DELPHINE LECOMPTE

my full name's Delphine Lecompte (my father's french),i'm 23 years old,i was born in east london,i'm an expat now though (i moved to dreary belgium when i fell in love with a flemish singer/songwriter,of course we are no longer together),i stack milk bottles for a living.

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I SPILLED SPUNK ON KINKY JOCKEYS

i thought that people with a nice handwriting couldn't possibly be pervs,so i walked over to his table and i asked him if he would shag me,but could he also please borrow me a tenner,cos i'm kinda broke and i need booze and ink for the fountain pen wee andy gave me,not for my birthday or anything,just one of his sentimental fits i suppose,and are you a writer?i'm a writer as well,but don't let that put you off,cos i write really short twisted stories and they haven't even got a narrative,and basically they're pish,but i'm a really great cocksucker;he then drove me to his apartment,there were horses on his shirt,there were jockeys standing next to the horses,the jockeys were looking really smug and dodgy,we listened to the radio,he kept talking through the sad songs,i told him to shut the fuck up,he offered me a cigarette,i asked him what he did for a living and he said he had a really dull office job and maybe i could spice up his life,i hate it when people put that kind of pressure on me,i asked him: don't you want to know what i do for a living?he said: no,not really;but i told him anyway: i stack milk bottles for a living,i clock in at five to five am,i have to wear a baggy dark blue sweater and a smudged apron,it's smudged cos i spilled cranberry juice,tomato sauce,milk,honey,diet coke,low fat butter and curry ketchup on it,and i'm too scared to go to the launderette cos it's full of fat spiteful dykes and maudlin rapists and they want my knickers,my money,my youth and my shoulder to cry on,but i can't give them all those things,there'd be nothing left of me;my colleagues are chronically discontented and frustrated and they take it out on younger and lesser discontented people,when really they should take it out on them corporate pigs;they usually ignore me cos they think i'm odd and miserable,and i suppose i am;i used to hate the bloody supermarket,and then i went through a phase in which i thought it was so fucking romantic and i saw myself as a working class hero,now i know that i'm just a replaceable loser with a name tag,and i hate the bloody supermarket again,but there's this one colleague that i really love,he's german and dour,his name is rudiger,and i think my life would have been completely different if he had been my father,i probably wouldn't have offered you a blowjob for a measly tenner if rudiger had raised me;the geezer's apartment is on the third floor,i'm downing glasses of white wine and pacing his living room,he has lots of insipid yankee novels,i somehow find that reassuring,there's a picture of a young girl lying on his desk,she looks really tiny and sweet and beautiful,i bet she smells of vanilla and freshly mowed lawns,i ask the geezer who she is,none of my fucking business and could i please suck his cock as i promised and stop raving about smudged aprons,launderettes,big dead rosy-cheeked vanessa and wee fucking andy,cos he doesn't give a fuck,he just want a cum and no hassle,but i want to read his poems,and i want to know his name,cos i've got this new principle: i refuse to suck anonymous cock from now on,i don't wanna choke on anonymous spunk,but the geezer says that whores are in no position to make the rules,and he grabs both my ears and pushes my head into his crotch,his zipper is smothering me,i unzip his jeans with my teeth and he lets go of my head and gets undressed,he's stark naked now,i'm still wearing my jeans and jacket and even my red scarf although it's summer,but i'm really cold all the time cos i haven't eaten for a long time,and i haven't been hungry for a longer time;i close my eyes and suck his cock,there's a pube tickling my throat,he finally groans and cums,i spit out his spunk on the kinky jockeys that are gloating at me,he's really pissed off,but it's only spunk,the shirt isn't ruined or anything,he rips off my clothes and slams my head against his coffee table,there are hairpins and a tacky fluffy heart-shaped keyring lying under the table,the perv arsefucks me,when he's done with me,i get dressed and put the heart-shaped keyring in my pocket,christopher collects tacky keyrings,he thinks that if he collects enough keyrings then one day someone will reward him with a key,that's the sad rentboy logic behind his atrocious collection;the perv is reading me one of his poems but i'm not interested anymore,i slam the door behind me and decide never to trust geezers who wear dodgy jockey shirts again,not even if they join their letters and dot their i's.

