Dr.Manhattan, My Mother, and the Love of my Teenage Years
I grew up in a household with Dr. Manhattan. Only he was a pasty grey colour, overweight, would swear like the Queen Mum afer a bottle of Blue Nun whenever Jeremy Beadle appeared on TV, and spent hours upon hours scratching his hairy arse with the kitchen spatchelor because the terrible sweat rash on his buttocks just wouldn’t clear up – dispite the prescription strength cream and fungicidal powder he’d apply so liberally to his glistening mancrack that it would congeal into a fine white goo to give the impression that he’d just been gang raped by a marauding mob off gay kangaroos.

Dr. Manhattan was my dad. And he would walk round the house stark bollock naked, absently jiggling his plums and scaring any passerby who happened to catch a glimpse of him as he pertched himself in the large bay windows of our house while sunning his fat flabby man tits while spouting his usual mantra about how he’d like to strangle Margaret Thatcher with his bare hands if he was ever given the opportunity. Thinking back, I imagine there were many sightings of the shaved yeti of Coventry circa 1985 - my parents really should’ve forked out and purchased a nice set of net curtains. Must’ve resembled an Amsterdam prostitute booth reserved for hideous old transgender harpies.

So nakedness and bodily functions were never much of an issue with my parents. And anyway, they pretty much left me to my own devices – they didn’t bother with me much, I didn’t bother with them. I sat in my fortress of solitude and masturbated, my dad sunned himself naked in the livingroom, and my mum made dinner. It suited all parties fine. My childhood was not too far away from those kids who are reared by packs of wild dogs, only substitute the dogs for the local chavs – then you’ve got my formative years pretty much sorted out.

So the whole helicopter parents thing never happened to me - except for one breif period when I was fifteen - my teenage cancer
scare. As I’ve mentioned on here before I acquired an extra bollock, and became known at school for the remainder of the year as ‘that Russian footballer’, in homage to Whodyounickabollockov (old joke, but kids will be kids). If that wasn’t bad enough my mum suddenly started showering me with all her motherly goodness. Think of a fly, think of a lump of steamy dog turd. Well, I was that dog turd, fill in the gaps yourself. It was bloody annoying. Factor this in with the fact that she would talk openly about bodily functions and you’ve got a terrible carcrash waiting to happen. This came to ahead after I’d had my extra bollock removed and was seeing the surgeon fella for a six month follow-up. You have to remember I’d endured six months of my mum asking me how my bollocks were every fucking morning over breakfast by this time.

The doc was finishing up the appointment: “So everything’s fine, the cysts been removed and there’s no complications. Do you have any questions?”

I was sitting there steaming – this bloke had just had his hands on my plums. I felt violated and not really in the mood to talk. My mum was holding my hand, clenching it tight.

“MASTURBATION!!!” she declared. The doc and I wondered if she’d developed sudden-onset tourettes. But no. She continued. “Has masturbation had anything to do with this condition, doctor? Go on, Spanky – tell the doctor about masturbation.”

“It’s perfectly normal for a teenage boy to masturbate, Mrs Hanky,” said the doctor, feeling my sudden anquish. My mum was still holding my fucking hand, for fucks sake...

“But EIGHT, sometimes TEN times a DAY!!!” Thanks, mum – cheers. “Is that really NORMAL???”

I piped up: “I don’t do it ten times a day, mum,” I mumbled.

Her grip tightened: “Yes you do!!! Remember, Spanky,” and then she said something that made me shudder to my core. “I clean your room!!! That mountain of dried up tissues doesn’t just magic itself into the bin, you know!!!”

The doctor started shuffling papers. You could tell he was getting a bit tired of this mental woman and her poor unfortunate son with the dodgy knackers. “It’s perfectly normal, Mrs Hanky-“

“But the NOISES he makes when he’s doing it, doctor!!! The NOISES!!!”

That was it. That was fucking it. Six months of this bullshit. Six fucking months... I released my hand and shot back: “What about you and dad, ehh? What about YOUR FUCKING NOISES??? It’s like having a room next to two fighting cats when you get started!!! Christ, I thought YOU WERE HAVING A FUCKING HEART ATTACK last night!!! And why the FUCK does dad have to call you HIS SEXY LITTLE LOVEBITCH AND GET YOU TO CALL HIM DADDY??? That’s FUCKING FUCKED UP!!! And why the FUCK can’t dad put some FUCKING CLOTHS ON EVERY NOW AND AGAIN??? Would it FUCKING KILL HIM??? I really don’t want to see his FAT FUCKING COCK ANYMORE!!!”

The doctor just pointed at the door. He didn’t put his arm down until we were both, my mum and I, out the door. “Please close the door,” he said. And I did. And that was the last I saw of my consultant surgeon, my beloved dick-doctor.

Things settled down to normal after that with my parents. My mum gave up on the parenting and bought me an Amiga for my room instead. My dad continued to do the Dr. Manhattan thing round the house (except my dad probably thought PHYSICS was a small town in Southern Spain).

But it wasn't really a loss - I fucking loved that Amiga...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 11:43, 11 replies)

Epic
Will be having nightmares about your dad and gay kangaroos now. clicks!
(Pastabator earned his brown wings with your girlfriend on, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 11:51, closed)

Parents can be so embarrasing sometimes
or in your case all the time.
(Lizard King, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 11:54, closed)

It's one thing to empty your bin...
But did your mum have to count the tissues?
( snee held his breath since, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 12:24, closed)

hehehe
*click*
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 12:28, closed)

Bahahaha!
Ohhh my god! You get 10,000 clicks just for "It’s like having a room next to two fighting cats" .. Fantastic!
(MrNorm, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 12:44, closed)

^^THIS^^
hahahaha!
(Jelly God, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 13:01, closed)

Brilliant story :D
...and I got an Amiga 1200 last week as well. 13 years after last owning one. Got loads of games as well, on a massive retro trip :D
( Mike Fishcake teamfishcake.co.uk - better than your mum's face, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 16:43, closed)

Dear god
someone pass me the mind bleach please

or a bottle of rum ;)


PMSL
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Mon 14 Sep 2009, 1:18, closed)

Ahhh.....
this story explains so much.
(TheColonel, Mon 14 Sep 2009, 10:30, closed)

Thank you for sharing
I feel better about my own childhood now, bless you and your extra plum. Have clickie...
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Mon 14 Sep 2009, 21:05, closed)

Click for the imaginative
spelling of spatchelor
(lazyfatboy, Tue 15 Sep 2009, 15:23, closed)