Bitching Obama and Me

Bitching Obama and Me

I don't know about you but I think Obama agrees with me

USA  has become a meaner spiteful place under Trump

Not to mention plain Corrupt

And Obama's lady was right, folks just did not bother to get off the couch

It was worse than a slap in the face

What everybody needs is a kick up the bottom

Get off the couch

Today 10th May 2020 , I can still see Trump winning

Because people just could not be bothered to fight for their rights

Biden should stand outside his house, and grab the headlines daily

Just as the Mooch said in an interview

Get out of your Bunker Joe

You are the Underdog so fight like one

Have a new speech every week

If SNL can do it, why cannot you

Over here in UK, too many cooks spoil the broth

People may need to work shifts for a time

Just to get the economy moving

I worked 24/7 when I was 20 and did 14 years worth

and the rest of the time I mainly did 12 to 8pm

So if needed people should be flexible for a period

I was all my working life, then I became an unpaid housewife

But I got to see my children grow up so I'm happy

Then I've had my Health abandon me

But at least while at home I can write more

So less Bitching and more doing

And less  Press filling pages with Statistical Gymnastics

People are dead and dying

Each nation faces challenges

BUT without world unity and total inoculation

This plague called Covid 19 will return

I watched Becoming and The Finest Hour tonight

I watched Becoming and The Finest Hour tonight

one was about Michelle Obama and the other Churchill

now we are all in Covid 19 times

as I heard Michelle I thought I was so lucky having my mother encourage all of us

and how terrible Racism and all isms are

while listening to the Churchill speak the NEVER NEVER NEVER surrender speech

I actually cried, this week it's 24 years since my mother died

But I never give up either

We all must carry on, always, and not just in Covid times

Inner Strength was poured into me

So I'm lucky to have it, especially in times of pain, and I have too many already

If Covid came along it would probably get me, so like a good citizen I stay in

And keep on writing and boring the world in equal measure

1,609,684 words or 8200 pages is the total today

I have Jews and Arabs both reading me today as well as Koreans

So I'm happy everybody everywhere seems to like my stuff

I'd cry even more if ever i actually made a cent from the writing

Read my plans in Typepad and hear my voice there too, 12 hours of me

I may elaborate on the power of oratory in the morning

The actual Oratory, Cardinal Newman's home church is just up the road

I used to walk past it at 1 or 2am after a Friday night at the Folk club years ago

New, Really New post 2800

New, Really New ©

By Michael Casey

In game shows you can Take the Money or Open the Box, Michael Miles and Monika Rose may spring to mind if you are even older than me. If you Google you’ll discover sad facts about them, so the memory I’ve had for over 50 years has a cloud over it now. But I won’t dwell on it, nobody should dwell on sad things, that’s why we all like New things.

In advertising New is the buzz word, and game shows and sagas were introduced to sell Soap, washing powders in USA. The Soaps sponsored shows. You can Google away with that for yourself. You may even have a degree in the subject, Marketing as it is called nowadays. If money is involved everybody wants the biggest share of the market after all. Which brings me to, New, what is New? Brand New, is better than just New, how about New and Improved, and with added Value for Money. Is it real, or just some idiot with a half a dictionary?

Marketing folks are trying to grab our attention, so words are showered on products, especially stuff you use in the shower. We all want to look nice and smell nice, well girls do anyway. Hence the shower of buzz words to promote use of products used in the bathroom. This will leave your hair soft and shiny and with added bounce. We all believe it and try the product, though personally I use carbolic soap on my head and lower down my body, and I still have great soft thick silvery hair. Don’t you hate me girls? It’s all in the carbolics after all, or genes if you did biology.

And on it goes in an effort to gain a bit more market share, it is a billion pound industry after all. That’s why I’m on posters everywhere, advertising my carbolics, or rather carbolic soaps. So, YOU too can have such really great hair. Advertising is a very deal, it used to be on hoardings, I once applied for a job to do with hoardings, checking that posters were up in the right place at the right time. Yes really. See what a many splendored life I’ve had, or nearly had, as I didn’t get that job. Nowadays there are niche adverts, as you wouldn’t sell ham to Muslims or Jews, so you target what a specific audience might want, so you decide who might want what you have to sell and spend your budget appropriately. The student market drinks more, has more sex and uses more technology, or so they think. So, adverts on posters near universities are for STD clinics and bars, and flash new phones. And if you weren’t using flash photography while drunk making that “advertising” video with your girlfriends then you wouldn’t need the STD clinic, but at least there is a map on the poster.

