Warning, OUTRAGEOUS is a series of filth, swearing, insanity and gross images. The easily offended (and not so easily) and anyone under about 35 should stop reading right now!
I was in the bedroom the other day looking for a clean pair of socks, when I started hearing this odd, fluttering-come-buzzing sound, a bit like when a fly or ladybird is trapped inside a paper lampshade. At first, I didn’t have a clue what could be causing it and spent ages searching the room, while also checking the bedside lamps weren’t shorting dangerously. Mystified, I eventually tracked the noise down to the old mortise lock on the bedroom door, which seemed a bit weird.
When I placed my eye curiously to the keyhole, though, I was amazed to spy this tiny moth flapping frantically around inside. It had a shining silver body and wings that were the most exquisite rainbow of pearlescent colours I have ever seen. I’d come across this type of moth before, but never from so close up and dazzled by it’s loveliness, I was determined to set it free. I was stumped for a solution, however, thinking that if I put the key in the lock, I would be more likely to accidentally squash the poor thing than help it escape.
Then my girlfriend, Amanda, had this thought. She suggested holding my lighter flame under the lock so that it would grow uncomfortably warm inside, forcing the terrified creature to fly out of its own accord. For want of a better plan, I decided to give her idea a bash and striking my trusty Zippo, I fanned the flame back and forth across the lock’s casing. I did this for a minute or two, but far from having the desired effect, all this accomplished was for the itty bitty, colourful moth, to strike the now searing metal and die in a charred wingless heap. So my girlfriend is a bit of cold-blooded murderer really.
Amanda hates me calling her that, particularly if we are in a crowded restaurant and I say it over and over again in a loud sing-song chant while jabbing my finger at her accusingly. And the cow keeps nagging me to repair the burnt door, which I have so far refused to do, seeing that it was her bloody stupid idea in the first place.
She has even resorted to blackmail, denying me sexual favours until after I’ve given the scorched paintwork a fresh lick of paint. I don’t give a toss, though, I’m quite happy knobbing her posh mate, Melanie, who takes it up the shitter without a squeak of protest – even if I’m rough with her and forget to bring the axle grease – and her teenage sister, Gabby, who also revels in a bit of no-holes-barred action.
Anyway, Amanda only has herself to blame, the heartless moth-killing bitch. Never did find those clean socks, either, and now the gaps between my toes are starting to look like I’ve been walking barefoot through a peat bog.
Now ask yourself this, would you want to be trapped inside my head with this kind of thing going on? Would you?
Didn’t think so, but you’re quite happy sitting there condemning me for it. Doesn’t say a lot for your much vaunted empathy, does it!
Who invited you anyway?
Go on, get out!