Tuesday 21 September 2010
she kills for thrills
His eyes rolled back as his head lolled to one side and a sickening trickle of saliva oozed onto my beautiful black velvet coat as we made our way back to my lock-up in the hinterland of Newgate. As the doors rolled upward, my city trader with his bonus lifestyle was hearing but not seeing, responding but not registering. I was feral to his urban and although smart in his world, in mine, his intelligence didn't cut it to see what was coming his way.
I'd made a call to Lars to help me unload out of my car and into the lock-up. I couldn't handle this one alone. A diet of fast food and booze washed down with a sedentary lifestyle had left him puffy, flaccid and overweight and there was no way I could lift him on my own. I'd only text Lars the letter 'S' but it had fired his imagination and from then on my phone was buzzing with texts...Who...How...Where? Lar and I – we had a murderous sort of symbiotic 'understanding.' I did. He thrilled. He photographed. We disposed.
An hour ago this stranger was amongst friends in his seemingly safe, secure world. Now he was in our warped reality – a stuffed pig to the abattoir – a dead weight as we lifted him into the harness and moaning, but barely conscious. Together we frenzily stripped him bare of his designer clothing, his wallet and his dignity. The roho had made him lose bladder control and his strong, yellow urine dripped from the leather harness as Lars fastened the arm and leg cuffs so he was securely held on the harness. The last thing we wanted was escape and him blowing our cover. We were in for a long night because he had to be at least semi-conscious to partake in our little game. What fun was a game without a conscious participant!
Lars had brought some Smirnoff from the 24-hour shop and we sat drinking together in the dimmed light of the lock-up. It was a surreal tableau...he and I laughing, drinking and reminiscing about the circumstances of how we'd met. Then dancing half cut around this bloated manpig, strung up naked on a harness with the floor wet with urine. It was bizarre and wonderful and the insanity of it all made me feel vital and alive and individual. We were dangerous. We were so different yet so alike, buddies brought together by a bloodlust that ran deep in both of us.
Sunday 5 September 2010
Wednesday 25 August 2010
Truth is stranger than fictionalia
Truth is stranger than fictionalia
Am researching lots of murders and killing scenes, so's I can get into character for
'She Kills for Thrills'. Came across a blog written by Shaun Attwood, a bloke who had an extremely colourful prison life in Arizona and is about to make a book out of his blog. He fronted as a stockbroker but was heavily into the rave scene and became a mega-supplier of Ecstacy with his own rave store and MDMA making chemist and lab!
Shaun was living it large complete with drug mansion, trophy wife, flash cars etc - for a while...until he trod on bigger dealer toes and ended up being trotted off unceremoniously to do time in a notoriously brutal, cockroach ridden jail in Arizona run by a psycho 'hang em and flog em' Sheriff (Joe Arpaio). Arpaio brags about spending just 50 cents per day per prisoner on food. It's fascinating stuff with in-prison murders and a cast of psychos, weirdos and trannies that would rival a Marilyn Manson gig! Truth really is stranger than fiction. Here's an extract!
Cult Of Xena (COX)
From the balcony in front of Frankie’s cell, Xena was preaching to a growing crowd of listeners: “Soon you will all be members of COX - Cult Of Xena!”
Frankie’s cell door opened and out came his cellmate, Speedy, who looked up at Xena and said, “Xena, will you breast feed me like a baby?”
Xena did a pelvic thrust, and said, “You can suck this nipple.”
A skinhead in the crowd glowered at Xena and Speedy, and said, “Fuckin’ queer asses.”
“You bald bastard,"Xena said. "You look like a penis. How about I tattoo a slit on your head and call you Xena’s forbidden?”
While Xena was ranting, Pops, looking like a frozen cadaver, shuffled along the balcony towards Xena, and said, “I told Queen Elizabeth Xena’s hung like a donkey, and she hasn’t been the same since.” With cane in hand, Pops did a little dance.
“This is Pops the stripper,” Xena said. “He started The Chippendales in the twenties. My grandparents used to get down at his show.”
Pops chuckled and ambled away.
Xena stepped in front of a youngster who was hurrying along the balcony, and said, “What do you know about COX?”