When you graduate, or rather when you discover just how much that piece of paper called a Degree cost you, then you may decide it was a waste of your time and money. Especially as everything was Online, and you could have stayed home with your nagging mom and dad, but cut your debt in half, for the same piece of paper. But you really wanted to live it up in squalid housing with dodgy people and their new diseases, at the other end of the country, just to prove how independent you really are. Besides you are a grown up now and can comb  your own hair, and wipe your own bottom, with cheap toilet paper that your finger always goes through.

Which means you need a new suit, so you flick through the mags in the barbers, as you need a new haircut for your first interview. The barber asks what kind of cut you want, you say you have an interview. So, he gives you a short back and sides, or the same haircut Michael Casey has been having for 50 years. You look at the barber with a mixture or hate, you’d punch him, but he’s even fatter than Michael Casey, so you smile a pained smile and say “thanks”. The barber looks at his palm, you didn’t tip him, though you did want to leave him at a tip, him and his clippers.

You have torn a page from his magazine, the picture of the suit that’ll be perfect for you is displayed, worn by a male model, with a decent haircut. Accidentally on purpose slamming the door, that’s taped as the glass in it is already cracked, you leave, with “mind the door” ringing in your ears. Up the road is Steers the old suit shop, only they don’t have the suit in the stolen picture from the barbers. Though the assistant does have the same haircut and he says “nice haircut” as you arrive. Time is short, it’s a Saturday afternoon and the interview is first thing on Monday, you are cornered, so you take whatever fits, or almost fits. But the price is right, so come on down. And the trousers do, as they are both too long and too big, but the assistant has a nice brand new fake leather belt. So you have to buy a belt, and reject the offer of braces as  you just detest braces.

So scalped, and wearing a clown’s trousers you arrive at the Estate Agents for your interview. At least your marketing degree will be useful there, and there is a ubiquitous large chested girl working on reception, she might get lucky, as you preen your scalped head. Only nothing is as it seems. You are invited into a small back office, a man in a track suit is there, with a fat girl also in a track suit besides him, and yes she is wearing braces, and any kind of haircut would be better than her hair is right now. A 2^nd man arrives, all suited and booted, he IS an estate agent, you look hopefully at him. It’s ok, Don and Debbie will be interviewing you, I’m just doing them a favour, the use of an office.  

Don owns 7 chip shops and 6 pizza parlours and 4 nail bars, nail bars were Debbie’s idea for diversification. Obviously with a growing property portfolio, NEW NEW Estate agents were happy to lend an office. So, the job is all about food and nails, never mix them together joked Debbie. You’ll get food for life from any eatery we own, and we are expanding all the time, and I’ll sort out all your beauty needs said Debbie looking with disgust at your bitten nails. Never bite your nails, it’s the very first thing people spot, when they shake hands. And there will be company transport provided too. The pay’s alright, but you do well and we all do well. And if you strike gold, you can marry Debbie, jokes Don. You almost faint, the room spins around, but you do notice Debbie’s eye’s look down for a second, there is sadness there.

You take the job and start the very next day, Debbie has tidied her hair and put red lipstick on, but she still is wearing a fat loose track suit, and the dreaded braces. Well you job is marketing and we’ll be working closely together, but first allow me. With that she grabs your hand and applies DO NOT BITE on all your fingers, it’s disgusting, you will never bite your nails ever again. Her grip is very strong, yet her hands are ever so soft. Then she grabs your other hand and does that one too. Now, that’s better, let’s find the company transport. It turns out to be a Tandem, a retired one from the Olympics, state of the art, they bought it on Ebay.