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I'M PUTTING THE LID ON THE NIGHT

i wasn't coming,i was choking,i was chewing a smurf but i accidentally inhaled it,it was wee,it was the baby smurf,i had to sit up and puke it out,but he was holding me down whilst eating my cunt,his hands were pressing my arms against the wooden floor,when i breathed,i got no air,only this terrible pain in my chest,until i couldn't struggle any longer,and i saw myself lying there in the piss-soaked corridor, stark naked,blueish,i was wheezing,and then i passed out;the cunt who took my death throes for an orgasm was the spanish stud who lives downstairs with his fiery feral feline wife and very blond wee daughter;anyway i don't know who saved me,maybe i'm not saved at all,cos there's still a lump down my throat and every time i swallow i want to run away,but i can't run away from this,the wee smurf will always be stuck down my throat,or further down in my lungs,but at least i can breathe now;christopher is sleeping with his right hand cupped around his balls,his other hand is clinging to a stuffed seal's nylon whiskers;i call my sheffielder angel,but his answer to my distress,anxiety,PANIC is "take care of a wee animal,save the third world,write a beautiful story about meadows and sheep,go see a shrink,wank yourself to sleep",when really he should be saying: kill the cunt that spawned you,carve my name into your groin with a pair of scissors,come over to sheffield and stalk me,go back to the old hooking game,steal,hurt,maim,plagiarise,destroy,obliterate etc etc,so i slam down the phone and i sit on the window-sill and nothing's reassuring,lots of stars but no constellations,there's an rem song coming from the house right across ours,it's about andy kaufmann,i wanted to be andy kaufmann when i was a child,and after that i wanted to be michael stipe,cos i thought he was so very fucking sensual, but that only lasted a few months,and now i'm perfectly ok with being a minging orphan girl,and the fact that there's no respect nor success out there for sluts like us does make me angry at times,but there's not much that i can do about it,and at least i'm not illiterate and thick and fat like my sweet rentboy sidekick;there's a dog collar,cutlery and letters strewn across the pavement,the letters are addressed to me,not quite love letters,not quite death threats,blackmail i suppose you could call it,they're all from the retarded flemish cook,he expects a little tenderness in return for all that money and jewelry i didn't ask for,but squandered and pawned all the same,i can't give him tenderness cos i loathe him,i can give him my cunt and tits,and sometimes selling those in exchange for tacky tinsel brooches and a measly tenner doesn't seem like a fair bargain,and other times when i'm less gloomy it just seems too fucking easy to just lie there stark naked,wide open,cold,motionless and hostile,and to rip off all those wretched johns;i'm adding a few scars to my pale puny body,i'm using the lid of an asparagus jar,i bought an asparagus jar (well actually i shoplifted it) cos it reminded me of that ghastly flemish singer/songwriter i once fancied for a day,i'm sentimental like that,i'm carving his name into my arm,but i slip and his name's unreadable,which is just as well,cos it's an long ugly guttural name and i don't wanna be reminded of him every time i write,wank,fuck,fight or whatever;i'm losing much blood and it's dripping on the cripple love letters,this would all be very romantic if my wounds weren't self-inflicted and if the letters weren't coming from a retarded flemish cook who has no chin and lives with his mother;i can hear my dodgy neighbour's headless cuckoo clock when i press my ear against the wall,which i am doing now,it's three am,and the sleazy cunt is arsefucking someone who sounds underage,boyish and scared;i call up wee andy:"please hold the line.......hi,this is andrew,i'm afraid i'm not around but...", WHAT THE FUCK,how fucking rude,i bet he's sleeping,how dare he sleep whilst i'm bleeding on my window-sill?!!;i bandage my arms and get ready for work,christopher is holding a scruffy stuffed panda bear in his arms,it's scruffy cos it's been tied gagged raped beaten whipped slandered locked humiliated denied and what not for seventeen years,i don't know who gave it to me,i gave it to the rentboy but i didn't tell him where and with whom it had been and what they had done to it,i told him i won it at the fair.

