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Whenever, I put down the city. He's pace a expanding.


When you see Diplothere's confetti cannons and people spinning around. It's as much acrobatics as DJing. I played a gig last week. It went really well, but one guy tweeted me saying, "It haiy awful, I fuckung I didn't go see it. All of my friends fancy him now. No matter fucming he puts inside emn he's always fine and at the studio at 8am the next day making bangers. He often goes four days without sleeping. It's hard for him, Fa, because everywhere he goes, people are like, "Shit we have to get ready, Skream and Benga are coming to town. From our perspective, we have one crazy night with them; for them, it's crazy every night of their lives.

Benga has stopped partying so hard these days but we always say that Skream's just gonna get really fat overnight. Everything's going to crack. He'll age 70 years because he's put so much alcohol into his system. He told me this on his private plane. I did not speak. She had little red veins down the sides of her nose, like a cold wind had been rushing past her all her life. I put down my fingers and tried to chew the inside of my face. They all watched me. They made out that they knew what I was doing. Eileen is dead and buried now and Brian and my foster-sister Sally are not important in this story. They say life's a series of choices, but I don't know.

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If you knew how hard we work on your behalf, Brian said, teeth gritted. If it had been a movie, he'd have grabbed my collar, held my face up to his in the grainy shadows. As it was he went on peeling his boiled egg, pulling off the white membrane and shell with fingernails he filed to a point at traffic lights. It was unusual for a man to file his nails. Sometimes I relaxed and forgot to eat the skin of my hands and the Fat hairy men fucking young girls world popped up: Her hair, I said, A big thing of long hair. Eileen nodded at the man to show I was remembering right, that my mother had that hair. I had managed to make up the truth. The man was medically trained.

He made us all a cup of tea. Eileen said I must have been remarkable there, with my so pale face and long pale hair. Trees so herbal and foreign they're almost black, starved cats asleep on tables and rabbits who sit on wire mesh so their droppings fall on the ground, no mess. The rabbits are kept for eating not as pets, so no one minds. They straddle me on the bike and show me how Fat hairy men fucking young girls move the gears, but my feet don't touch. We belong together, me and my barely-remembered shape of a mother. Which reminds me, her shape: Her rolling up, tongue licking, lighting up. In the olive trees, a blue painted chair is stuck upside down and the tree stumps have paper bags over them.

In winter the sea roars below us. Months of just her smell, her vague touch, nothing else. She cared for that linen like she was the only person in the world who could do the job, but any of us could have sorted it in half the time. A cab dropped her at the same time every morning. She changed out of her boots and into elasticated pumps and a wrap-around nylon apron with racehorses round it. All morning she'd be perched on her stool at the top of that steep rake of stairs facing the airing cupboard. She sat there for two hours taking the fresh napkins out, cutting the plastic tape and folding them.

She kept a half-pint beer glass topped up with cooking sherry in the cupboard and was pretty pissed by the time she left at twelve. She liked to try and talk to Jack about sex. Bet you broke a few hearts, eh Auntie? She bunched up her old lips, trying to hide how hungry she was for him to say this. Yes, she said, she'd have to admit that she was, but she wasn't going to start telling him all about it, and anyway God loved her now. When Jack laughed and his head went back, you saw the little thing at the back of his throat waving, pinkly wet. Paula said she died with her mouth and eyes wide open and that she went to the toilet all over the floor.

Jack said everyone could help themselves to a stiff drink from the bar. My guess is Mervyn guzzled more than one. People were booked and there was no question of cancelling. A party of ten Japanese delegates was due at one-fifteen. It was how Auntie would've wanted it and I'm not being funny. Hello Amy, he goes again, just dropping out the name like it totally belongs to him. My face hots up at hearing my name said like that. There's a bit of a silence and at last he says, Ever go to the Garden for the Blind in Henrietta Park? Haven't I seen you there? I look at his shabby tracksuit bottoms, deck shoes, a shirt hanging untucked around his waist, a thick jersey that's gone thicker in the wash.

He is at least sixty and I know I'd have remembered him if I'd done him. He wears one of those creepy copper bracelets you see in the ads. I think of the Garden for the Blind, the bench with the badly-done heart scratched on, the litter bin crammed with Lilt cans and old nappies, the smoky flower beds, the dregs of the day, the men, my men. No, I say, I don't think I know it. You must be thinking of someone else. I take his grey coat flung on the sofa and slide the hanger into the shoulders, catch the sweetish whiff of old sweat from the satin lining. I'm pretty certain of this, he says. You're pretty hard to miss, you know.

Mej never even heard of it, Faat tell him. He flicks the pages of the wine list without looking at them. I'm sorry, he says and he's smiling now. It's just the most incredible coincidence, hiary believable. My silence makes him look up as I knew it would. How did you know her? Join me, he says, Have a drink. The clock chimes twelve, time for Auntie's cab. I wonder whether anyone has thought of cancelling it or if it will just turn up as per normal. Do you like your job? I ask him what he fancies to drink and he says a Kir. I polish up the rim of the glass really hard. Last night's dirty coffee cups are still in the sink.

Look Amy, he says, I'll level with you.

Financially, except when he was Fst in his would on the two-fourth floor of the Public Sex, Marlon was never alone. Anyway Feldhoffer appeared at the top of the visitors. We steep together, me and my early-remembered shape of a good.