How do you think we deliver the leaflets? So you are to cycle behind a fat  creature and deliver leaflets. It’s better than jogging everywhere, but you have a degree in Marketing. You’ll be sat around her fat arse all day. You close your eyes, and she begins to strip off. She is wearing a fat suit under the track suit, it’s a NEW way of toning and losing weight, underneath she is a very pretty woman, beyond lust.  And she says her braces are coming off next week. So now you have to endure her sat on the front seat of a tandem, you cannot avert your eyes, just her wonder thighs and more. It’s a relief to jump off and sprint up and down streets delivering, buy one get one half price pizza, with a coupon for 10% off the nail bar for your own adorable fat, pizza fat girlfriends.

And that is how you met your future wife, Don wasn’t joking, he wanted her to be happy as his veins clogged from all the fast food. Debbie wasn’t stupid, and her own chest was even bigger than the girl from the estate agent’s, she was all curves, and she has not one but two degrees. She was tempted to do a Phd, then she’s be a Doctor of Chips Pizza and Nails. You found all this out as you cycled behind her, well watching her behind.

It wasn’t easy, she made you learn all about nails too, she even made you take a nail technicians course. Then you had to learn how to make fish and chips and pizza too. She was a very hard task master, you had to be as good as her dad , and as good as her too, and only then were you good enough. By which time  your leg muscles were rock solid from all the tandem riding.

Now what has this all got to do with new? Well nothing really, sometimes as good as new is good enough. Or with a new hair cut you are as good as new, even while wearing a clown suit. The thing that you need to improve the most is yourself, once you do that anything is possible. And Debbie insisted on the impossible, you had to have your nails done in every room of every shop of her dad’s empire in the space of one month. And by having your nails done, Debbie didn’t mean have your nails done, she meant have your nails done. Or perhaps you need 2 degrees and her newly won PhD, to explain it, as she paints your nails.

  

To the Very gates of Hell reminder of power of prayer in Covid 19 times

I’ve had this idea as part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher for a few years, it may not make it into the book if ever I get around to finishing it. A book is a year of your life. Whereas a story is an hour, a big difference. Now read on.

DECEMBER 11TH, 2014 13:02

To The Very Gates Of Hell ©

By Michael Casey

Mrs Murphy watched in horror, just yards in front of her Fr. Dan was going to be slain, the Colombians had him surrounded. Their guns were drawn and there was no Hope, he’d be as dead as a doornail in seconds. He was her favourite priest no he’d be gone to meet his maker. She could see his face, his eyes were fixed on hers, Pray for me he begged.

Fr. Dan  was not afraid of the Colombians, but he was afraid of his Final Judgement, he has killed two men in anger when he was younger. He had confessed this to Mrs Murphy when telling her that her soul was spotless as driven snow compared to his.

Some thugs had teased him and tortured him, trying to make him say bad things about Mary, the Virgin Mary. They had carved curses on his back with knives, but he would never say bad things about Mary. When his chance came he broke free and used all his Martial Arts skills to survive. Only he killed 2 of them and crippled 2 more with the other 2  running for their lives.

Jesuits know how to put the Fear of God into bad people, but   Fr. Dan feared God too, he had committed a mortal sin, thou shalt not kill, and he had killed twice. Now he was afraid, afraid for his soul, at this moment of his death he was afraid. His eyes were beseeching, Mrs Murphy would witness his death and his soul would burn in Hell’s fire for all eternity.

Mrs Murphy wanted to charge the Colombians down and run at them, but they had their guns ready, the situation was hopeless. Mrs Murphy did have Faith though, the Faith of a Child, as the bullets flew her heart broke, her womb exploded in love and fear, she lost her mind, but she kept her Faith.

I’ll go to the Gates of Hell and I’ll jump in the way, like jumping under a bus, I’ll catch Fr. Dan’s soul and stop it going into Hell. I’ll wrap my Rosary around the Gates of Hell, keeping them closed. God is good, God is good, it cannot be the end for Fr. Dan he’s such a lovely priest.

In Hell it was so dark and cold, the deepest of deep space, she couldn’t really see further than her hands holding her Rosary. If only she had her friends with her they would weld the gates of hell closed, nobody would burn in hell ever. She knew how to pray, she knew how to pray.

She felt heavy cold as ice breath on her neck, she could hear mocking laughter, but she could not see anybody. She tried to say her Rosary only her lips stuck together it was so cold, she tried to move her fingers though the beads, her mind was numb, it was like being turned into an ice cube. There is no love in hell, no love at all.

