Love & Bottle

Pass the bottle old girl.
Mine, all mine.
Come on, give us a slug, woman, I’m spitting up fur balls.
I was here first.
Share and share alike, why don’t ya?
No, it’s all mine, loser.
Who’s you calling loser?
You, you fuck beard.
What if I say please?
You’d be a fucking loser who says please.
Give me the effing bottle or I’ll thrash you with me shoe!
That’s more like it.
Yea? Well give it here then.
You only needed to shout and threaten a little. Here you are.
I don’t like to, babe . . . oh God, it’s lovely. You have some too.
Don’t mind if I do.
Bloody lovely it is, girl.
You ain’t wrong, love, it’s so bloody lovely I could cry.
I’ve got a tear in my eye as it happens.
Sentimental old fart
Give us a kiss then.
All right but hold me too, lips not tits, and don’t scratch with your whiskers.
Like this?
Yea . . . oh yea, like this.

Fag-Ash-Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.
He’s lived a long old life, puff, puff, puff, stub out all the fags he’s smoked on top of each other and they’d build thirty charred eiffels, five twin towers and form a ladder up to the stars. But each one has been different, a moment of escape, a whiff of magic, a discreet drop of poison administered here and there.
She cups his lung and he squeezes out a breath, dragging, scraping, draining a way through and out. He coughs. Grey clouds. Yellow moon. Sulphur pools. The rooster carries his collarbone to hang in the sky. He inhales his last, bonfire, crackle and spit. An ashtray collects the ash. His smoke circles, his grey lips smile, and he’s ready to take his first step.

 

Drinkers (Overheard & Misheard)

 

 

 

 

The thing is I try and keep a mental count of how much I’m drinking.
And it’s only when you lose count that you get in trouble?
You know what I mean.
It’s just mathematics.
Trouble is I was never any good at maths.
        My name is Melissa. And I’m an alcoholic.
        I’ll drink to that.
A gorgeous blonde and she looked straight at me like she . . .
Wanted to be sick?
          And who might you be, little hiccup?
          Worm in a bottle.
          Mescal, is that you?
          Brother, I thought you’d never ask.
          I want you bad.
          Then, have me.
          Okay, but I should chew you first.
          And then down me quick!
Oh what a night I’m having.
Sounds like fun.
Fun is my middle name, Mister.
I love you already.
Want to share a taxi then?
            One more for the road before we all die?
My name is Melissa. And I’m an alcoholic.
Not now, lovely. No-one wants to hear that kind of self-indulgence round here.
              I can smell piss.
              It’s not what you think. A girl dropped wine in my zip.
              Here, share my drink and sit on the radiator, everything will be fine.
He was so lovely when we first met.
That sounds so bloody, bloody sad.
                I bite off your head first?
                And then drink fast; a little lime will hide the taste.
                Perhaps Melissa would like some?
My name is Melissa. And I’m an alcoholic.
Melissa, what a lovely name for a drink . . .

 

An Easter prayer

 

There, there
The fool that you are, Robert
Is that druff on your shoulder?
It is not, you fiend
Oh, Meg, tarry a while
I will not, I cannot
Please, I’ll make an honest woman of you
The cheek of it, you don’t have it in you
My kisses say I do
Get your lips off me, man
If you love God you’d want to taste a bit of heaven
That’s sacrilege and blasphemy
It is not, it’s as pure as snow to love a woman
You big bastard with your clever words
Come on then, undress a little and show me your thigh
Only the right one
And the space in between
Aw, Robert, you’ll ruin me
Meg, we’re all ruined in the eyes of God
Amen to that
Amen, Meg . . . amen.