Written by Skoob1999

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Friday, 6 August 2010

image for Isle Of Wight Stories - Orlando Puckerbum Sorry - Looks Like I've Been Pixellated.

Orlando Puckerbum is 46 years old. He lives in Ryde. This is his story - in his own words.

For me, one day is pretty much the same as the next.

I know exactly how most of it will develop, and it rarely changes. Nothing radical anyway. Just tiny differences. Subtle ones. Like what I have for breakfast. It's almost always Corn Flakes or Weetabix, but sometimes I change it, just to keep myself on my toes. Sometimes I'll have porridge - when I say porridge, what I really mean is Ready Brek; it's like porridge, but easier to make.

This isn't my proper breakfast, just something to tide me over until the main event. Later on, in town.

So I have my cereal, followed by a cup of instant coffee, and a cigarette. I usually cough my lungs up on that first cigarette, but that's just the price you have to pay in order to enjoy subsequent ones. Without the coughing.

Once that's done, I usually watch Jeremy Kyle and Trisha on the telly. They're TV shows about relationships. I find them interesting, because I was married once myself. It didn't work out. She left me after about a week, said I was too boring. So I watch these TV shows hoping to find out where I went wrong. I haven't worked it out yet, but I expect I'll see where I went wrong at some point. Hopefully before I die.

Can't really see it working out in the long run though. I mean, Trisha's married, and Jeremy Kyle's a bloke, so I can't see 'em being interested in me.

Anyway, after I've finished wanking over Trisha - did I say that? No. If I did, I certainly didn't mean to. I don't usually wazz over the telly when Trisha's on - you got that one wrong.

I'm usually busy getting ready to go down Big Jenny's cafe for me proper breakfast. There's a strict dress code at Big Jenny's of a morning - you need trousers that stop short of your ankles, white tennis socks, and a cummerbund. There's a few unsightly stains on the old cummerbund like, but Big Jenny tends to turn a blind eye to that.

Not that she's got much choice with the eye thing - she lost one when she got lamped with a bike chain by a Hell's Angel in a gang fight at Fleet services on the M3.

I just keep on her good side - if you get what I mean...

Anyway, after a quick wank and a jizz splurge on the telly - oh no...I said it again didn't I? I was just kidding. I said that to get you at it...

I did...didn't I...?

Well - once I've got kitted out, I sets off down to Big Jenny's, and assuming that I can keep on her blind side (because I do have a bit of a reputation in the Ryde area) I order the Full Irish Breakfast - that's chips, mash, roasties, a Donegal sausage and a Belfast dog's egg - the dog's egg tastes like some sort of shit somebody scraped up off the pavement down the Falls Road, but the rest of it's okay.

Then I usually scream at the sky for a minute or two - making sure I don't take it too far in case I get nicked by the old bill.

Then I go down The Crown Of Thorns pub down the Ryde Esplanade, and the fun really begins.

Part Two as we get it.

He wouldn't tell us the rest until we struck a deal.


The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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