Mrs Murphy stumbled to her knees, the laughter, the icy laughter increased, the cold, the numbing cold went down her neck and to her very core. She had to force herself to remember why she was there. She was there to save a soul, she started with the Our Father. She continued with the 1st Hail Mary. Fr. Dan was a good priest, he had refused to say bad things about Mary, they had tortured him, they had tortured him.

Jesus, Jesus forgive him, Mrs Murphy wanted to scream but it was so cold, so very cold. If only she had somebody saying the Rosary with her. The Gates of Hell cannot withstand the Power of The Rosary, he mother and her grandmother had told her. Mrs Murphy was using her best beads, the  ones that had been repaired when she was praying for Big Sid when he was shot. But now she was praying for a soul, not just a life.

Mrs Murphy managed to move her lips, it was just so cold, so very cold in the dark space of hell. Hope sprung from her lips, Jesus, Mary and Joseph she managed to scream, a scream that would be lost in the dark cold depths of space that was Hell.

Mrs Murphy’s head was spinning, her womb had exploded, she had lost her mind, she was dizzy, she wanted to vomit. But she had to pray on, she reached the 2nd Hail Mary on her Rosary. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she could hear her grandmother praying, she could hear her old dear friend Mrs Casey praying, she could hear Mrs Noonan praying.

On she prayed, it was just so dark and cold in the deep space of Hell. But then in the very distance she saw a light, a tiny tiny flicker, like the lights in the window of houses in Cromane at Christmas, like the lights in Dingle over the bay. Help was on its way, help was on its way.

Warmth seeped into Mrs Murphy’s body, the Darkness flickered and with an explosion of Love the cold and dark of Hell disappeared. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and caught Mrs Murphy as she fainted. I thought it was all over she said, Michael laughed, it’s never over, it’s never over. Mary, Mum heard the Rosary so she sent me to investigate. Every Rosary everywhere is felt by her, by her womb. He hasn’t got a chance against the Rosary, never has, never will. And is he wants the argue he’ll have to talk to my sword said Michael as he brandished his sword.

But, Fr. Dan is dead and his soul must be heading to Hell, Mrs Murphy interrupted. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and cried at the same time. God is good, and as you know his mercy is infinite. Come now I have to put you back together. But Fr. Dan’s soul is in peril, he must be shot and dead in the gutter by now insisted Mrs Murphy not understanding.

Time is just a joke as far as God is concerned, explained Saint Michael as he gathered up Mrs Murphy. He had to get her back to Earth and save Fr. Dan’s life in moments. Brandishing his sword Saint Michael flew through deep space on his way to Birmingham.

The observatories noticed a bright light from the deepest deepest part of space, it was moving fast, too fast. Many times faster than the speed of life. It was heading for Earth, if it hit earth it would be the end, the end of Civilisation and everything. It was impossible, where had it come from?

Michael did an orbit of the moon and had a look at the space station, one lonely astronaut had lost his love of life, Michael could feel the lack of love. So Michael waved at the astronauts before heading for Birmingham. Birmingham the centre of the universe, well for this one night.

Saint Michael gently lay Mrs Murphy down, her body and soul and heart united again. Saint Michael strolled towards Fr. Dan the Colombians had pulled the triggers, the bullets were flying, the bullets were flying. Saint Michael winked at an unbelieving Fr. Dan, Michael wrapped Fr. Dan in his wings and started singing, Ave Ave Maria, it was all angels’ favourite song.

God is good Dan, said the Archangel, and Mary said she was so proud of you too, she’s never stopped praying for you. You have many decades of work to do, just don’t be too hard on yourself. And as for the Colombians, they have no idea what’s going to happen next.

