December 18th, 2006
The CousCous Killer
Fuck the world in the ear! Jesus christ just hand the reins over to the Polish as soon as possible, I’m sick of Irish people who are bad at their job. Last week I had to go down to The Square to buy provisions, Hayley was returning to get some stuff and intimated that she didn’t want me to be there while she visited so I decided instead of walking in the rain for an hour listening to The Smiths I’d get the shopping in.
35 minute wait at the terminus for a bus that’s meant to leave every 15 minutes. Getting soaked and brooding over my crummy life. Huge big queue at the ATM’s operated by fucking idiot women who treat each step of the transaction like Who Wants To Be A Millionare. You put the card in and take money out you corny old dopes, it’s a simple as that. These people should need a permit to leave the house.
Got the money and entered pulling off my hat. Noticed that the hat smelled really bad. Soaked in pissy rain, sweat and hate juice. I realised that my matted head must now smell too. Blaring UK Subs so I didn’t have to hear piped cover versions of Slade over the intercom thing I marched like I was holding in a liquid poo and got some stuff in Easons and went to Dunnes because I know Tesco’s don’t sell couscous. Oh they sell it in shitty little packs of individual servings alright but I want the good stuff, the uncut grain. Walked around filling the basket, cans and maltana bread but I couldn’t find the couscous.
No joy. Nowhere to be seen. I see couscous as energon cubes, something perfectly bland but open to wild variety. Bang a load of it into some soup and it turns into the gick that Robocop eats. Ready in minutes, cheap and modest, it has sustained me when times were bad and now that I’m unemployed it has become a near daily meal. It’s food’s best kept secret and I began to suspect that the purchasing managers in Dunnes decided to stop selling it because it took up too much space and the margins were bad compared to the other over priced pasta stuff.
Asked a young lad if they had it and I got the universal indifferent “mwha?”. I have no beef with the shelf stackers, they don’t give a fuck and get paid accordingly. I asked if there was a manager around. This faggy dude around the same age as me appears, wearinf a shirt and tie like he matters and he’s gunning for that promotion and I ask him where’s the couscous and that’s when things go wrong.
I can’t remember what he said or how he looked at me but I just got that red flash when you want to immeadiately kill somebody.
In the fraction of a second I got it, loads of stuff ran through my mind. Me kneeling on his chest smashing his smug face in with the heel of my fist and trying to remember to remember the actual colour of fresh blood so I could use it in a comic , me up in court acting as my own council ” Your Honour, I was just dumped by the woman I love a few weeks before Xmas, I’ve been made jobless and I’m homeless and tightly wound, this cunt was not only mocking me but the working classes, to deprive the people of affordable food, this Esperanto of grain, is a disgrace rivalling having to pay your doctor 50 snots to get a perscription renewed. And he had a ‘faux-hawk’”, me in prison appeasing the would-be bum burgulars with countless drawings of Bob Marley and cannabis leafs.
I just wanted to kill him and I was staring into space with the Saving Private Ryan tinnitus in my ear when I realised he was walking off. I paid for what I had and walked home thinking about it. Well I showed him!! Yeah, by writing about it on a blog that nobody reads. Yeah I’m stressed, things are shit and I’m trying to make sense of what has been the worst month in Bobdom since the Care Bears comic merged with The Getalong Gang back in 1986. I know strangling some idiot won’t change anything. But I’m sure it will help a little.
Death metal, violent porn and Bavaria are the only things that can get me through this. I KNOW I’ll be better in a few months, when I’ve moved out, banged a new girl and the timed explosives in the hall go off but untill then it’s Venice 1926.
