|
donk is a hell of a drug, i would wake up in the corner of a house party in manchester at 2pm the day after, when some cider damaged buffoons would be fucking about on a torrented version of fruity loops 7, bragging about how sick their beats were, when i would try to leave i would find that no matter were i would walk to i would end up outside the off license or at the front door of another house party, it seemed the donk was conspiring with the laws of physics to warp reality and halt any escape. soon, a small and half grown moustache spouted on my face and i found a newfound appreciation for the collected works of scooter and the jeremy kyle cannon. if i didnt get a decent donk every few hours i would suffer a nervous breakdown and end up lashing out violently at whoever was around me until i was physically stopped or tired myself out. my compatriots at this point were always the same generic scallies and so distinguishing between them was next to pointless. my language was increasingly descending into a gruntish gibberish, conveying only the most basest expressions, and my brow was furrowing. i would conspire with my mates to nick a corsa, knowing that if i didn't get some kind of donk out of it's digital bass enhanced speakers i would surely spend the weekend alternating between a catatonic stupor and bouts of aimless violence directed at whatever personage or furniture that was in my immeadiate vicinity. i spent years in this horrible reality, chasing the donk to end all donks, the final donk tht would never come, wearing my body and mind down to an ape like reflex machine.
at some point a female scally accosted me claiming that i had gotten her up the duff, after months of beating her in a fist based quest for truth and lottery tickets i realised that the fruit of my loins would soon hatch into this cruel world. in a rare moment of reflection i decided i did not want the sprog to come into existance with a donk addict for a father, and resolved to change my ways. but to get clean i knew i needed one last donk, one massive fucking donk that i could go out on, that would calibrate my nervous system back to some kind of release for a brief moment with which i could catapult myself head long into kicking the habit. i needed the momentum if i was ever to accomplish the task of sobriety. i spent the next day scowling the estates in my usual donk hunting mode, but this time i was working overtime on mental calculations on how i would pull of the donk to end all donks. it was tuesday, and such a donk could only be accomplished on a friday night, but what short notice! i estimated that at least 15, to 20 corsas would have to be stolen, and some sort of mass gathering would have to be hijacked...
and then, a moment of sheer inspiration came upon me as if god himself was pouring his personal stash of cider from the heavens, this sweet ambrosia transmitted through a raindrop and fine tuning the harmonic chords of my grey matter - i needed a poster for my event, and what better place to put it up than on the set for coronation street, so that it might appear in a backround shot! genius! in my haste i broke into a the house of a nearby graphic designer and stabbed a poster out of him. it was a fine piece of mancunian design, remineiscent of peter saville's flyers for factory. although on closer inspection there were a few grammatical errors, and so i had to stab him some more to procure a corrected master version. i spent the next day skulking around granada studios looking for a way to make my stealthy entrance, but there was heavy security...
tbc
|