RIPigeon

30/06/08

Walking near Blackfriars today I saw a pigeon get 100% totaled by the 100 bus.

Geezer, I swear. It was devastating.

Poor bugger was doing that cute bird thing where he had a morsel of food and kept flicking it over his head and then turning around to go back after it for yet another futile peck, he flicked it off the pavement and into the gutter. He flapped over to retrieve it as the bus came along before realizing his futile mistake as his face grazed the tyre. He was completely dead central to the oncoming wheel. It was almost poetic. The bus was slowing down too, it wasn’t even going that fast when I heard the bone shattering crunch and the pigeon and wheel became one. Feathers everywhere, bits of smashed beak, a toe.

He kinda popped. Like a big gray zit with wings. It was like the way a water balloon smashes on impact. This bit was actually really cool.

As the bus carried on, you could see the carcass stuck to the treads at each rotation.

In a matter of seconds, the pigeon had become a spinning gray and maroon mulch.

In fairness, it was sad because I love birdies. Pigeons included. This one was sprightly devil, enjoying someones panini crust and admiring the sunshine. Pigeon was fucking loving it before God decided to take big God shit on him.

RIPigeon.

May the rain wash your lice ridden carcass pieces into the Thames and down the drain.

Words that mean something is good.

22/05/09

Words that mean something is good

I think that there are more words to describe something that is pretty good than there are to describe something that is completely rubbish.

However, some of the words that people use to give praise to the better things are more often than not pretty rubbish in return.

I came to this conclusion whilst eavesdropping this morning.

“That phone is proper nang”

Nang.

Who made that one up? I guess it reminds me of running around the playground (I always ran like a bit of a knob and a bit slower than most) trying to avoid the ‘mang’. This is probably why I hate the word. I still had the mang when I got into class after break and my classmates still wouldn’t touch me.

I also heard that the new word for an attractive lady whom bare peeps are looking for is described as ‘peng’.

And get this! A ‘frrrooop’ is a tasty vagina!

Whatever next…

Although its not all bad. Mike Skinner describes almost anything that is blindingly awesome as ‘Big Dog’. Unfortunately I cannot adopt it into my own vocabulary as the last time I tried using it to describe how good my mother is to me, people just fell about laughing.

London, you make me sick.

01/03/08

Went to a house party last night. It was okay barring the fact that I turned up at half midnight. The empty vodka bottles, king size Rizzla stuck to the floor and conspicuous trails all over the table lead into the understanding that I was not really going to get into the vibe here. I should have turned up earlier and gone rum raiding.

So Sober Larry gets to integrate with all manner of weird creatures for few hours. So when the guy harping on about his dysfunctional sexuality issues was finally distracted by a frisbee, and that tall ugly girl stopped chatting about her project to promote diarrhea (“Its not its fault its a virus!”) I decided to call it a night. Greedy bisexual boy was on the prowl anyway, the eject button had to be pushed.

Diarrhea girl found me at the door and asked if I could walk her to bus stop. i obliged, and she took her fucking time walking up the street asking some of the most bizzare questions. It seemed that everyone at this party had ulterior motives, or I shouldn’t wear so much John Paul Gautier.

I pushed her onto a bus, gave her a big thumbs up and legged it.

Walworth road was absolute bedlam. I saw a massive police raid on this house where they stuffed multiple dudes into multiple vans, women were crying, men were pushing each other. Horrible sights and sounds, sensory violation.

I was near home. 500 meters left.

Two women are walking in front of me, probably been out to the pub or something. Women. Harmless.

One of them turned around and glanced at me before carrying on walking and talking to her accomplice.

I continue walking when the woman turns around again and makes a bee line right for me.

“You got a spare cigarette mate?”

I fumbled around foolishly, and replied with the obvious answer ‘I dont smoke’. What a bloody idiot.

“Its alright. Where you been tonight? You walking this way?”

I obliged, told her I went to a house party too late and needed to pass out. Her other friend stood on the other side of me and started walking in stride with us.

“This is Aisha, and we want to do you a deal.”

Drugs? I thought. I wanted to go to bed. Never mind drugs. I looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“You can take us home with you, tenner each. You can fuck me with a condom and she will suck you without.”

I was mortified. Absolutely fucking mortified. I blurted something that was crossed with hilarity, surprise and utter disgust. They offered me a crack head threesome for twenty quid. Oh god. Good God. I shook my head wildly. “No”

“Okay, well how about we stay until the morning at yours for twenty each, and…”

“No thankyou. Thanks. But…”

“Is it because we are black?”

Oh great. Now you pull THAT card. I just slouched over. I had spent all night avoiding these disasters only to be caught up standing between two cheap and desperate hookers. This was awful. I tried to make excuses, and told them that they were very pretty, and that I like black people, and I wanted to go.

