Stephen Fahey: The King of the Weeks

So the women are away this week, leaving me and Dog to our own devises. Can you believe it? I can’t. What the hell were they thinking?! I’m not arguing with it though. I’ve saved up the requisite 15 garden gnomes and 32lbs of shrimp, so I’m all set for the obvious. I also made sure to gather a satchel of feral cats and four cups of rock salt. And with the 220 feet of rope still left over from last year, I’m almost ready to rock!

First thing’s first, there is an amount of Dutch courage needed before I can get the cats salted and strung in a line. I give you:

The Suicidal Dictator:

2 x shots of good quality vodka

2 x shots of cheap whiskey

3 x shots of hot sauce

1 x teaspoon of water

¼ cup of white wine

Down in one.

Right, so there’s been a drink. It was nice. And strong. And nice. I have the cats sedated, I used a phonebook. Almost all of them survived, and I’ll use the two that got mushed for filler later on so don’t worry. Nothing will waste to go. The rock salt wasn’t easy to use, but I have a hammer, or course, and when because if I don’t know where I’ll be when it’s over so I ground the salt up a little with the hammer but it went everywhere so I can’t now.

The gnomes are watching. Which is exciting. I know. You’re welcome. Because when all of them see yesterday I was not having problems typing here. The drink was nice. Such is life. I have to stuff the cats with the salt now, hang on.

Right, cats are stuffed. The gnomes are watching them, so they’ll not try and escape. Not that they can. Because dead. The cats. Not gnomes, that’d just be silly. Ha haa! I’m going now to make another cocktail. I give you:

Satan’s Promise:

4 x shots of good quality vodka

4 x shots of cheap whiskey

6 x shots of hot sauce

1 x teaspoon of water

½ cup of red wine

Down in one.

Fucking gnomes won’t fucking stop staring at me and the cats won’t the bastards are stupid sleeping but I don’t even need them, I’m happy with these slippers. Mammy’s Auntie’s sister gave me them when I was a little girl and Peter said they’re nice too and he wears nice pants so if Peter says they’re alright the cats aren’t going to dance after all. I have to tie them to the rope like decorations on a taxicab and it’ll be nice.

I just found the shrimp. It’s a lot. There’s like a half a tonne, at least. And maybe with the other. And I don’t know what they’re doing here. I didn’t invite any shrimp to this party. Maybe they were for the cats. Or for bribing the neighbours upstairs, they’re awful weirdos them lot. I hear them walking around up there. Like bleedin’ Royalty! Who do they think they are. Like I couldn’t walk about if I had feet. Because I do. I have feet. I can walk around, watch! See! Shower of bastards with their fancy socks thinking they’re being nice. They make me SICK!

I’d invite them down to play with my cats, but they’re not lookin’ good. I Have music on, don’t even begin that. But the cats aren’t moving. At all. I think I might have made a mistakes. Maybe it’s the salt that goes around the cats. Not them around the ah whatever I love pizza and there’s pizza in the freezer. YAAAAY, PIIIZZZZAAAA!! Ok, wait there I have a want to. It’s a lovely box of cheese and crackers. I’m going to bed, now — you stay there.

Stephen Fahey

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