Copyright © 2012 by AM Sardar
Cover Art by Ash Collin
"The Simpsons" is copyrighted by, and a Trade Mark of Twentieth Century Fox.
This work is not sponsored, endorsed by or affiliated with Twentieth Century Fox or any of its subsidiaries or affiliated companies and/or third-party licensors.
My thanks to Mark Crompton for his encouragement & enjoyment when this was originally created and also to Sue Brindley for her editing skills.
I hope you enjoy this in the spirit it was created in.
Dedicated to my wonderful family, Bano, Zen, Kinz and Mahi.
I had the dream again last night. Not that one, the one with Mary Jane and the web-bikini, but the other one, the one with the talking bird. As a precaution I have decided to keep a record, this blog.
My name is Colin Thorson, I am nearly 15 and I live in Stoke-on-Trent (England) with my mum and her boyfriend, Mr Morris Morris.
Mr Morris Morris was named Morris by his dad so that he would stand out from the crowd because, his dad said, no one has the same name twice. Mum just looks at the ceiling whenever Mr Morris Morris says this. I don't think she believes him.
Me mum works in the Advice Centre in Hanley and Mr Morris Morris is something in the park; he says Superintendent me mum says 'deadwood'.
I go to Trentham High School, year 10, and I have just started my GCSE's - and they're really bloody hard - I don't care what anyone else says. And, before you ask, yes, I am still a virgin. I am not ashamed of this nor am I am proud. It just is.
The TV's still going on about that dreadful tsunami. It was awful all last week, every-time you went to the news the number of dead had gone up. It was like a cricket match; trying to keep up with the latest score, but after a while, the numbers are all meaningless. The mind can't cope with such numbers. I mean, I can just about imagine 800 people, that's the whole of my school, but 140,000? No, you can't do it. And still they keep showing those horrible pictures.
Darren, my best mate, & I went for a kebab from the Silesian Food Emporium - mum calls it an "Empornium" coz the food's an obscenity! - and then Darren got into an argument with the girl serving him coz he said the chip's were re-heated and she insisted they were fresh. The girl was quite nice looking, she had rather large breasts but unfortunately no one noticed this coz she had a really hairy moustache.
I started thinking, what would it be like to kiss a girl with a moustache. Would it tickle my nose? Would she be sexually-aggressive or shy? And could you be shy when you had a bigger moustache than your boyfriend?
I tried to read her name badge but it was obviously written by a non-English speaker and someone had carelessly smudged it.
I wasn't paying attention but the argument had got worse and the manager, Dr Vicky V. Dome, a sly East European, came out. He started arguing with Darren, calling him a trouble-maker and then Darren called him a Nazi and a fraud for pretending to be a doctor. I was pulling on Darren's sleeve but he was really having a go at Dr Dome and I didn't like the look of him. I never trust anyone who wears a cravat, and he had a huge one with an emblem of some sort.
Anyway the short of it is that Darren got banned from the Food Emporium for arguing and I got banned for looking at the assistant's breasts. He called me a sexual predator, which was really quite exciting; but I tried explaining I was only reading her name badge but I could tell he didn't believe me.
The food ban is a real pisser coz it means we'll have to have crappy pies from the petrol station on Longton road - which is not only ages away but also bloody expensive.
Mr M Fysto was on the phone for ages with mum today. He's got a problem with his visa - he actually doesn't have one - and the immigration people are giving him a hard time. Poor Mr M Fysto - a dreadful coral-red skin condition and no place to live.
Ten-Oz came around today. Or should I say '10 Oz', cos that’s what he likes to be known as, which is really stupid coz it sounds exactly the same both ways. And its worse when he writes it down as 10 Oz, coz people read it as ’10 Ounce’.
It was teatime but Oz wouldn't come in for fish fingers and beans, just hung around the back door mumbling about finding the Magic Stones. He then drifted off when it started to get dark. I feel quite sorry for him, he doesn't have many friends - that's a polite way of saying he has no friends - so I let him hang around with me. I think if he washed more often, say like every Easter, didn't drool when he spoke or shout the odd random word very very loudly, he would have a lot more friends.
We make an odd pair, me a skinny school boy and he a 6’ 6” tall 350lb shaven-headed ex-wrestler. I don’t know why we started hanging out but he seems harmless and doesn’t mind me rabbitting on all the time. Besides – it keeps the local bully boys off me back.
Dr Dome has changed his Display Board from Areas of Local Interest - which used to have a picture of the Perseus statue in Trentham Gardens (the one with him holding Medusa's head with his willy hanging out) - to The Board of Infamy with pictures of me and Darren.
Darren has taken this badly and now goes around saying "Infamy, Infamy he's got it in for me!" This is a joke from an old Carry On film, but no-one seems to mind.
