The Wheelybin gesture
There is a woman down the street from me called Woolworths. She's massive and a bit 'building shaped' but I still love her. I love the way her enormous rectangular eyes, made from what can only be described as 'glass' sit either side of her door-like mouth.

I spend what seems like centuries in my loft masturbating over and over again about the way she manages to store countless cd's, dvd's and other electrical goods (along with a range of childrens wear confusingly) inside her huge square head. People wander about inside her but I know its me that she wants.

I stand outside watching from behind a lampost, always resisting the temptation from the local slags - 'JJB Sports' and 'Argos'.
I wander up to the door, my heart pounding and my lungs listening to their IPOD nano.
Cautiously I roll up the leg of my dungarees and remove my hard hat. For a second, I wonder to myself why I decided to dress like Bob the Builder today, but that thought soon drifts away. After all, I have recently been diagnosed with Schizophrenia! I can do anything I like! Beep beep.

Anyway, I point at my shin bone and scream into 'Woolworths' face "SHINNNNNNN". No response at all. Heartbroken at this, tears come rapidly from my eyes. And also from my cock. They call it 'piss' when it comes from there though. So there I am, Woolworths in front of me, completely indifferent to a crying and urinating man dressed as Bob the Builder with his shin on display. JJB and Argos behind me, sniggering and probably flicking themselves off. Whores.

What do I do? What I should have done a long time ago - I found a wheelybin and climbed inside. I pretend it's a spaceship sometimes.

Blast off!
(Andrew Avetoom, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 11:48, Reply)