Walter Wallace - Chapter 35 (The Real 35)

Lucy Blues was in her hospital bed watching the news for the first time in what felt like years. It had only been a month since her self-imposed exile but the freedom she felt was like a planet released from the gravitational orbit of its Sun. She no longer had to care about the woes of the world and troubles of others. If not for a careless glance at the local newspaper a week ago she would still be in her father’s cottage chopping firewood or knitting a blanket. Deep down she had to admit that perhaps that lifestyle couldn’t be sustained forever but she knew it was better than her old life and as the film crews passed by the little window of her hospital door, she felt that her cottage escape was just a dream set to fade into sweet reminiscence as her real life steam rolled on like the train that brought her into town that day.

She didn’t actually remember too much from the train. Her last memory was recognising the velocity increasing dangerously. Then she felt as though she were asleep in the cottage again with Walter Wallace’s face smiling down at her gently. It was surely a dream but as she willed herself to wake up his face only became clearer. It was charred and worn. He wasn’t smiling, instead wincing and his pained expression softened into acceptance as a wave of light and noise crashed over them. Reporters and news programs were snapping at them from every angle before the paramedic crew muscled them to reasonable distance.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 35

Whisky sat in the driver’s seat of the white van a short distance down the road from all the other vans that lined Station St outside of what was once Newport Haven Terminal. Chips was away from the van doing a recon on the crash zone for Boss. Not too far down the road Whisky could see Mark Tanenworth, who was initially supposed to be surveying the area. Boss, however, never trusted his brother and had decided to use Chips and Whisky – who were in the town keeping tabs on Walter Wallace – to investigate.

“What about the mark?” Whisky had asked Boss after receiving his instructions.

“I told you, Mark is useless- you mean Walter. Look, don’t call him the mark anymore. Just call him- OK. FUCK! Look, the trains are more important than Walter for this one moment. Sure good ole’ Walt is a goldmine but he isn’t bigger than CitaRail. Find out what’s happened because we are going to need a statement on this soon and I don’t have time for your FUCKING OPINION!”

Whisky had thought to disagree. Walter was bigger than the trains; possibly bigger than Citadel itself. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. It filled him with a great deal of confusion. Despite everything that he felt programmed to do - everything that Chips would do in a heartbeat and that he would have done in half a heartbeat only a few weeks ago - he resisted his duty. His growing ideals of insubordination should have been reported to Boss by now, he still felt a natural inclination to do so, but his resistance continued.

To Beard, or not to Beard

About 6 months ago I shaved my beard off. Once it began to grow back I committed myself to not shaving it again until I was married. That would mean I would go unshaven for nearly a year and a half. Well, now that I have 6 months growth I can say I'm getting a little tired of it.

Now consider the cons of a long beard. When you spill food, you sometimes dont notice, when I eat I wipe my face constantly because I cant tell whether something has attached itself to my beard. Wiping your face after every mouthful is fucking annoying. Which leads me to washing. Washing your beard like you do your hair is kinda cool, but its also kinda stupid. It's unfortunately necessary as it'll stink after a few days without a wash.

The pros? Looks pretty cool I guess. It certainly makes one look older.

All things considered, no beard - less cleaning.

I'm shaving it off.

Fuck you guys.

- Dogman

PS - To use "To ___, or not to ___" is almost a cliche nowadays. It was only a few years ago that I found out what 'to be or not to be' truly means. If memory serves me, its the opening of Hamlet's soliloquy where he contemplates whether or not he should take his own life... to be or not to be. I really should read Shakespeare one day.

Eden and the Shit Cat

Twas a summers night on the eve of October two
A little girl named Eden sat quietly on the loo
Then on the sill of the window just of her view
She heard a delightful sound of a pussy cats coo...

Swifly wiping her rear from front to back
(She avoids infection of her crack)
In order to glimpse this fine young cat
But just as Eden was about to flush
The cat jump in with the stinky mush

Cooing no more, the pussy cat screeched
Eden tried to save it, but it was out of reach
A sadness came over her as she realised her folly
She wonder if she'd ever be jolly...

As the sun rose brightly on October three
Eden staggered to the loo to take her morning pee
When out the window perched in a tree
She spyed the magic-cat... dripping with poo and wee

- Dogman

Relationship Troubles

Last night I was doing some amazing farts. Like, really good farts. They weren't bassey farts, but they were long, dry, sustained, high pressure farts. A very large amount of air pushing out of a tight puckered bung.

But something wasn't right... she wasn't laughing. Apparently I do so many she just can't laugh anymore. Well fuck that, I laugh at all her farts.

- Dogman