Written by Skoob1999
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Sunday, 31 October 2010

image for Below Decks - "Hebrides And Haemorrhoids" - The Cook's Journey HMS Buggerall Revisited?

I don't really know what I'm doing right now.

Somebody just woke me up and asked me how I'm feeling.

Not great, to be totally honest. I mean, who would be, in my situation? I got meself roped into this pirate adventure, lured in there by the evil Captain Morse, and the notorious Pompey Lil.

It was tough.

We got sunk, I got fired out of the Nautilus by Captain Nemo and ended up with me head stuck through the hull of the Buggerall. They took me on as the ship's cook, and then when I turned out legs o' lamb with Leeds United tattoos on 'em, they all turned on me.

The bastards.

The Cap - I once lent him a fiver so he could liaise with Pompey Lil up the back alley. Never got a thank you for that.

They were all the bloody same.

The Pissgums - oh yeah, the conjoined twins insisted, we're mates for life. The lying conjoined bastards. Then there was the reverend, birbee - oh we're mates for life, the lying Yorkshire bastard told me. Next news the bugger's off buying blue shoes.

I mean - blue shoes?

WTF?

Monkey Woods running about causing mayhem with the McCarthy fella - you'll do for us, they told me. The lying pieces of shit.

Roy Turse - he was solid - even though there was two of him. He was the only one who looked genuinely angst ridden when they ditched me at sea.

J-Man, a splendid Spoofer, but he didn't take to my menu - not enough jalapenos apparently. And Madame Bitters - ah, the Belle De La Dance in Texas - she ditched me too.

They just ditched me.

Even 'Bollocks!' the parrot and Iain B. Cast aside like Belle Amie on the X-Factor.

Left me in the Hebrides running a kebab cum fish and chip van, while they all went on to the US Virgin Islands, living the life of Reilly.

I've got haemorrhoids now. They're all off ogling bikini clad babes and drinking Margueritas, and in the meantime my arse feels shredded in the mornings.

I blame the chilli sauce.

Bit personal that. Too much information.

So, here in the Hebrides - the wind howls, and I'm alone. The only comfort I get is when Big Brenda comes out to the van for a mega sized doner with all the trimmings, or when Jock comes for his mega cheese full English breakfast burger.

And I look out at the sea.

At those crashing waves, as the gulls mew, and the wind howls, as my ears fall numb in the wind.

And I think of the crew of the Buggerall - those bastards who abandoned me. Enjoying their perverted inclinations in the US Virgin Islands...

And as I look out across the mighty Atlantic...

(Probably lots of fish and sand and shit in there...)

I look at the waves crash against the rocks, throwing up plumes of foam...

And I think...

You bastards. This may not be over yet...

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

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