“Oh, come on! Coming home from a party without a girl?” She had stood in my path. I was blocked. “I have a pimp you know, he burns me!” She showed me the back of her arm. Low and behold around 20 cigarette burns. I remember turning white. I was in Sin City.

There was a Mexican stand off of glances. The silent girl glanced at my watch, they noticed me glancing aver their shoulders at my doorway, 250 meters away, and then I noticed her glance at the bus shelter over the road. Two of the biggest black dudes I had ever seen were sitting motionless on the bench. No glancing this time, they were full on staring, cold staring at me.

“We ain’t kidding now, give us your money.”

There was probably someone behind me too. Someone was shot on this street a week ago. Shit. Mugged by a pair of fucking Hookers.

I had sixty in my pocket, my phone and some coins that were jangling in my coat. If they could give it all up for a tenner then I was pretty sure they would give me up to the dudes over the road for less.

I delved into my pocket as I could see no better option. I grabbed the notes, pulled them out letting one fall to the floor, I handed the rest to her and as they rushed to grab the note that had blown between silent girls legs I made my escape. I ran wide of the corner, right to my door. As I got inside, just over the road through the glass doors was another shifty character who made sure to get a good look at my face before running the other way.

London. You make me sick.

(Turns out I only released fifty quid, the other tenner was in my rear pocket. Huzzah

‘The Great Fire of Camden’ and other stories

11/03/08

Imagine. You get up to the gates of heaven and St Peter removes the top of your skull (kind of like Sylar does but with less blood) and inspects your brain to see what kind of life you had. He mulches it up in his hands like mincemeat all the time nodding to himself or tutting as he decides what kind of life you had, the fibrous pulp gives away everything as his fingers intrude into each and every defining moment of your life.

Yeah, well I suppose its nothing like that…

Well, it was like I was ascending into some other imagined pseudo world this Saturday as I was on the steady incline of the Camden underground escalators.

It was 8PM, and expecting to emerge onto the bustling streets of Camden on a typical Saturday, we ended up in the center of a great inferno. If you failed to see the photographs on the news…

And I tell you what, the sight of these 30ft flames seemed to instill some kind of deluded mischief in everyone in Camden. People were buying drinks from the pubs and running out to marvel at the spectacle before being pushed away from the blaze by the police. Dealers came out from everywhere, mingling with the expanding crowd. Businessmen were whistling them down like dogs. One guy was rubbing his fingers together, lured a dealer into a phone box by shouting ‘anyone got whizz?’ over and over again. The fire got even bigger. People were screaming, the traffic had stopped and there were countless fire vehicles. Policemen were climbing onto the roof tops and all I wanted was cheap chinese food.

Anyway, it was getting too much and we had a gig to get to, so after tootling over to mornington crescent and meeting the band in some pub there, it was all over the news. The weirdest thing was watching sky news reporting from where you were standing five minutes ago. Some poor reporter was asking passers by what they had seen when some pissed guys jumped into frame and told her that she smelled like fish. I spat my beer everywhere.

Anyway, so, im in this pub, Camden is burning to shit about 200 meters from where I was sat and I manage some free tickets to see Envy and Other Sins, those brummy dudes that won the channel four unsigned competition. They are playing a gig called the festival of sins just over the road at the purple turtle.

It was disturbing.

They had porn from the 1940′s being projected onto the wall, I mean like an eight foot tall fanny just…there. Scaring me. Like a toothless wolverine. This was the first thing that struck me, even before I managed to notice the gimp on stilts that was lurking behind me. Shit. I needed a beer, but not before I was flanked with quite beautiful Burlesque women. Corsets and tattoo’s and all that. And then, in the squeeze for the bar a man wearing nothing but a leather spiky collar brushed his dick against my hand as I was going for my change. I felt it. His wrinkly hood VS. the top of my hand. I went green.

A Japanese midget burlesque thing took to the stage and started singing a song about how badly she wanted to be fucked. You know, she was a midget. nobody wants to sleep with a midget. Awesome tattoos though. I never saw rocket fish and a pug dog chest piece before in my life (incidentally the pug dog was her pet, incorporated into her song as another male who refuses to sleep with her).

i went to the toilet. Another naked man was there, and a dude wearing a really good suit. how I noticed the suit before his Mexican wrestling mask, I have no idea. Like a Ray Mysterio Jr kinda one. He made a point of staring at me whilst I did my wee, just as long as he kept his bits away from my pockets I was going to be okay.

I ran out of the toilets into the middle of some weird photo shoot and banged my head off the chest of some buxom model who growled at me. I froze to the spot.

Camden was burning down, sex people are everywhere and all I can see is this monster fanny jangling about in the sky. The Japanese midget had been replaced by these people who were putting sterilized needles through this womans face and cheeks whist another pretended to bleed to death. What the fuck is happening to you Shep? If my phone had battery, I would have called my mother and apologized for what I had become.