 &&&&&&&&

 ok folks, this is part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher which I haven’t even finished writing. I may never get around to it either. This would be chapter 12

 I’ve written 1.5 chapters so far and have ideas for the book, really I want to dictate it, IF I had the software OR had access to a legal secretary who would be fast enough to type it for

*****this could have been the last thing I ever wrote, I know you wish it was. AS a couple of weeks after I wrote this I had my unplanned bypass, it was supposed to be a triple, but 6 months afterwards I was told I had 4 grafts, hence a QUADRUPLE HEART BYPASS. hence the confusion over triple or quadruple if you just dip into me.

thin me just after my op in Jan 2015

List of Books Written by Me

Posted bymichaelgcasey08/05/2020Posted inUncategorizedEditList of Books Written by Me

List of Books Written by Me ©

By Michael Casey

1.The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

2.Shoplife

3.Essays and Plays

4.Blogs 2011

5.300 and Not OUT

6.Shorts 2013

7.More Shorts 2014

8.Quick Stories

9.Still Alive 2015

10.Undiscovered Words 2016

11.Still Smiling 2017

12.Altogether Now

13.New Horizons

14.14 Up

15.15 Down

16.Sweet Sixteen

17. 17 Again

18. 18 New Views

19.The Final Cut of The 19th Hole

and I am now 130 pages into 2020 Words which will be book 20

27 is my target, then I can die happy.

Though I’d rather meet a Korean speed typist, dictate Tears for a Butcher,

and fall in love, as she types for me,

marry and have 4 kids and start a Kpop band, and live 40 more years,

but that sounds like Fiction

I’m having a lazy day today VE day 75,  my dad was 23 at the time,

the pubs did not close for 2 days and everybody was drunk,

that was my dad’s memory.

my own contribution to World Peace is Laughter,

that’s one reason for all the Translations

Arabic Altogether NowALL for KoreaKOREAN Quick StoriesWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015Wydanie polskie Still Alive 2015 – Copywin Wiersze dla wszystkichVietnamese Translation The Butcher The Baker and The UndertakerTURKISH tRANSLATION OF bbuThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationsspanish-bbuSpanish BBUportuguese-bbu2019abcportuguese-bbu2019abcportuguese-bbu2019PORTUGUESE BBU2019polish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translationschinese translation BBUchina-bbu-converted-1China BBU-convertedChina BBUbengali-translation-of-bbuBengali Translation of BBUbbu-russian-translation-microsoft-wordbbu-italian (2)bbu-in-arabicbbu-germanBBU UrduBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU ITALIANBBU IndonesianBBU in KOREANBBU in Indian HindiBBU in HebrewBBU in HebrewBBU in ArabicBBU in Indian HindipersianBBUPORTUGUESE BBU2019В поисках индийской принцессыWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015win Wiersze dla wszystkichThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationspolish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translations페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREAN아직도 살아있는 2015ページ1 Quick Stories in Japaneseインドのプリンセスを検索するにはインドのプリンセスを検索するには – CopyЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ ADСтраница 1shoplife spanishJapanese elevator AdvertBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish Examples50 Spanish Examplesbbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in HebrewBBU in Arabic300 وBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015

well how's everybody today?

well how's everybody today?

the second I wrote that I  had a thought for a piece for today

so I'll put it down on paper later

yes it's a spontaneous as that

a bit like opening a door and the story is inside

So am I an Alice in Wonderland

I do have better legs than ******

You can insert a name there, have it as a quiz

Today over in Yemen somebody has stumbled over me

as well as Singapore and UAE

not unless somebody is switching their IPs to confuse me

Here in Birmingham my IP has for weeks been saying some place else

I know things are rerouted etc

But in my imagination I've been piggybacked

by an unseen admirer who wants to shadow me

see with a little imagination you can go places

and the rest I'll leave to your imagination

I just hope it's a beautiful Korean girl who can speed type

and we meet and fall in love and have 4 children...

see if you have nothing at least in your imagination

you have everything.

Though it's probably a cross dressing rugby playing man

Or Eddie Izzard maybe

Or just a flicked switch that controls data flow

See so boring the reality v the imagination

Or it could just be Barron Trump in his room in the White House

he is supposed to be a computer wizz after all

remember you choose your friends, your family you are born with

I'll stop these random thoughts as Miley Cyrus sings behind me

How she ended up in our house I have no idea

but you can all write your own story about Lockdown Companions

At least you can click me off

Why has it gone blue screen, you lot are C R U E L

A Nudist's Guide to Walking

A Nudist’s Guide to Walking ©

By

Michael Casey

As everybody is talking about Covid 19, I don’t really need to say too much about it in my writing. And we’ll all be sick to the back teeth with Plays and Films all about it. Why? Because 7 billion, 7,000,000,000 of us have experienced it, so do we want to pay a dollar to see the film of it? No doubt howls or rage, but would you want Christmas 365 days a year? That’s taken the howls down by 6,000,000,000 at least. Now to amuse you all, while you spit at the screen, here’s an account of my Locked Up Life, what I am being a hypocrite, or just another government adviser. No, I don’t any have women sneaking into to my home to give me “personal care”, maybe I should put my address and phone number at the end of the post.