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WHO'S GONNA TAKE CARE OF BRICK

there's a blond geezer sitting on a piss-soaked bench in the park,i don't know whether he's a perv or not,he's young enough not to be one,still better be careful,cos i'm still recovering from that brutal arsefucking session my dodgy neighbour just put me through,and if i get raped one more time this night i might just call in sick tomorrow,but i can't call in sick tomorrow,cos i've been calling in sick so many times,the corporate pigs will sack me if i call in sick one more time this decade,and i don't even wanna think about unemployment,all that cheap booze would surely drive me to insanity,i'd spend those too many hours writing spiteful letters to my sheffielder angel until i'd be too anxious to go out and buy new envelopes and stamps,i'd be anxious cos that's what cheap booze does to unemployed people,so calling in sick is not an option;the blond geezer ignores me when i introduce myself to him,there's a dog lying at his feet,it's an ugly lice-infested creature but at least it acknowledges my presence,it's licking my hand and i wish i could give it something to eat,it could easily take a bite out of my hand,but it doesn't,cos it's a dog and not a wolf,and it's been taught to wait for its meals rather than hunt for them,poor sad useless creature,but at least it's got someone who takes care of him,though i don't think he's doing a very good job but that's just me in one of my moralist moods,and i ask him can't he fucking properly feed his dog??,but he tells me that the dog's mine,people do this to me all the time: they reject their limping dogs,cancerous parrots,cripple babies,illiterate lovers etc and then claim they're mine,my responsibilty,nothing to do with them;i don't really mind cos they're usually limping dogs,cancerous parrots,cripple babies,illiterate lovers etc that are on the very verge of dying,and i'm merely soothing them while they're choking on their blood,and then it's all over for them,and sometimes they never had a name,and we never had a real connection;this dog seems pretty lively though,maybe if i give it a name,it won't die,quick think of a name,GIVE IT A BLEEDING NAME BEFORE IT DIES,i'll call it brick,because that's the first name i can think of,though it's not strictly a name;"come on brick,let's fetch you some food then";we roam the streets for a long long time,but there are no night shops in this dreary coastal town,so we go into a seedy pub and i buy brick some peanuts and two chocolate bars and he makes strange noises when he eats them like he's devouring an enemy or something,i'm quite happy eating nothing and drinking stella while this perv is chatting me up,the perv is very dangerous,i know this cos he just told me so,he's also telling me that he knows my boss and if i want he could put in a good word for me and i'd never have to stack milk bottles again,i could be staring at a computer screen all day comparing prices and profits,and i'd be wearing a dark blue skirt and a white blouse instead of that filthy apron,but that's hardly bliss,so no thank you,i'll stick to the milk bottles and my smudged apron,and i'll save my ambitions for when in my junkie-infested bedsit writing junkie-infested stories whilst christopher is scolding me cos i'm not giving him enough attention;the perv is full of ill advices: dress more femininely,get a new haircut,drown that scruffy dog,get rid of the illiterate rentboy,only drink this much when you're in my company etc etc;he wears a pacemaker,that's how he says it: "i'm wearing a pacemaker",as if i give a fuck about his artificial heart;he's stroking my back,actually he's running a finger up and down my spine,i can't deny that i'm tingling and throbbing,though he's fat and repulsive and hasn't even got a real heart i can't wait to fuck him;he's gonna buy me a red car,he thinks that all his imaginary dough turns me on,but it doesn't,his finger up and down my spine does,and the fact that he's wearing a pacemaker,it'll be like fucking a robot,maybe;the perv is called carl,that's more information then i asked for,but then he might be lying;we leave the pub to look for a ghastly place to shag,brick is lying dead on the warm wooden floor.