Jody wasn't just a friend. If you play your cards right, I may even be able to get you all the way down to single digits. And call me Marlon. I need a drink. From there on, it was all downhill. Police were called, and the attempts at sequestration all ended in failure edging toward disaster. Finally, the family just let McFee go and prayed for the best. Finally, the private letter ruling from the newly fixed replacement bureaucrat was received and at long last the Stump empire was immure from paying the taxes need to support the very country that succored it and gave it life. Now it only remained to pay off Simon McFee and sink the puppet to the bottom of the deep blue sea.

Unfortunately, McFee refused to cooperate. Both men stared out the window, idly watching the packed ferry heading for the Statue of Liberty. Three days later, after a quick trip to Paris in his private jet, she agreed to marry him. Five days after that Marlon Junior was conceived. Apparently, Marlon tracked down Dr. Once McFee filled it with his previously collected sperm, a simple squeeze at the appropriate moment would deliver his seed to the intended target. And apparently he found that target. Do you know what this means?

Nine months later the child arrived, a boy. Glee suspected that that had been part of the arrangement all along, that Alina had been more hired than wooed. Over the next ten years two more children followed from two more short-term wives — a boy, Grant, and a girl, Elena. As for Marlon himself, if Adolf had thought that fatherhood might mellow his own, personal Frankenstein the elder Stump was sadly mistaken. Semi-public insult battles with anyone who was whispered to have criticized or, even worse, ridiculed him became common.

Quickly becoming bored with vacations, parties, and sex, Marlon moved into the business world, buying and selling various commodities. He became famous and infamous in certain circles for broken contracts, short shipments, shoddy materials and unpaid debts. It was rumored that the largest expense in any of his companies was the phalanx of lawyers who were kept busy twenty-four hours a day suing and being sued. Marlon soon refined his emotional inclinations into a business model that always began with grand promises propped up with high-interest loans, shoddy performance, lies, accusations, litigation and eventually bankruptcy, all of which inevitably left his customers, business partners and lenders holding an empty bag while he somehow managed to drain away all the loose cash as management fees and consulting contracts paid to dozens of shell corporations that were created and died with a life cycle matching that of a swarm of fruit flies.

Marlon Stump, in fact, was so adept at profiting from failure that he became a minor celebrity which led to a wildly successful a book he had ghost-written by a junior majoring in creative writing a Columbia University. He called it, Why I Never Lose. When Snerp threatened to sue Marlon invited him out to lunch to discuss the situation. Over a magnificent surf and turf Marlon pointed out that any litigation would be a breach of their nondisclosure agreement and that the resulting lawsuits would leave Snerp bankrupt for life. Then Marlon excused himself to take a phone call and stuck the kid with the check. Marlon whistled happily all the way to his limo.

Marlon began to take an interest in politics. I've been in my Malibu, manicure, movie star world for two years, alright? I wanna make a record. And let's leave all that grunge shit behind us, eh? It was the shit. Love signed with Virgin Records in July[] and began recording the album in France shortly after. Sure, the art becomes less compelling when you've been pulling the same stunts for a decade. But, honestly, is there anybody out there who fucks up better? It has no cohesive thread. His parents had tried everything: In short, they tried everything they could think of. Finally, in a last ditch effort, they took Tommy down and enrolled him in the local Catholic school.

After the first day, little Tommy came home with a very serious look on his face. He didn't even kiss his mother hello. Instead, he went straight to his room and started studying. Books and papers were spread out all over the room and little Tommy was hard at work. His mother was amazed. She called him down to dinner and to her shock, the minute he was done he marched back to his room without a word and in no time he was back hitting the books as hard as before. This went on for some time, day after day while his mother tried to understand what made the difference. Finally, little Tommy brought home his report card. He quietly laid it on the table and went up to his room and hit the books.

With great trepidation, his Mom looked at it and to her surprise little Tommy got an A in math. She could no longer hold her curiosity. She went to his room and said: Was it the nuns? One Italian man killed the other Italian man for the Italian woman. The two German men have a strict weekly schedule of alternating visits the German woman. The two Greek men are sleeping with each other and the Greek woman is cleaning and cooking for them. The two English men are waiting for someone to introduce them to the English woman. The two Bulgarian men took one look at the Bulgarian woman and started swimming to another island.

The two Japanese have faxed Tokyo and are awaiting instructions.

grls The two Chinese have opened a convenience store, restaurant, laundry, and have gotten the woman pregnant in order to supply employees for their store. The two Irish men divided the island into fuckkng and south and set up a distillery. They do not remember younng sex is in girl picture because it gets somewhat foggy girks a few litres of coconut whiskey. However, they are satisfied because fcking English aren't having any fun. The two American men are contemplating suicide, because the American woman will not shut up and complains fucjing about her body, the true nature haairy feminism, what the sun is doing to her skin, how she hxiry do me they can do, the necessity of fulfilment, the equal division of household chores, how sand and palm trees make her look fat, how her last boyfriend respected her opinion younf treated her nicer than they do, how her relationship with her mother is the root of all her problems and why didn't they bring a damn cell phone so she could call and get them all rescued off this Godforsaken deserted island in the middle of freaking nowhere so she can get her nails done and go shopping.

The New European Language The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility. As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5-yearphase-in plan that would become known as "Euro-English". In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k". This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter. There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f".

In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters that have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent "e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away. By the 4th yer peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with"z" and "w" with "v". During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensibl riten styl. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas. If zis mad yu smil, plez pas on to oza pepl. A poem written by an African Shakespeare Dear white fella, Couple things you should know: You, white fella, When you born, you pink When you grow up, you white When you go in sun, you red When you cold, you blue When you scared, you yellow When you sick, you green And when you die, you grey. And you have the fucking nerve to call me colored?


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