I was sitting at home fuckin’ shit up with Marvin the Marshmallow. We were throwing Bombay mix all over our faces. And we were dancing in our chairs to “What you got” by John Lennon; a Marvin the Marshmallow favourite. A phone call came in from Carryduff. It could only be one man. I hoped that it was the Director of the N.C.W.C. but it was the wee fella.
“Glasgow. I go Glasgow! Destroy lives! Superfun! Come Papa Come!”
I got up off the sofa and drew up my plans for the immediate assault on Scotland’s second greatest city after Dundee. It was all an eventuality and total pulverisation was imminent. I informed my fifth cousin removed ‘Freyjopolopolis’ that supermegafun was only a 220 mile drive away. To my surprise and delight, she was in.
I put on my silver fucksuit and put my foot to the floor. Freyjopolopois rode shotgun. I was Sal Paradise and she was Dean Moriarty without the drugs, dysentery and the homoerotic undertones. My expectations were none and the sky was sky blue. The sun set crimson, cloud formations transformed into farm animals. As we drove listening to the calming words of the mighty Raekwon I began to pine for a Service Station. We had travelled 100 miles and I salivated for greasy fix. My bowels said no but my heart said awk aye mothafucka. Kendal Service Station blew me kisses and there was no question that this would be the lucky diner for Frojo Corp. We clapped our hands as the young obese teen served us up our microwaved burger and popcorn chicken. It was a glorious meal in the Lake District. We felt like an advert for living. Wiping my fingers on the steering wheel I pulled out of Kendall and we were only 120 miles away from Party Central Scotland. It was GO-TIME.
And then it came; the long and winding road through the industrial south of Glasgow. We were lost but it was ok, all we needed to do was to follow the tall buildings. They were our lighthouse. I had never been to Glasgow before. I wanted to tickle it like a freaky squirrel. We crossed the Clyde. Glasgow felt like a combination of Dublin, Belfast, San Francisco and Tokyo. We were Glasgow. Glasgow was us. We started to tickle Glasgow like a freaky squirrel. It giggled on my shoulder.
The first person we met when we got there was Ted, Lenny Henry’s best friend. He showed us to our room in the Premier Inn and we tossed a coin over whose uncle he could be. I lost and he is now Freyjopjop’s favourite uncle. Secretly we both wanted to fook him but he’s way out of our league.
I hadn’t a fuck where we were and it took the call from the good shepherd Monsignor Fuckyears, Archbishop Dal Ard Mhacha to get us to Partyville. We flagged a taxi and we were there. Monsignor Fuckyears was there to greet us and it was lovely to see him and his smile again; the smile that could heal a million hearts. I could see the wee fella holding court in the living room, raised arm above head, smile with excited listeners. The lovely Germans were there, Herr Phantastisch und Madame Phantastisch, and everyone was very happy. Glaswegians are a great race. Ok, you have the occasional outburst of bigotry but all –in-all they’re a lovely wee bunch. I wanted to lick all of their faces but they’d probably kill me. 2 police officers even came and joined in on the party. They were wearing bright neon tops and I thought they were hardcore party animals. But they were minus-craic and they made us turn off the music and forced us all to go home. I didn’t mind though. I enjoyed a bit of order for a change and nothing but an angry female police woman with a stern Scottish accent could stop the wee fella. He was out of control but he was the out-of-control that we have all come to cherish. I secretly wanted to shag the female police officer.
“I want to cry myself to death,” were the last words I remember the wee fella saying. The wee fella was on fire yet I couldn’t wait to go back to my hotel to hang out with Ted. It was the first day in what would be the best weekend of fun Scotland has ever seen.
“Glasgow. I go Glasgow! Destroy lives! Superfun! Come Papa Come!”
I got up off the sofa and drew up my plans for the immediate assault on Scotland’s second greatest city after Dundee. It was all an eventuality and total pulverisation was imminent. I informed my fifth cousin removed ‘Freyjopolopolis’ that supermegafun was only a 220 mile drive away. To my surprise and delight, she was in.
I put on my silver fucksuit and put my foot to the floor. Freyjopolopois rode shotgun. I was Sal Paradise and she was Dean Moriarty without the drugs, dysentery and the homoerotic undertones. My expectations were none and the sky was sky blue. The sun set crimson, cloud formations transformed into farm animals. As we drove listening to the calming words of the mighty Raekwon I began to pine for a Service Station. We had travelled 100 miles and I salivated for greasy fix. My bowels said no but my heart said awk aye mothafucka. Kendal Service Station blew me kisses and there was no question that this would be the lucky diner for Frojo Corp. We clapped our hands as the young obese teen served us up our microwaved burger and popcorn chicken. It was a glorious meal in the Lake District. We felt like an advert for living. Wiping my fingers on the steering wheel I pulled out of Kendall and we were only 120 miles away from Party Central Scotland. It was GO-TIME.
And then it came; the long and winding road through the industrial south of Glasgow. We were lost but it was ok, all we needed to do was to follow the tall buildings. They were our lighthouse. I had never been to Glasgow before. I wanted to tickle it like a freaky squirrel. We crossed the Clyde. Glasgow felt like a combination of Dublin, Belfast, San Francisco and Tokyo. We were Glasgow. Glasgow was us. We started to tickle Glasgow like a freaky squirrel. It giggled on my shoulder.
The first person we met when we got there was Ted, Lenny Henry’s best friend. He showed us to our room in the Premier Inn and we tossed a coin over whose uncle he could be. I lost and he is now Freyjopjop’s favourite uncle. Secretly we both wanted to fook him but he’s way out of our league.
I hadn’t a fuck where we were and it took the call from the good shepherd Monsignor Fuckyears, Archbishop Dal Ard Mhacha to get us to Partyville. We flagged a taxi and we were there. Monsignor Fuckyears was there to greet us and it was lovely to see him and his smile again; the smile that could heal a million hearts. I could see the wee fella holding court in the living room, raised arm above head, smile with excited listeners. The lovely Germans were there, Herr Phantastisch und Madame Phantastisch, and everyone was very happy. Glaswegians are a great race. Ok, you have the occasional outburst of bigotry but all –in-all they’re a lovely wee bunch. I wanted to lick all of their faces but they’d probably kill me. 2 police officers even came and joined in on the party. They were wearing bright neon tops and I thought they were hardcore party animals. But they were minus-craic and they made us turn off the music and forced us all to go home. I didn’t mind though. I enjoyed a bit of order for a change and nothing but an angry female police woman with a stern Scottish accent could stop the wee fella. He was out of control but he was the out-of-control that we have all come to cherish. I secretly wanted to shag the female police officer.
“I want to cry myself to death,” were the last words I remember the wee fella saying. The wee fella was on fire yet I couldn’t wait to go back to my hotel to hang out with Ted. It was the first day in what would be the best weekend of fun Scotland has ever seen.
I would like to write more but I realise it may lead to a criminal conviction. Nobody was hurt but Glasgow was utterly destroyed by the Krojo-Frojo Funtime Alliance. The Kryst was yet again a superior human being. He operates on another level of fun to everyone else. He made us all smile and that's the greatest compliment I could give him.
A special thanks to Alec Baldwin for helping me believe in myself. And a bigger thanks to the Scottish girls who are the last great hopes for the advancement of Zoology.
Have a lovely week
MOJO
Glorious!!!
ReplyDeleteYou are the finest man alive.
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