Envy played next and were introduced by some wide eyed gay dude with a walking stick who mocked them for being from Birmingham. I laughed loudest unfortunately, and lots of eyes fell on me. All of a sudden, wearing nothing but a leather crotch pouch might have been a good idea. Even the monster fanny scowled.

I escaped after Envy finished, I paid my respects to them as they played up to the whole experience a treat.

Good news. My accomplice, josh, who is quite used to these ordeals has got us invites to an all night pub lock in. he wanted to stay and look at Burlesque women, but I said no, and drinking was more important.

So, we went to this bar on the Holloway road called Nambuka. They put curtains all up the Windows and people were smoking and drinking and all sorts. I got wasted quickly. Talking to some band manager at the bar who told me about a guy he saw swallow an 8 ball and a light bulb, only to regurgitate them whole again. The dude also took five womens rings, swallowed them all and regurgitated the rings back to their rightful owners.

This was an amazing story. I told it to some other guy later on. He told me that I was lying.

Peaches Geldof was there…apparently. I was oblivious to it, plus I don’t really know what she looks like.

At 8AM, we went back to an old friends house and drank whiskey.

I woke up at 6PM on Sunday and ate lots of fried chicken and found a portrait someone did of me on a piece of wood.

I think if St Peter was to mash about with my brain, he would get to this point in my life and just put the brain back and boot me down to Hades. Hades would only be dismayed because I wouldn’t wear his leather spiky collar and would send me back in dismay.

I think Hades has already seen my cock anyway. I’m sure that was him standing next to me at the urinal…

Someones Nan dishes out unprovoked pedestrian pain

02/12/09

Yesterday I was punched in the street.

Unprovoked. Out of the blue.

The attacker was an aged ogress, decorated in pearls and plastic headgear, hastily marching a rigid line down Piccadilly circus. She was probably clocking 70. I’m talking age and speed.

I did all I could to avoid her advance, I stretched my body into an inept shape and dodged. As I cleared her path, I felt her ivory knuckles connect with my shoulder.

I stood back aghast, completely dehumanized. The harpy was speeding on, and the oncoming human traffic were all fleeing her wicked fists.

I spun on my feet and blurted ‘grow up!’ at the vile crone.

Alas, she never heard.

I was half expecting this…

Vile Crone

Boring Bombay Bastards

03/10/07

Terrible times ahead, this will be a year of social chastity.

I had a drink last night with a bunch of folk from Bombay. It was great at first, they tried to feed me some food that i courteously turned down because ‘It makes me shit and smells weird’. They took this in jest, wiggling thier heads from side to side and showing all of thier gleaming white teeth. To be fair, their cuisine did look gash and not at all to my liking. I continued to drink up my Fosters and join in on the shisha pipe.

The last time I heard such inane conversation, terrible music and incomprehensible words was when I was at an Welsh speed garage party with Gordon the Gopher, the guy from the Pogues and this dude who had taken so much ecstasy that his tongue had swollen up to the size of a toddlers fist.

Amidst thier incessant warbling about the virtues of Sean Paul, why grey t-shirts are a good thing and cricket, two of the offending members of the party were doing this odd flirt routine of calling each other bitches and blowing smoke in each others eyes. Meanwhile, I am locked into an awkward staring match between this heavy lidded Indian female. One of those stares where you both know you don’t like each other, that you find something particularly heinous about the other and cant figure out what it is and the only way to find out is by staring at them until it clicks. I worked out why I disliked her,it was her partially formed woman-tache that sat on her top lip, her ugly brittle yellow toenails poking from her sandals and her reddened eyes settled upon my can of beer.

I was about to start my third when the she beast pipes up from the other side of the room and tells me that I should watch my beer consumption as it is ‘dangerous to drink that much’.

My jaw fell. Everyone in the room glared at me. My drinking rate was three times faster than that of my company. To this, I opened the can and drank heartily whilst they all sat there in silence waiting for some kind of response.

I belched aloud and told them that they had no clue how to party, and what was the point of university if they were all going to just sit there mumbling shit, chewing leaves and spices that make you smell like the arse of a sick dog.

The moral of the story kids. Only drink with exciting foreigners, and if you get stuck with shit ones, go to the pub instead.

Shimmering Teefs

01/06/07

After a week of high pitched American females (who constantly remind you to put the toilet seat up after taking a leek) hardcore coffee abuse, lackluster sketchbook work and take away chicken delicacies, I seem to have slipped out of God’s constipated backside and landed quite safely onto the warm stomach of the Charmin bear.

My dissertation proposal was handed in with success. Oh, and the working title is so awfully OTT I considered vomiting all over the paper it was written on.