The Ex-Saddam Hussain Mosque in Shelton has agreed to provide asylum refuge for Mr M Fysto but the Imam says he must convert to Islam and pray 5 times a day. He is resisting this request. I don't hold out much hope that he will convert.
Oz has been banned from Tesco's in Trentvale again.
He was convinced that one of the Magic Stones was in a peach at the store, so he went around biting them in half looking for it. He managed to get through 2 pallets before he was subdued by security staff armed with shark repellent from the deep sea fishing aisle. A surprising and adventurous product choice considering Stoke is land-locked.
I was called down - Oz must’ve given them my name - to the Managers office, he was a sorry site sitting there, pathetic beyond belief, surrounded by the remains of half-eaten peaches & squashed peach skins.
And Oz wasn't much better.
The Manager wanted to fill in an incident report but got into an argument with Oz about his first name.
"Stop being stupid. No one has a number for a name."
"You're taking the piss, now!"
They kept this up for a long time until the manager was called away because the tills were playing up. Apparently they have a ghost (they say a workman fell off the roof when they were building it) in the store which/who/it (whatever!) goes around knocking things off shelves or opening tills. We didn't hang around and legged it out of there.
Mr Murcock - the School Psychologist - insists that I have invented a complex and intricate fantasy populated with powerful beings. I don't think he is blind. He says he is not blind and has never been blind and his first name isn't Matt or Mathew.
I promise not to tell anyone that I'd seen him - it would be our little secret.
I had the dream again - the one with the talking raven.
It knocked on my window and started talking, "BEHOLD I AM THE MESSENGER OF ODIN - THOU ART THE MOST NOBLE AND HONOURED SON OF THOR. PREPARE FOR THY GODHOOD!" I woke up with a bloody headache and was late for school. I wish the sodding raven would come on a non-school day!
I think I'm a paedophile.
I've been talking a lot to one of the year 9 girls – Kelly - but Darren said I was being stupid coz I was underage myself so I couldn't be one - paeds were old men who fancied young boys.
I feel a bit better and I think I might ask Kelly out.
We are no longer banned from "The Silesian Food Emporium" - mum had a quiet word with Dr Dome and he seems to have caved in remarkably quickly.
More news on Mr M Fysto; he's has been forced to leave the mosque following fights and arguments with other asylum refugees and is now hiding at the Chunkey Pandey Mandhir in Tunstall.
Mum is fighting with Mr Morris Morris again - I heard them arguing last night - something about Dr Dome - they tried to drown the noise by putting up the TV sound but I was then forced to listen to Jeremy Paxman on Newsnight having an intense discussion with an angry man from Holland about the European Union. I was therefore late getting up and late into school again - bloody detention. The plus side is that I have a profound understanding of the European Union constitution.
Mrs Brindley, the Headmistress, says this can not continue.
Trudy McGruder has asked me out on a dare and I couldn't find a way of saying no; so we are going to Trentham Gardens for tea.
I have a bad feeling about this.
The One-Stop shop on the corner has been robbed again.
The sad man from the 25-hour glazing company - an oxymoron which I helpfully pointed out - was outside again boarding it up.
Sue, the petite manager at the shop told me they'd lost over £2,000 worth of ciggies and an issue of Centaur monthly. She then showed me the strange marks on the floor - like animal hoofs - police think it's a goat that can walk on two legs! Sue pulled a face to show what she thought of that idea.
I asked Kelly out and she said yes.
Then I realised I also had a date with Trudy McGruder. I started thinking about finding a way of getting out of it. I told Darren but he said I'd better not coz Trudy was a right vicious cow and she could probably beat me up.
I was in Tesco’s when a man in a wheelchair barged ahead of me in the queue and then started to loose control of his wheelchair. He got it stuck in some trolleys and whilst reversing out failed to stop and hit the Lottery stand and knocked it over.
When someone offered to help he just said - "no no no I can manage" - when it was obvious to everyone he couldn't. I hate it when people like that won't accept help - they just want to be normal with their difficulties; sort of like handicap martyrs, making us all feel sorry for them.
I just shouted out 'get a move on' and everyone looked around and an old lady said 'well really, some people', and I was really embarrassed and ran into the toilets. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't make myself cry - cry for myself or that man outside, I wasn't sure - then I felt sick and started to dry retch so I stuck my head in the toilet bowl and I was confused because there was a used tampon in the toilet bowl and I couldn't understand why a man would use a tampon.
Then there was a shout from outside - "are you alright in there?" and it was a woman’s voice and I realised I was in the women's toilet - oh god what was I going to do?
So I pretended to be Pakistani and said 'no bole English' in an Asian accent. But the woman got more worried outside and said - 'I’ll get help!' Then the supervisor came and asked me if I was OK and I kept saying 'no bole English' so she got one of the assistants to stand on a chair and peek into the cubicle so I had to put my blazer over my head and started shouting "Haram Haram!!"
