Mark Manning - I Still Have An Imaginary Friend (COMING SOON)
"I Still Have An Imaginary Friend" is a collection of new fictional works from the pen of Mark Manning, aka Zodiac Mindwarp. Scheduled for publication in 2010, the collection will feature two novellas, "Get Your Knickers Off" (the sequel to the acclaimed "Get Your Cock Out") and "Zodiac Mindwarp and the Eight Ball Murders", as well as a handful of short stories, including the beautifully demented "Nutwood Is In Terrible Danger".
Chapter Seven
Johnny Comes Home
Johnny's mother, Grizelda Blue was painting the cat green, she thought it would match the wallpaper better.
Grizelda had been enjoying Alzheimer's disease for the past two years. She didn’t know what the fucking hell was going on, and that suited her just fine. Some dumb girl called Bluebell changed her pants when she shat herself, fed her, took her for little walks in the park. Life was grand. And little Tibbles looked great nailed above the fireplace.
What was that noise outside? It sounded like an aeroplane.
“Mam” said Johnny Blue.
“Twenty pound for hand relief, thirty for oral, you’ll have to go to Betty Flowers for the backdoor stuff, I don't do that kind of thing anymore, I’ve got a colostomy bag you know” said Johnnys confused Alzheimer's mother.
“Fucking hell” said Johnny “Mam, it’s me, Johnny”He added, a tear welling in his eye. It was true, his mum had gone bonkers. “I tried to tell you Johnny” said Bobby Sockett, staring at the floor. “She hardly knows what day it is. I told Bluebell to have her put in an ‘ome, but she weren’t having none of it, 'I’ll look after me mam meself' she said”.
“Mother, it’s me, John, your son” Said Johnny, holding the old woman by the shoulders. “Would you like baby oil or talculm powder” replied the mental old woman. “Where’s Bluebell?” Said Johnny, all serious. “She should be down at The Trumping Pig, she works there of a Saturday afternoon, I think old Sethelroids got a soft spot for her, he has” interrupted Bobby.
Johnny kick started his machine and headed into Buggersford. Sheet lightening flashed across a purple sky.
Johnny and Bobby purred into The Pig carpark. Johnny knew there was something wrong. Fresh donuts on the tarmac...... A donut, in biker terms, is when the motorcycle is gunned at full throttle with the front brake pulled down tight. The machine spins in circles, making a circular donut type pattern of burnt rubber upon the road surface. It is a highly dangerous and stupid stunt and is only usually ever performed by pissed up bikers who can afford new tyres.
Pissed up bikers, here, in Buggersford? Johnny's heart started beating fast, pissed up bikers meant only one thing....
“Johnny don't go in there” It was Bobby, he’d scoped the carnage first. Johnny sat on his bike smoking.
“I’ve got to see it Bobby, how bad is it?”
“Real bad Johnny, real bad”
Johnny Blue found some steel somewhere in his soul and walked into the bar. Sergeant Higginsbottom, the cop that refused to arrest him when he killed his father - multiple stab wounds, throwing knives by the looks of things, leaking blood all over the floor. Old Sethelroid, what was left of him, hanging by one hand from the wall. Johnny pulled out the silver blade, and placed it in his belt, vowing to himself that it would take part in his revenge. Three young girls, their clothes ripped from their innocent bodies, defiled, covered in shit and sperm. And his precious baby sister, little Bluebell, her head shot clean away. Johnny turned her body over, buggered, violently, blood and crap all down the back of her legs.
Somebody was going to pay.
Sheet lightening flashed across the purple sky and thunder rolled.
Somebody was going to pay.
His arse trembled, terrifyingly.
Grizelda had been enjoying Alzheimer's disease for the past two years. She didn’t know what the fucking hell was going on, and that suited her just fine. Some dumb girl called Bluebell changed her pants when she shat herself, fed her, took her for little walks in the park. Life was grand. And little Tibbles looked great nailed above the fireplace.
What was that noise outside? It sounded like an aeroplane.
“Mam” said Johnny Blue.
“Twenty pound for hand relief, thirty for oral, you’ll have to go to Betty Flowers for the backdoor stuff, I don't do that kind of thing anymore, I’ve got a colostomy bag you know” said Johnnys confused Alzheimer's mother.
“Fucking hell” said Johnny “Mam, it’s me, Johnny”He added, a tear welling in his eye. It was true, his mum had gone bonkers. “I tried to tell you Johnny” said Bobby Sockett, staring at the floor. “She hardly knows what day it is. I told Bluebell to have her put in an ‘ome, but she weren’t having none of it, 'I’ll look after me mam meself' she said”.
“Mother, it’s me, John, your son” Said Johnny, holding the old woman by the shoulders. “Would you like baby oil or talculm powder” replied the mental old woman. “Where’s Bluebell?” Said Johnny, all serious. “She should be down at The Trumping Pig, she works there of a Saturday afternoon, I think old Sethelroids got a soft spot for her, he has” interrupted Bobby.
Johnny kick started his machine and headed into Buggersford. Sheet lightening flashed across a purple sky.
Johnny and Bobby purred into The Pig carpark. Johnny knew there was something wrong. Fresh donuts on the tarmac...... A donut, in biker terms, is when the motorcycle is gunned at full throttle with the front brake pulled down tight. The machine spins in circles, making a circular donut type pattern of burnt rubber upon the road surface. It is a highly dangerous and stupid stunt and is only usually ever performed by pissed up bikers who can afford new tyres.
Pissed up bikers, here, in Buggersford? Johnny's heart started beating fast, pissed up bikers meant only one thing....
“Johnny don't go in there” It was Bobby, he’d scoped the carnage first. Johnny sat on his bike smoking.
“I’ve got to see it Bobby, how bad is it?”
“Real bad Johnny, real bad”
Johnny Blue found some steel somewhere in his soul and walked into the bar. Sergeant Higginsbottom, the cop that refused to arrest him when he killed his father - multiple stab wounds, throwing knives by the looks of things, leaking blood all over the floor. Old Sethelroid, what was left of him, hanging by one hand from the wall. Johnny pulled out the silver blade, and placed it in his belt, vowing to himself that it would take part in his revenge. Three young girls, their clothes ripped from their innocent bodies, defiled, covered in shit and sperm. And his precious baby sister, little Bluebell, her head shot clean away. Johnny turned her body over, buggered, violently, blood and crap all down the back of her legs.
Somebody was going to pay.
Sheet lightening flashed across the purple sky and thunder rolled.
Somebody was going to pay.
His arse trembled, terrifyingly.