There is a ghost that grips my balls. Whenever I perform, an etheric palm reaches between my legs, and locks my bollocks in a tight hold. I confess this only now as the visitations have ceased, and with their absence, so it seems, whatever charisma I may have had is also gone. How to seduce a spirit? With endless experiments in black chicanery. Teaching witless peasants how to spell using the ouja board. Nightly seances entertaining long-gone moguls and extinguished unheralded would-be stars. I massaged the grotty toes of Orson Welles just last week to no avail. Sent ghouls in search of a 20 stone Marlon Brando only to be greeted by an Apache squaw. But look, regardless of my success, or lack thereof, it is of the utmost importance that young pretenders become aware of the spiritual milkings that assist in squeezing out you finest produce. Get no grand ideas of your own inner power, acknowledge the groping ghouls, salute them as you see off the thousands of well-wishers that come to witness you purge. Holy Ghost.

—————————————————————————————————————-

– Filled ‘er up with glue.

– Is that right, aye? Saucy boy.

– Naw, he actually filled her. Filled her up, with PVA.

– Jesus Christ. Both holes?

– Polyfiller for the arse.

—————————————————————————————————–

– Out of touch? We’re talking about a man who though Youtube Shorts was a line of swimwear.

– Look, he’s the man of the moment. He…embodies the zeitgeist. There is something essential in his every utterance. As for his foibles? Why they simply fufill the caveat that every man most be fallible. If he were to be too perfect, it just wouldn’t work. Look sharp, here he comes…

– Fellas. We enjoying this heatwave? I near popped an umbrella this morning until I remembered we’re living in a country of closed-minded bastards. Huh?

– Excellent, sir. I’m sure nobody would have batted an eyelid.

– Murphy. Nice return on those last minute trades last week, tell your wife I said hello. McPartland. Shouldn’t you be at home today? I was hoping to avoid you.

– Very good, sir. Would you like to see today’s options?

– Hit me, Patrick. Help me pick a winner. Nice tie. Matching socks? Respect, P.

– *aside* Should we just have him murdered? I know a guy…

– *secretive return* No. Let’s ride this bastard all the way to the finals.

—————————————————————————————-

I drank a can
Of pish
In anticipation of
A wile mad rush

In spite of
Not having had
A solid shite
In weeks.

I used to
Like most men
Enjoy
A bitter lager

Nowadays
I prefer
Some fancy pish
Who’s chemical flavouring

Wins favour
With the traditional
Guttural distortions
That swerve

One from
The belief
That he
Is unaffected

This disease
In it’s various
Permutations
Nevertheless

Narrows you
Down as
Just one
More Anonymous

Victim.