Saturday, June 09, 2007


He knows he’s being a loser. But it’s like trying to control your bowels in the middle of a fulfilling dump.

Did he just say dump? Man, this is just so farkin’ Freudian. Annoying pissy bastard little Freudian phrase.

Just when he’s feeling deeply. Brownly. Lump like.

It’s a Saturday night. Last Saturday they were at Turquoise Cottage. Arguing. But they were together. Right now he’s not in TC. He’s not with her. He’s drunk, but not happily. And, he’s watching a cheesy soppy shitty daft wouldn’t-watch-it-even-if-the-last-action-hero-was-long-extinct, romantic film on HBO.

Jennifer Love Hewitt has just died on arse-whose-name-he-doesn’t-know. Arse-man was her husband and he was an A-class bastard to her when she was alive. Now arse-man is in regret mode. No. actually he’s feeling seriously screwed. He’s bargaining with angels to get her back so he can show her how much he truly deeply madly loved her. Loves her.

Hollywood. Ha.

If only.

But isn’t that precisely why rude-arrogant-presumptuous-hollywood-arse gets to haggle with angels while he sits here like a potato on a bloody couch feeling deeply for arse-man; sobbing, farting, drinking like a bastard and blowing kilos of snot into reams of toilet paper.

He’s just lost his girl too. Rephrase. She dumped him. Like trash. And there’re no angels fluttering conveniently around his snot-swollen head, feeling his pain.

But whaiiiii?

He loves her. He loves her very much. So so very very much. Just like A-class bastard here, who loves Jennifer Love Hewitt. His heart feels like it will burst. He’d die in a second right now if somehow it could prove to her how much he cares. If she’d just give it one more chance.

Why’d she do this to him?

Well ok, so they’d been fighting a lot. Okay so he agrees he hadn’t been paying much attention to her. Ok fine, yes yes, he accepts that he’d been obnoxious, a lot, lately. But, but he loves her, na? Doesn’t that count?

Nobody understands. Nobody.

Oddly enough this B-grade film seems to have been made with extraordinary sensitivity. And that song he heard on the radio while driving home. It just somehow spoke to him. Of him. His pain. Enrique Iglesias’ pain. ”D’you know what it feels like, loving someone…” In his head he repeats the chorus between sips of whiskey, nodding to the beat “D’you know, d’you know, d’you know…” He’s never going to deride Enrique ever again. At least not privately – in that inner sanctum where he really doesn’t think or believe half the things he claims to.

Like right now he doesn’t believe that miracles aren’t possible. Fervently, deeply, passionately, he doesn’t believe that it can’t be.

Minus minus = +. Plus. Positive.

Miracles. Are. Possible.

Man. This cheap ass whiskey is really going to cork up his bowels tomorrow.


houseband00 said...

See? Just proves the fact that Enrique Iglesias mixed with cheap whiskey is one helluva sick cocktail.

Though Jennifer Love Hewitt is a perky babe, eh? =)

n.g. said...





H said...

HB: Hahahahahahaha. You could be quite right about that. But. How would I know, eh?

NG: both spellings are valid, fascist. is pretty useful for this sort of thing. In fact I think without the E it's an american spelling. So no, you're not welcome for the spelling correction... you are however welcome to join us for some whiskEy-coffee cocktails, at Shout. :-))

B Ditty said...

woo can I join in on this whiskey/whisky/wisky coffee cocktail? wow wisky just sounds like I'm saying risky with a lisp.

H said...

Ben, aren't you a perfect cutie? :-) Yes yes yes of course, you're ALWAYS welcome at Shout. But I'm afraid in India we aren't allowed to serve alcohol to under-25s. I can get you a nice virgin mary mocktail though... hanh?

pRicky said...

and what about me??
Do i get a virgin mary or any other Virgin intoxications??
ME welcome?
ME listen to Enriques Hero but ME never understood why he would want to see some thing cry in another song...
YOu reckon he was affected by whisky/ whiskey? IF it was Scottish I suppose then he might have gotten whisky with JLH...
Cant say though...
I hope this guy has jamalgotta though!!!

Migs said...

I spilled my coffee reading the first line.

But then you turned romantic, dear. And you know what? Romantic isn't bad at all. If Only is the cheesiest film I've seen my whole life, but you just daid it: it was, surprisingly, made with extraordinary sensitivity. And that's not to mention Mr. Wilkinson is in it.

Aren't we always sorry for being capable of love? It's so...happy and fulfilling...and uh, disgusting too, in a way. Like taking a dump.

H said...

Pricky: of course you do. Waitaminute, you listen to Enrique? Willingly? Self-inflicted? Urrrrgggghhhh nooooooo.

Migs: Yep. I was hoping no one noticed… this romance thing. If Only. Yes. Yes, I remember, many many moons ago sitting in my mum’s easy chair, eating. Sobbing. Blowing kilos of snot into reams of toilet paper and wishing… sigh. Errr. Did I just give away something? Migs. You wily thing.

Lizza said...

I'm a sucker for anything romantic, which is usually cheesy. And for taking an uninterrupted dump, which is fulfilling.

I have got to watch this film.

H said...

oh well, I guess that's why we're soul sisters. sigh. ;-)