Fraternal twin brothers from an exemplary family with a long history of silver spoons, silk stockings, white gloves, and blueblood.
Arthur, the elder by minutes, born to ponder, plan, plot and practice minor deceits for major gains and elaborate scams for minimal returns or momentous losses.
Theo of the laughing lips and smiling eyes, a charming and pliable character and a lubricous seducer of young girls and married women. The younger brother, a slippery wordsmith, giving every word a double or triple meaning. His promises are rarely broken because they are seldom understood.
“Here I am,” says his imperative argument in an undertone, “eighty-seven frigging years old, my knees gone to hell and back, my gut talking about all the beer I’ve sailed my life across, barrels of it talking to me all at once, and this little kid out in front of my house crying his head off. This little kid, this little shaver, one of the ones we did our thing for, our future.
Here we go again. Another seven days have gone as quick as Usain Bolt with a dodgy stomach! I think you can see where this post is going. I can’t ignore what is a world-wide event so I have been thinking on The Olympics this week. Due to me not wanting to upset many people I won’t comment on the big man overlooking but not helping the Nazareth team winning any medals. (Broken Down Angel anyone???)
“He’d been a philanderer for years.”
Those words spilling out slowly from my mother’s mouth, chin firm, lips straight, not a tear in her eye, about my father who had just died – came as a total surprise – especially when there was no chance to verify her accusation. He was gone, unable to defend himself. So as his son, I wasn’t sure to take the announcement as total truth or as someone’s bruised opinion?
I wish I could switch off and not think. But I have to. I have to admit what I am, well what We are and I need to do something about it. But what the fuck do I do? I know what family and friends think. Not so much about Jill, but me. They think, fuck it, they know that I have a problem. I am in denial. Jesus Fuck! I’m into the fucking terminology already! Continue reading
Dick and Jane and Bob and Sally lived in a pretty little town with grass and trees. One day Bob was gone, leaving his body behind. Dick said to Sally, “Where is Bob?” Sally said to Dick, “Bob is gone.” They looked at Bob’s body, poking it with a stick. It did not move. He was not there.
Prologue: A case of the heebie-jeebies.
In a determined effort to spread inefficiency and uselessness throughout all possible universes, the Amalgamated Union of Pennames and Imaginary Friends(of which I am a reluctant member) has expanded like a toxic spill, and now includes the clientele of the recently defunct Guild of Fictional Characters. The mess has been “rebranded” the UPIFFC.