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THOM YORKE IS CLEANING THE BEDROOM WINDOWS

"good morning my sweet corporate bastard,you are looking grim today,you look like you've been up all night sitting by your mother's deathbed,mopping up her spittle,piss,mucus and what not;well if it wasn't that then you really have no excuse to walk around with a face like that,damnit,i've been sucking retarded flemish cock all night and you don't see me sulking,do you now?sulking is for miserable poofs and illiterate ex-rentboys,not for minging orphan slags,and definitely not for corporate cocks,so how about a smile on that ugly ruddy corporate face of yours?suit yourself,be a miserable poof then,be the laughing stock of the supermarket then,as if i give a fuck,i don't want to work for you anymore,i want to work for someone less corporate and more talkative,in an ideal world,i wouldn't be working for any middle class cunt at all of course,in an ideal world i would be working for performing seals,i would feed them fish and pat their smooth lovely heads if they did a really spectacular trick,like killing a dolphin whilst jumping through a hoop of fire or something;ok ok i'll work for you,but i'm not stacking any milk bottles today,only boring people stack milk bottles,i'm not cinderella for fuck's sake;i had sex last night,i wouldn't call it amazing,but i did come five times,so i'm not gonna complain,how about you?any sex at all?then why the long face?you had your hole,you should be whistling and making crap jokes;oh before i forget: rudiger called me last night,he misses the supermarket but he doesn't miss you cos he thinks you're a "rude insensitive racist cunt"-his words-and he hopes you fall of your ladder and break your neck,he's in berlin right the now,doing all sorts of tedious german stuff: burning books,beating up hippies and singing hymns,stuff like that,he also went to the zoo and stared down polar bears and crocodiles,of course he might have been lying,you know how germans are: they can't resist giving a twist to the truth;yesterday after work i bumped into the spiteful busker,you know him,don't you?he's the crazy wino who's always singing incest ballads in the car park,anyway,i bumped into him at the library,i was looking for novels about suicidal nocturnal rodents,and i said: 'daddy,what are you doing at the library,i thought you hated books??!!',and he said:'i'm looking for novels about suicidal nocturnal rodents'!!!!!!!!!,and still he insists on denying that he's my father,what a sad tosser,i think he's afraid that i'm gonna ask him for money or tenderness;but i'm not demanding like that,all i want is to go the pub with him and have a conversation about rodents,that's my dream,do you think it's very sentimental??well sod you,easy for you to be all cynical,you've got money,golden retrievers and non-sleazy relatives,i only have a non-sleazy goldfish and i think it's dead anyway;i want to slit my wrists now,i'm sad now,i want to go home now,i want to shag my dodgy neighbour under the headless cuckoo clock now,i want to write death threats to cocky yankee editors now,i want to swallow rusty nails now,i want to slash my cunt with my bicycle now,i'm sorry,that didn't make sense;let's be friends,let's go to manchester and stack milk bottles there,or better still,let's forget all about the milk bottles and shag each other's brains out,it doesn't have to be in manchester,it can be anywhere;i'm wearing no knickers today cos i've run out of knickers and i dread going to the launderette cos it's full of pervs and fat old ex-whores,and they hate me and want to shag me cos i'm young and arrogant,and being shagged by someone who hates you is worse than being snogged by a retarded flemish cook,i'll tell you that much;but you wouldn't know,would you?cos you have a washing machine and i bet you sit in front of it and watch it whirl and feel all smug and superior,and scoff at the minging orphan losers who are being harassed at launderettes,pffffff,one day i'll have my own washing machine,that's my dream,do you think it's very middle class??well sod you,easy for you to be all metaphysical,you've got talking household appliances;no i don't know what 'metaphysical' means exactly,i just wanted to be pedantic;all this talk about washing machines has made me really horny,i mean hungry,i'm really hungry now,so hungry that i feel like ripping open a box of washing powder and snorting it;do you have stuffed seabirds at home?do you talk to them when you get lonely?do you ever get lonely?do you ever get suicidal?have you ever broken someone's nose?have you ever grassed up a friend?of course you have,otherwise you wouldn't be this disgustingly loaded,do you play any instruments?how many times a day do you wank?do you wank at the supermarket?do you think about that nice blond lady who stacks candy bars when you wank at work?i know i do;can i go home now?can i sniff some glue in the bogs before i clock off?don't hate me,adopt me.see you tomorrow,corporate twat!"