Now as you know I have to be careful having had a heart bypass, so I stay indoors and things are delivered, in a way not much different to my life prior to Covid 19, though as a government advisor, I do get recreational visits from women twice a week. That’s a joke should you be speed reading this. So, what do I do for exercise? Well going to the toilet 20 times a day is my exercise, as the toilet is far away from where I am sat most of the day in front of my PC, though I do use a 9 or 10 year old tv as a screen for comfort, and soft toilet paper too. 20 x 40= 800, so toilet time is 800 metres, because I walk or run there and back every time I have to go.  I did not realise it was that much, it explains why my belly has not got even fatter.

Obviously, I’ve been told to stay indoors, because I’m such an ugly ____, insert a word to describe me, you really are such cruel people. I  wouldn’t let you in twice a week, such horrid horrid words to talk about me. So I do need a bit of other exercise, up and down the stairs to use the bog is not enough, so what do I do? Well if you’ve read the title of today’s talk, I go walking in the nude. The weather has been so kind, so I take advantage of the weather.

At night when the coast is clear I disrobe, and sneak out the front door as naked as I was born. Letting the breeze blow the cobwebs away is always nice, better still if there are no cobwebs, and if there are then you have not been exercising enough, I won’t elaborate, let’s just say you’ll have nothing new delivered at Christmas. So gently and gingerly I skip down the garden path, winking at our garden gnomes, who hide their eyes behind their fingers. Have they never seen a manly man naked in a front garden before?

Then I look left and right and decide spontaneously  which direction to go, in the end there only is one direction, so humming Harry Style’s hits I prance off. As I go along the pavement I look all about me, the whole street has been abandoned these Covid 19 days, so I move into the centre of the actual road, and off the pavement. I can wiggle my way manfully, stopping occasionally to touch my toes. I am so fortunate I have such a firm pair of buns, a lifetime of standing and prancing around computer rooms and foyers and so forth has made me such a tight arse. If I really were a government adviser women would visit twice a week to interrogate me, just how did you get such a tight arse, would always be on their lips.

So, I nimbly walk about my area, up down and around and back again, a circuit in the twilight, my hairy mass and ever so gorgeous tight ass on display as I go about my way. Then tossing my head backwards I let my ever so gorgeously soft and silver hair wave in the twilight twinkle of the stars. Aliens from above would remark, why is that fat fool prancing around naked in the dark, I thought it was only us aliens who never wear clothes. Though he has such a tight fat arse, perhaps we should abduct him, and get him to breed with us aliens, then we aliens would have great arses like him. He can keep his silver hair, us aliens are all Gingers, it’s a know fact, aliens are Gingers.  

After 20 mins, I have had enough exercise and its is time to come home, nobody will recognise me in the dark, beside I have no clothes on, so how could they identify me. Well apart from the A3 size brown and hairy birthmark on my left shoulder, but nobody would ever see that in the dark. I get home and the garden gnomes avert their eyes again, though one local cat  runs away in fear, seeing me naked before them. A takeaway deliveryman spots me and pukes all over the pizza he is delivering, pepperoni of course.

I get back inside and get myself a Stella from the fridge, I deserve it. So on I go with my night-time nude exercise, nobody will ever be the wiser. Unfortunately there is an App, and everybody is using it, not the Covid 19 App, but WhatsApp, I have been filmed, and everybody but everybody in Old Forge and Singing Anvil has recorded and shared my dusk dancing and prancing in the dark. I have even been edited together to cover all my routes, a full HD video of dear naked me.

Then one night as I have my key in the lock, a voice behind me, it’s a policeman, he follows me inside my home. I’ve been spotted, it’s a fair cop. And indeed it was, for it was a fake moustache, the Policeman was really a women in disguise, she had come to take down my particulars. The rest you can make up for yourselves, as we practice with handcuffs…..