John's a silly boy.

All you have to do is walk within a 100 meter radius from my house and something fucked up will happen. Like the other day, i was taking a photo of the street, and this bloke came running down like he was being chased. I quickly stood aside to let the man pass through. He ran right past my house, which is basically at the end of the street, and flung himself out onto the main road. I stepped off my driveway to have a look at where he was running to, and found that he had stopped at the T-Junction. I yelled out to the chap, to tell him to fall back from the dangerous busy road. He didnt reply. He just stood and waited for whatever it was he was waiting for. Then it came. RIGHT FROM BEHIND!!! An old freind, whom i'd known from the good old Kimberly Days, drove up in his replica Interceptor, and obliterated the fellow. John, who i will name him sorely because that was the name given to him by his mother when he was born, reversed up to be in line with my driveway, and called to me.
'Get in old dog! We got some messin about to catch up on,'
So i hopped in the car and we drove up the street, to number 87. John hopped out of the car, and reached in the back window. He pulled his shotgun, and pumped it.
'Its time to kick some innocent ass.' He cackled maniacally. I needed to stop him, we was going to kill innocent people. I couldnt let that happen. But today i had lunch with Brenda, some girl i make up as an excuse to get out of things. SO i stated my plight with John, and off i went to have lunch with Brenda, so to speak.

You got to be CRUEL to be KIND

In a world as ruthless as this, people dont seem to want to stand up for themselves anymore because they dont think that they will win. Idiots. The only way you can win is if you be just as ruthless. Make heads roll, make sphincters squeal with agony. Dont be afraid to lose, keep in your mind that you will win, and dont go down without a bite. Your recognition as a samurai will never reach an all time high if you cant hold the fucking sword.

Pieces of crud around stuff, Part UN

So on a normal voyage to the place of North Perth, in WESTERN AUSTRALIA, i came across a dead pigeon. Well it wasn't dead exactly, it right wing was twitching. I took a stick and proceeded to prod it, harder each time, until it stopped twitching. I took it in my arms, and threw it out on Fitzgerald Street, for the cars. I made it easier, despite what you pro-animal people think. If i had left it twitching, it would have eventually flapped its way over on to the road, painfully.
Anyway, i walked down to where the main center of commerce, and in to the supermarket. I strode over to the meat section, and took a double pack of porterhouse steak. Over to the Fruit and Veg department i went, steak tray in hand, when i saw an old friend. Luckily he did not see me as i approached, and i took that opportunity, to hide behind one of the fruit stalls. Just for laughs, i commando rolled out from behind my cunning hiding place, and threw the tray of meat like a frisbee. CONNECT!!! The tray of meat slammed into his face like a torpedo hitting the hull of some barnacled U-Boat. He collapsed and screamed. I had hurt him. I did not mean this. So i ran, and before i could leave the store, some stupid bitch squealed.
'IT WAS HIM!!!, THAT MAN IN THE BLACK ROBE!!!'
Instantly, i was seized by two robust characters wearing aprons and hair nets. I dealt them many a cursive blow, as they struggled to keep hold of me. They brought me down to where my old friend was sitting, he was bleeding from the face. The woman who yelled my description, was sitting cross-legged next to him, dabbing his face with a cold compress. Blood soaked his rich looking clothes, and pooled on the floor around him. I pleaded my case to the bullies who accosted me, telling them that i only threw a meat tray at him, and that was no cause for him to bleed profusely from the face. The bitch who squealed, snipped at me:
'He fell, on his face you moron!'
Oh, i thought. Well that'll do it then. The manager power walked down to the scene, like a football coach storms down to give his team a bollocking.
'What the devil happened?' He said snobbishly,
'This fuckhead threw a meat tray at this poor guys face!' Moaned one of the henchmen beside me.
'Language Harold,' replied the manager, 'keep this area calm, has anyone called an ambulance?' Someone had i guess, who knows, who cares, my arms were sore, that was all i cared about. I begged for my release, but they wouldn't let me go. Suddenly, my old friend made a horrendous gargling sound, like he was screaming, like he wanted his head to come off or something. And suddenly, it did. His head exploded into tiny fragments, showering the onlookers with little bits of brain and skull. The crowd, which had developed in numbers by then, screamed wildly, and ran in multiple directions. By then the two buff bozos who had a hold of me, had let go and were at my feet crying like little babies. So i took this opportunity to walk out of the store casually, amidst all of the chaos surrounding me. Cool and swift, i slipped to the ground among peoples blood-stained feet, and grabbed the tray of meat that i originally set out to get. It was covered in blood, but it was protected by plastic, so that didn't matter. And after i rose to my feet, i exited the supermarket, just as quietly as i entered.

Something suss was up, but i had no time or effort to figure out another daily mystery. The night drew near, and my steaks were waiting to be consumed.

You Have Just Been Bitten

Greetings,

Welcome to Bites Of Shit With The Count. A new BLOG, designed to rub in your face, the ESSENCE of my LIFE, or UNLIFE. Bathe in this essence, for it is all essency, and stuff.