Blocked

Blocked ©

By Michael Casey

Well its Mothers’ Day and I’m wondering what to say to you today, I’ve had a very painful night but the pain has faded now, if only I could sleep standing up then I might avoid all the pain. Which brings us to today and what shall I write, sorry talk about. As I look outside there is a total eclipse of the sun and has been for 4 days. Our neighbour has parked her truck outside our house, feminine hygiene as a means to block out the sun. Meanwhile she must be on holiday slapping on the Factor 40.

But at least it has given me an idea for a subject to talk about, so today I’ll be talking about being BLOCKED. There are many kinds of blocked so I’ll be talking about different levels of blockage. There is when you are blocked down there and no matter what you do you are still blocked. You try eating chocolate or running on the spot, or bending yourself in two as you sit on the throne, but all to no avail.

Your sister comes around with her bodybuilder boyfriend and he gives her a big hug and a squeeze in an attempt to squeeze the blockage away. Just like when you squeeze the last bit of the tooth paste out. Only the sister gets jealous of her boyfriend giving her little sister such intense squeezing, even if it is just to help her pooh.

Finally in the middle of the night while listening to a radio phone in programme on the subject of constipation the flood gates open, and you/she/us get to the bathroom in time, only to miss the throne and give your cleaning lady a run for her money in the morning.

I think I did mention that 40 years ago my mum, as it is mothers’ day so I’ll mention this, my mum ended up cleaning out a blockage in our shared sewers in our lodging house. She had her arm down the drain as far as her armpit. Only all these tiny little plastic bags appeared. She had no idea what they were, she was a mother of six after all. And yes I did manage to keep a straight face, though I did bite my lip to the bone so to speak. Afterwards she washed her arms in Jeyes Fluid in our kitchen sink. So that’s a 2^nd kind of blockage.

Emotional blockages are difficult too, they are the worse kind, I can never speak to him as he stopped speaking to me and it’s all his fault anyway. In the end you should either sneak up an slap his face, or sneak up and pull his pants down in the middle of Tescos, other shops are available. On the other hand you may just sneak up and snog him bigtime and really really squeeze his arse. This will either end the feud or be perfect revenge, depending on which one you do. 

But if he is gay and you kiss him in Tescos while you squeeze his arse, then as you are a woman or even if you are a daring man, this will really really screw up his relationship. Not unless he is bisexual, then you will never get revenge.

Writers are supposed to get writers block, and do you think I ever get it? After 1,034,000 words, but who is counting, I can reveal I never have such a problem. I just looked out the window and this is what you are getting today. Though if this truck keeps on blocking the view out the window I may have to sit somewhere else.

You can have a slow flow I suppose, like old men when they go to the bathroom, and I’m fast approaching that age, as for my flows they are not worth talking about. Though I will say for me writing is all about going with the flow, and letting it twist and turn and seeing how high your words can go. Rather like little boys peeing over the outside boys’ toilet walls, language is great just like that, but beware of splash back.

And finally blockages are bad things in whatever form, words, emotions and seasons all flow, and love grows where my Rosemary or Mandeep or Peter, Paul and Mary go. So just kiss and make up and make love even, this writer knows he is in extra time, and in extra time you change ends.