“THE SACRED ILLUSION AND THE OBJECTIVE WORLD MATERIALISED THROUGH THE SPECTACLE OF THE INFORMATION AGE”

Its kinda like a pretty way of saying ‘This is an essay about how the media is going to fuck up your kids’. So I think its a fucking care bear wishy washy title, I take it to my VCT tutor to talk about, and he really liked it. What a cross eyed chump. Pssh.

Today is officially ‘too-many-teeth-for-your-mouth’ day, as there seems to be an influx ofpeople who are struggling to close their mouths due to a miraculous abundance of pearly gnashers. There is a girl here who could, quite literally eat an apple through a letterbox. She is struggling for air as she gawks over her underviewed facebook account. She resembles a very unfortunate coconut, bits of weird downy hair growing all over her lobsided face.

I have a new assignment anyway. I have to design a shop front logo type thingy for a gallery front in deep south London. Its in an old car showroom called ‘Auto Italia’, should be fun.

Anyway, from me and the one that got away from the dentist.

tata.

08/07/09 I don’t condone my actions here, I’m going to call it catharsis, obviously not having such a good day

Safeway psy-trance people watching excercise.

21/05/07

Yeah. I went to a trance night in an abandoned Safeway.

I exercised my people watching abilities.

I saw these things:

- Italian Squatters with dreadlocks on MdMa.

Always have slightly yellow, if not completely yellow teeth. Have stringent ammounts of patience. I was sitting in a well lit glass box, as to keep the harder ravers away. Eg1 walks in and attempts to talk to me in Italian. This happens alot. As he jabbers away at my face, I can taste his nicotine soaked lungs at the back of my throat. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to avoid wretching. He wants to know where my girlfriend is and says I look ‘cool’. I tell him that she isnt here but I found his remarks very flattering…

Awkward silence.

‘So you are not gay mister sunglasses?’*

‘No’.

He bellows with laughter walks out of my light room and falls over a chair. I narrowly avoided a bumming.

- Female Mediteranian women who mistake you for money

My keys fell on the floor dancing, as I attempted to fit in with this counter culture that was stranger to me than having E.T turn up at your door dressed as a ghost. Although, most of these people were brown and wrinkly and shrouded in cheap loins, I would gladly lend E.T a phone to call home over these muppets.

Oh, my keys, yeah, they were hit the floor with a ‘clink’ kinda sound. Wide eyed woman covered in permanent marker stars turns around, fixated on my glittering keys, and exclaims ‘MONEY!’, before diving on them. ‘No’, I shouted in her ear, ‘these are my keys’. She was still on the floor, gazing up at me, keys clasped in her hands, bobbing up and down to what sounded like someone kicking the shit ot of PacMan against a garage door. She handed them back cautiously, as not to alarm me. No sooner had she handed them back, she yelped once more ‘MONEY!’ with one long finger outstretched in my direction.

I danced elsewhere.

- White South London Raver Males with no tact.

‘BRAV! BRAV! OI! BRAV!’ I fucking hate being called ‘brav’ or ‘bruv’. It is disgusting to me. Go to hell. And no, I have no water. Before you boshed so many beans that your eyes barely fit in your sockets anymore you should have gone to the shop. Despicable. Here, drown your brain with my two large bottles of Ye Olde English, I will gladly share my last drink with you just to chance the slight odds that you may never wake up, and that someone else just as revolting my have the fortune of discovering you cold.

- Europeans who go to the toilet anywhere

Thats it love. piss at the top of those stairs so we can all smell the interior of your bladder whilst navigating our way up the slippery slopes of mount damp slabs. And shave your hairy foof you filthy euro trash. She looked flourescent cave dwelling ugly barbarella. The sunglasses managed to block out most of her poisonous UV rays.

I was very glad to go home.

Psy-trance just aint for the TomShep’s of this world. However, why do I never attend these ‘ordeals’ without a sketch book?

*I was wearing sunglasses at night you see.

German Women

29/04/07

The Boocock and I are enjoying a couple of beers whilst seated in the best, leatheriest seats in a bar in downtown Camberwell. German women come in. Look upon us with scorn, who knows why? Is it because we are in their seats?

Anyway, they are currently having a game of Scrabble, eating a big melon, and taking photographs of each others cleavages.

Why?

We have no idea. I will never understand the Germans.

We will update you shortly.

Anything to proclaim Boocock?

“what is the capital of camaroon?”

Answers on a postcard.

A Warrior got on the Bus

26/04/07

Six and half foot. Half naked. Leather pants. Gold plates on his upper arms, an off white t-shirt with ripped sleeves and long sandy blonde locks down to his pelvis. And he was TONK. I wonder how many Christians he had slain for breakfast.

I was listening to Dragonforce at the time too. Made the experience all the more authentic.

I think he was going to some kind of Conan convention.

Oh, and he had a big varicus vein going up the back of his thigh. Didnt have much balance mind, nearly fell over at every turn.

Anyway.

I have a class to go to.