“Say what?” the youngster said, grinned, sidestepped Xena, and vanished.
The audience was still laughing when George appeared.
“Georgie,” Xena said. “Has the cold made your nipples hard?”
George raised his top, revealing his nipples.
“Do you wanna make your nipples bigger?” Xena said “Mine used to be really small until I started wrappin’ rubber bands around them.”
“My nipples are perfectly fine,” George said.
“You sound testy, George,” Xena said. “Haven’t you been spanked lately?”
“Last night, in my dreams, I was getting spanked by you, while I was rubbing Jon's head.”
“Last night, in your dreams,” Xena said, “did you rub Jon’s prostrate?”
“No, silly.”
“Have you ever rubbed someone’s prostrate while making love?” Xena said.
“No, slut,” George said.
“Have you ever licked butt, and rubbed someone’s prostrate at the same time?”
“Only yours, honey,” George said.
Xena turned, faced the crowd, and said, “Soon you will all be COX members, wearing white robes opened around the waist like gunslingers, and pink tutus and spandex tights.”
A guard shook his head at Xena.
Nodding at the guard, Xena said, “You too are a COX member. Don’t stress out, you’ll get your pink tutu tomorrow.”
The guard hurried away.
“When I tell you all to spread, spread real wide. Now spread 'em!” Xena said.
“You go girl,” Frankie said, emerging from his cell.
“See what I have to work with! That’s why I need enforcers.” Xena said. “Who wants to be enforcers and who wants to be spreaders?”
“Can I be a shooter?” a Native American known as Bobbus yelled.
“Yes, you can be a salad shooter,” Xena said.
“Put me down as a tosser then,” Bobbus said.
“I heard all about you and Yum-Yum,” Xena said to Frankie.
“Quit tellin’ on me, Englandman,” Frankie said.
“Was Yum-Yum pretty? Did she have tatas?” Xena said.
“Aw, man," Frankie said. “Yum-Yum looked and sounded like a girl. I woulda kissed the shit outta him. I shit you not. I woulda put some serious tongue in that dude’s mouth. Englandman knows, he used to watch me stroke it to Yum-Yum at the Madison St jail.”
“I lived next door to Yum-Yum,” I said. “Everyone was hitting on her, and Frankie was leading the pack.”
“Rec time is over. Lock down everybody. Rec time is over,” came the announcement over the speaker system.
“Rectum is over. Rectum is over,” Xena said. “Did everyone have a good rectum?”
Am researching lots of murders and killing scenes, so's I can get into character for
'She Kills for Thrills'. Came across a blog written by Shaun Attwood, a bloke who had an extremely colourful prison life in Arizona and is about to make a book out of his blog. He fronted as a stockbroker but was heavily into the rave scene and became a mega-supplier of Ecstacy with his own rave store and MDMA making chemist and lab!
Shaun was living it large complete with drug mansion, trophy wife, flash cars etc - for a while...until he trod on bigger dealer toes and ended up being trotted off unceremoniously to do time in a notoriously brutal, cockroach ridden jail in Arizona run by a psycho 'hang em and flog em' Sheriff (Joe Arpaio). Arpaio brags about spending just 50 cents per day per prisoner on food. It's fascinating stuff with in-prison murders and a cast of psychos, weirdos and trannies that would rival a Marilyn Manson gig! Truth really is stranger than fiction. Here's an extract!
Cult Of Xena (COX)
From the balcony in front of Frankie’s cell, Xena was preaching to a growing crowd of listeners: “Soon you will all be members of COX - Cult Of Xena!”
Frankie’s cell door opened and out came his cellmate, Speedy, who looked up at Xena and said, “Xena, will you breast feed me like a baby?”
Xena did a pelvic thrust, and said, “You can suck this nipple.”
A skinhead in the crowd glowered at Xena and Speedy, and said, “Fuckin’ queer asses.”
“You bald bastard,"Xena said. "You look like a penis. How about I tattoo a slit on your head and call you Xena’s forbidden?”
