I came walking by slowly, pretending it was the snow that was faltering my step but really wanted to catch wind of what they were saying. Brian and The Garbo Tranny, huddled round a wretched winter tree looking at the photofit which Little Dick and his Goons had nailed up yesterday. I lowered my head and softened and slowed my pace some more. I felt invisible, but I don't think I was.

“Well, I wouldn't let him in the back door and up the stairs!” said the Garbo Tranny his eyes widening and sliding over to Brian. “Looks like one of those S&M freaks... the nose alone gives me the willies. Gawd, if they want a young man identified 'round here they'd be better served slapping up a picture of his... BUM!”
Brian didn't respond. He seemed more concentrated, like his brain was trying to work but the batteries were dead. I eyed him slying, praying his mind would fall back into its usual filth and he'd wander off hee heeing and shove a few letters in a few boxes. He didn't. He remained fixed on the poster, leaning in more with a shocked kind of look eating away on his face.

And then he done it. He held up both his hands, and forming circles with his thumbs and index fingers he moved forward and placed them over the eyes of the photofit. He looked at the Garbo Tranny, who curled his lips down and shook his head meaning 'what?' Brian adjusted his finger specs a little, flattened them out. “Well, wouldn't you say that if the photofit had been given a pair of glasses it would look remarkably like....” No, don't say it I prayed. Don't fucking say it. “... JOHN!” he blurted, turning to me. Me who had slowed my pace so much I had actually stopped.

In the face of Brians accusing glare I struggled to think of an answer. I toyed with the idea of agreeing, kinda colluding with the enemy and feigning shock and saying “We must tell the police!” but I couldn't. So I said: “You really are a mean, heartless little shit aren't you? Do you despise me so much that you want me believing the man I love is dead? Oh, that's just fucking wicked... even for you!”
Brian ignored my insults. “But it does look like JOHN!” he said, the Garbo Tranny now reevaluating the photofit and nodding in agreement.
“Look like John?!!” I screamed. “The fucking freak there! The nose is way too big, the ears too small, the lips too plump, the face too round. How the hell does it look like John?! It looks like a thousand people, but it does NOT look like John!”

The Garbo Tranny took up his playwrite pose and blowing a thin chort of smoke out the corner of his mouth he watched on excitedly as if Brian and I were acting out a script he had written. “Say it, but with more thump, Tristram!” I imagined him screeching “Just let yourself go!” And so I did.

I reached forward and in a rage I clawed the photofit of the tree, scrunched it up, wiped it all around my bottom then tossed it in the snow and jumped it into pieces. “Was that with enough THUMP!!!” I hurled right in the Garbo Tranny's face, blowing his head back with the force of my words. Barely had I caught the shocked, confused expression on his face than I was stamping off home, feeling hot and ready to blow and passing three more Murder Appeal posters on the way.


  1. And the lesson from all of this? DOUBLE!

    What do you want, you little f*ckers?

    more of these idi*ts






  2. Maybe we're just about to find out how stupid Brian really is.

    Can't abide idiots.

    Idiot Savants yes,

    but just plain stoopid?


    I know it's a terrible sin, but I've done so much good in the world it will all balance out in the end.

    Thats what George W told me anyway.

    And I have no reason to disbelieve him.

  3. Mrs Winthrope: If there's a single braincell in ANY character that has appeared in WFJ I'd be truly amazed. It really is your average British Street... though with much less homosexual activity.

    Bush or Wines told you that? You've befriended the two! X

  4. Doesn't everyone look like Elvis Costello in those glasses.. Even you Tristy if you died your hair .. similar bones etc etc ...
    Dont panic xx

  5. How can Brian be right and wrong at the same time? On the one hand, the deceased in question is John, but the picture most certainly is not. What a conundrum...

  6. It was lovely Mr.Bush of course (the stories I could tell about his mother - what is it about women called Barbara?)

    Never heard of Mr Wines. Sounds like a made up character...


Tristram's Birthday: Sunday 3rd October

Tristram's Birthday: Sunday 3rd October
Cheap jam sponge or something a little more exciting? How will Mr Spencer celebrate his 32nd year in hell?

Trolley Dash August 2010

Trolley Dash August 2010
Did Tristram accidently pick up a REAL bargain?

Brian the Postboy's gift to John: an ankle bracelet inscribed 'Super Dong'

Brian the Postboy's gift to John: an ankle bracelet inscribed 'Super Dong'
Scrap metal or has John been 'tagged'. Is Tristram Spencer really the only fated man in town?

The Dangerous Dandy by Barbara Cartland

The Dangerous Dandy by Barbara Cartland
Will Tristram finally be brought to account for his love of Babs? And: is 25 years hard labour enough?

An Influx of Pigeons

An Influx of Pigeons
Is there still some hope for the fated Mr Spencer?
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