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Of Zesty Fresh Opinion
- BY HEITHAM
BLACK
Heitham Black was born in London and has
the dubious distinction of being asked to
leave primary school, before fluking through
everything, avoiding jail and becoming a
teacher. If they only knew... Heitham plays
with the Poohounds, writes, and on occasion
teaches high schoolers bad English, innit.
Heitham now lives in Winnipeg with his
beautiful jazz singing muse. He is starting to
get published (at last) - so if you like his
writing, keep 'em open!
Contact: heitham.black@btinternet.com - you
might just get a free story or something.
consciousness stuff. It’s a bit 50’s now. And no-one’s that pure of soul. Tell your tale and make it mean something. I was so caught up in my world I almost forgot what I was doing then. Anyway. The explosion was so big that half of the east of england stopped. Not enough hyperbole! It was so big that all the slugs from here to Clermont-Ferrand stopped chomping and sang Beatles songs in unison for 4 minutes and 57 secondsGASPand then danced!!! (*) * the space between parentheses represents another stamped addressed envelope that is pinched by a penny-pinching, pinched face ed. not as jovial as they seem - more pinched. another 1 of at least 5 every week (probably more). Basically, it ripped the house to pieces but as luck would have it, it all came together again. It-it? It was an explosion. But maybe not that kind of explosion, or was it? Not a popular device with editors, but still remarkably popular with editor’s favourites! Hmm. Inexplicable, or is it? So - note that I’ve started each paragraph with a new letter! Except one! Answers, use the red button and choose out of only 2 options. USE OF THE RED BUTTON MAY COST UP TO 50p A MINUTE JUST FOR DIALLING. AND AT LEAST £5.50 per SECOND AFTER CONNECTION. MINIMUM PRESS AND OPINION WAFFLING TIME 1 HOUR. Unless you’re celebrity flavour of the month. Which this month, is vanilla. Mmm. Funnily enough vanilla was exactly what I tasted when I landed back in the exact same position that I was in before the amazing explosion. Wow. How about that? Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Nothing much happened after that. Until. A giant green vortex sucked all plants in. In! Only joking, it wasn’t quite so surreal. I kept being interrupted by my neighbours, interrupted surfing through the basketball match reports. Since my return from the USA to this destination. WHICH MUST REMAIN SECRET! (It’s near Scarborough.) Since my return to this destination I have been besieged by Harry Potty types who keenly try to advocate the use of magic. What nonsense! Do the people realise what’s happening around them? Only the other day (before the explosion) I found a policeman running frantically up the street with a broom between his legs! Trying to take off! He had a purple squiggle on his head which had been drawn in his wife’s lipstick! I was not very impressed by her choice of colours and wondered what she looked like. I remembered that all women are supposed to be the same now. Oh yes! The New Orleans Hornets had won; so much for the end of the franchise. But my neighbour Mrs. Special - Offer was mowing her lawn. Normally I try not to talk to Mrs. Special - Offer. She was tall, svelte ... NO! She was short, plump, and had a noticeably larger lower half. If you know what I mean? Eh? EH EH EH!!! I couldn’t help but notice that Mrs. Special - Offer was going to electrocute herself by cutting through the cable on her electric powered lawnmower. Did she have a circuit breaker. NO! She was surely going to be fryified < BOLD NEW WORD! I ripped off my t-shirt, pausing only to admire my tautly muscled body in the mirror; somehow I flew to her rescue. Well, the truth is that I just stared in some kind of macabre inertia. I had tried to cry a warning but the sounds seemed to evapourate into nothing. My body had frozen and was on the verge of cracking and bursting. It was not nice. < INNOVATIVE AND FRESH, LIKE, BIT. LIKE. I realised that she was probably dead, and rang 999 before running to disconnect the power. Well Mrs. Buy One Get Second Half Price and Mrs. Buy Two Get Third Free were walking their dogs across the verdant tropics. Otherwise known as the green. Descriptive Passage The 2 ladies were so named because there were 2 of them. Ambiguously, they were also known for their love of supermarket (+) bargains. (Which, if you think about it aren’t bargains because you don’t want to buy them unless they’re on offer. And you only buy them because of your impulsive attraction to the displays. Who knows? You may well become Mrs. You-Love Them-Ooh Delicious Aren’t They-2 4 1 At Blah Blah Blah’s!) They were both very fat if I’m to be frank - if they lost 10 stone they might be ok. Health wise. Although the ubiquitous “I’d shag ‘er (if she’d even just talk to me)” bloke down the pub might not agree. Well those fatties reckoned that I was a burglar who’d done Mrs. Special - Offer over!!! ‘Kin Hell! Then my brother turned up and assumed the same thing!!! You see the irony there! Ambivalent, ambiguous irony. Dog, tree, armchair@£$%^&*( boldnewexcitinguseoflanguagehere!!!!!<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< I wrote that it was a descriptive passage, and it wasn’t. Or was it? Was it double reverse triple 580? irony. I R O N> Y. Well obviously I got nicked and spent weeks on remand. UNTIL. Eventually the good old wheels of british justice turned and I was released - exactly 6 years to the day after I had done nothing wrong. There’s a message in all this. And I want you to close your eyes and think really hard about whether you get it. Don’t forget to feel comfortable. Maybe put your car keys and wallets on the table. Take this pill. It’s the only one you need. We know best after all. Perhaps in reality, homogeny represents the closest we facile ??? transient shadows can hope to understanding the idea of true community. See I was even inventive with that sentence too. I don’t know whether you noticed. A true original ... Diary 14th February 2000 Cigarettes: At least 60, including 6 ‘special’ ones Wine: 5 bottles of the cheapest seen Units in total: Don’t make me laugh! Sex: obviously, but a gentleperson never says who where or when. Inane rambling. No. It’s all just in a day’s work really. |