While Xena was ranting, Pops, looking like a frozen cadaver, shuffled along the balcony towards Xena, and said, “I told Queen Elizabeth Xena’s hung like a donkey, and she hasn’t been the same since.” With cane in hand, Pops did a little dance.
“This is Pops the stripper,” Xena said. “He started The Chippendales in the twenties. My grandparents used to get down at his show.”
Pops chuckled and ambled away.
Xena stepped in front of a youngster who was hurrying along the balcony, and said, “What do you know about COX?”
“Say what?” the youngster said, grinned, sidestepped Xena, and vanished.
The audience was still laughing when George appeared.
“Georgie,” Xena said. “Has the cold made your nipples hard?”
George raised his top, revealing his nipples.
“Do you wanna make your nipples bigger?” Xena said “Mine used to be really small until I started wrappin’ rubber bands around them.”
“My nipples are perfectly fine,” George said.
“You sound testy, George,” Xena said. “Haven’t you been spanked lately?”
“Last night, in my dreams, I was getting spanked by you, while I was rubbing Jon's head.”
“Last night, in your dreams,” Xena said, “did you rub Jon’s prostrate?”
“No, silly.”
“Have you ever rubbed someone’s prostrate while making love?” Xena said.
“No, slut,” George said.
“Have you ever licked butt, and rubbed someone’s prostrate at the same time?”
“Only yours, honey,” George said.
Xena turned, faced the crowd, and said, “Soon you will all be COX members, wearing white robes opened around the waist like gunslingers, and pink tutus and spandex tights.”
A guard shook his head at Xena.
Nodding at the guard, Xena said, “You too are a COX member. Don’t stress out, you’ll get your pink tutu tomorrow.”
The guard hurried away.
“When I tell you all to spread, spread real wide. Now spread 'em!” Xena said.
“You go girl,” Frankie said, emerging from his cell.
“See what I have to work with! That’s why I need enforcers.” Xena said. “Who wants to be enforcers and who wants to be spreaders?”
“Can I be a shooter?” a Native American known as Bobbus yelled.
“Yes, you can be a salad shooter,” Xena said.
“Put me down as a tosser then,” Bobbus said.
“I heard all about you and Yum-Yum,” Xena said to Frankie.
“Quit tellin’ on me, Englandman,” Frankie said.
“Was Yum-Yum pretty? Did she have tatas?” Xena said.
“Aw, man," Frankie said. “Yum-Yum looked and sounded like a girl. I woulda kissed the shit outta him. I shit you not. I woulda put some serious tongue in that dude’s mouth. Englandman knows, he used to watch me stroke it to Yum-Yum at the Madison St jail.”
“I lived next door to Yum-Yum,” I said. “Everyone was hitting on her, and Frankie was leading the pack.”
“Rec time is over. Lock down everybody. Rec time is over,” came the announcement over the speaker system.
“Rectum is over. Rectum is over,” Xena said. “Did everyone have a good rectum?”
Saturday 14 August 2010
Married men!
What is it with married men? WTF there we were having a lovely girly night out catching up on the trials and tribs of the week over a vino or two - watching the band, only to be ogled lasciviously by a Harrylookalikey – the ugly spouse of Charlotte in STC.
My friend clocked the wedding ring and saw him doing a similar thing to some other women - then he took off the ring and slipped it in his pocket with intent to what...? My friend challenged him with, "what the hell do you think you're doing" and he played dumb! It's not even as if he was god's gift. We all find it intensely irritating that married men behave like this. Go home to your wives and children and leave us alone please. Or if you want to play the field - get a D-I-V-O-R-C-E!
Thursday 27 August 2009
Rave scene kills hooliganism
There was a strong association between football hooliganism and the casual subculture. The fashions helped the fans blend in with crowds rather than standing out in football shirts. Fashion trends could change rapidly from week to week, and followers would keep up: Fila trainers and tracksuits on Monday, Burberry on Saturday. Acid House and the rise of the "Madchester" rave scene in the 80s pushed the scene to its heights with bands like The Happy Mondays, The Stone Roses and Inspiral Carpets all adopting the casual wardrobe. And apparently ecstacy quashed any violent tendencies as fans became all loved-up, according to someone on Radio 4 this morning!
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