But things kept getting worse because the supervisor decided to open the cubicle with the master key and I was forced to run out with the blazer over my head but then I fell over that awful man in the wheelchair. There was an almighty row and the police was called but they couldn't decide what to charge me with.
However I have been put on the sex register.
I have since found out that the girl in the Silesian Food Emporium is called Natasha. She smiled at me when I went in for some chips this lunchtime. Darren had wandered away to the slot machines and she was being really nice piling on loads of chips on me pie. Then she asked me: "You go on date? Da?"
I thought she meant did I have a girlfriend and like a fool I said yes and then she smiled intently but it was hard to concentrate with her moustache - I think she's been oiling it! - and I realised she had asked me for a date and I had said yes!
I have 3 girlfriends now. She was speaking again but I hadn't been paying attention, I asked her to repeat it.
"We go out - see moving picture - da?"
"Uhm, ehhh, ok...but there's not much on."
"No matter we go!"
I walked out of he shop in a daze and Darren caught up with me - 'Get your chips?' he asked.
“Yeah - and another girlfriend!”
Like a tosser Darren started poking in my chips - "Where?"
The date on Sunday with Trudy McGruder went as expected - badly, very very badly.
I was late meeting her coz I overslept. And I overslept because of the sodding talking crow again!
Yes, he/she/it/whatever was back again, tapping on my window and making deep ominous sounds; "THOU ART THE ONLY AND TRUE BEGOTTEN SON OF THOR, ACKNOWLEDGE THY MOST ROYAL AND NOBLE BLOODLINE. DENY THY MOST VENOMIOUS SPITEFUL MOTHER. SHE SPEAKS LIES TO CLOUD AND CONFUSE YOU!!"
By the time I caught up with her outside Trentham Gardens her hair was blowing inside out & I couldn't tell which was the front of her head & which was the back.
"Where the bleeding hell have you been? You were supposed to be here at 12, it's sodding half one now!"
"Uhm, sorry, I...overslept."
She gave me a turd-on-a-stick look and started walking quickly towards the Garden Centre; I was half-running/skipping/hopping to keep up with her.
Apparently her plans for the day were all messed up. She had worked out an exact plan, kind of like they do in the army and we were now behind schedule. She wouldn't stop walking and she wouldn't stop talking.
"Come on, come on, keep up. We've supposed to've done the garden furniture by now and should be half way through the soft furnishings, oh shit, this is the long way round, we'll have to go back to the photo-prints to catch up with the photographer, where the sodding hell is he? Oh, no he's over by the giant toys, quick come on, before he moves on. Here! Here! Wait! Me! Yes, me I'm next, me me! Look here see, I have a photo-booking for 1, so if you don't mind, thank you, if you wouldn't mind taking that little brat off the giant toy zebra.."
And that's when the kid's father grabbed her arm, quite roughly I thought, and pulled her off the zebra. "It's my daughter's turn - thank you!" he said and Trudy froze and then sort of just slumped to the ground, in a kind of low moan and started making duck noises, not funny haha duck noises but creepy I-want-to-go-home kind of noises.
Everyone just stood around staring in a not too obvious British kind of way.
I thought I'd better do something, seeing as how I was her official boyfriend; "Trudy, you alright? You want something to eat?"
The low quacking stopped and she slowly looked up at me, all bloated cheeks & puffy eyes with exploded mascara. "YOU! YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR BLOODY FAULT!! AAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!" she shouted and lunged at my throat and we started rolling on the floor. I was trying to keep her finger-nails out of my eye and didn't notice her left-hand snake down and grab my balls in a death-pinch!
I screamed as she dug her fingernails in.
The Garden Centre security staff managed to subdue Trudy with an out-of-date insect spray; although she managed to head-butt one of the security ladies in the crotch. While they were trying to get her name & address I managed to slip away by pretending to be an innocent by-stander - "I think she's a looney – she should be locked up!"
Next day as I limped to school I told Darren what had happened, and he laughed so much some Coke went into his lungs and he started choking and went a funny blue colour until fizzy phlegm shot out of his nose.
Worse was waiting for me when I got to school. Trudy had got her revenge in first and had spread a vicious rumour that I was a poof.
Darren said we would have to counter this and he would come up with a strategy. Without telling me, he took things into his own hands and spread a counter rumour that, yes it was all true! And that I was secretly in love with Mr McGruder and planning to run away with him and Trudy's date was a desperate act by her to keep the family together.
This rumour has confused everyone and now some people think Trudy is my sister and that I am shagging Mrs McGruder. It's an utter abortion of a mess.
After lunchtime the pain in my crotch was absolutely murder and I had to go to the school nurse.
She insisted on having a look. "Are those fingernail marks?"
"Are you being abused?"
"How can you NOT know you're being abused??"
"You're not abusing yourself, are you?"
"Oh, bugger off then."