about his conquest from the rooftops.
Partially because of the amount of alcohol still coursing through his veins, more from the obvious confusion, it took a little while to raise an erection but penetration was rewarding, hot and tight. As he slid over her chest and forced his penis deep inside her body, strong arms pulled him tight and she squealed loudly. Geoff almost laughed, maybe size did matter. Not the comparative proportion of their bodies either. As she was so much smaller, as his pelvis bounced gently against hers he was unable to kiss her lips, not that he was worried about it.
After fifteen minutes Geoff decided that making love to an angel had a disadvantage, he was usually so wired sex lasted under five. As their bodies began to bounce madly Geoff wondered just how much her screaming could be heard next door. Not that he had any intention of backing off, the sensation was far too rewarding. Gradually he rose to a climax, unable to control the way his body moved, his back feeling a little bruised as his partner had been expressing her excitement by pounding him a little too vigorously than most other women he had made love to, ever. Eventually he rolled off, grinning as though he had just laid Madonna.
Reaching out he picked up his mobile. “Jerry you are a fucking arsehole.” There was raucous laughter at the other end. “I seem to recall that I said if I gave you a monkey could you find me a decent prostitute.” Briefly he paused for thought, glancing at the female that seemed to be almost chuckling beside him. The dark hair that thickly covered her entire body seemed to be glistening, probably from his own sweat. It was a little disconcerting that her mouth was so wide and her lips hardly soft and smooth. But that was quite normal for a Chimpanzee. “How the hell am I going to get her back to the zoo?”

No animals were harmed or experimented on while researching this story.

Starting up

This is my first attempt at blogging, but what the hell.

I am trying to raise my profile as an author, that means I want to get recognised, rich and famous can come next month. So I am offering the odd free book, I have written well over thirty after all. All I need, empasis on all, is to collect followers interested in reading, or writing for that matter. Browse this site, and the main one, http://www.blisteringbooks.co.uk and tell your friends too, please!

I did say all I needed was to collect followers! Well a month on and it doesn’t appear to be a rapid process, no doubt I am too hard to find on Amazon etc. Ho hum, still, undetered I am about to target my database of petrol heads. Fingers crossed.