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| The Grand Mothers Tale | |
| By kevinrobson73 | ||||
| 30 March 2005 | ||||
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WARNING ADULT SECTION
Reviews "I would expect to pay at least £8.00 for this book" Chris Tarrant - television presenter "AT 7.99 this book offers true value for money" Ebeneezer Scrooge - fictional Dickens character "If you're look for a book for say £8.01 then this one will do nicely-oh and you got 2p change" The Economist "Buy it - you fucker" Diana Brookstein, Superstar, Heroine and Role Model Watch the sparks fly and the blood flow.Never a dull moment when DB's in town
Rights reserved-Paramount Pictures-Nicole Kidman to star
The Grand Mothers Tale CHAPTER ONE "...........the reason I slept with my daughter's husband was love" Diana, aged 48 unrepentant "Cassie, don't put the phone down, I will have my say and you will hear me out ! I slept with your husband for you. Not for me. It was never for me. How could you say that? You were selfish as a child, now it's no surprise that you're selfish as a grown up. You look like an angel, but do you know what, I've raised a monster and what a monster you are. Nevertheless, what a gift for you I have nestled in my tummy; my son, or grandson if you will. Or even if you won't ha ha. His heartbeats so strong, definitely a boy and though my tummy's still flat - unlike some other much younger women I could name, no Cassie, I'm not talking about you - but if, as I think it was, Jerry Hall, once said "if the cap fit's -wear it ". Wear it Cassie -wear it. That's what she said. You think I should have worn a cap, oh- a Dutch Cap - a contraceptive device. How clever of you to pick up on that : I say cap - you say Dutch Cap. What a clever conception by you. Talking about conception -I've managed it. How were your efforts? Miserably poor, - piss poor might be a better way to express it. Yet another instance of me, your mother stepping in and doing what you were supposed to do, tidying up your shit. Like I've done all your life. Most mothers shit ends in nappies. You, you cow - you've shit on me all your life. Like what ? - Like what? Me sitting up all night doing your homework while you slept, me having to work out where Ethiopia was and what the fuck it had to do with famine. And we didn't have the sodding Internet to help us in those days !" Damn, she's put the phone down. I was just getting warmed up. Shit - I was really enjoying that. Just getting into my stride. Okay, I won't phone her straight back. She'll know it's me. She'll be wary and she won't take my call. Who was it? Shakespeare I think? "Revenge is a dish best served cold." The stage was set for this, Dear Reader, long ago. You have before you, Diana, 48 years old but I'm not looking a day over 30 and though it is often said outside of my earshot, I do know I have a "tush" to die for, whatever that means, hah ha. So all these young studs dying to get into my tush ! Is that my front fanny bottom or my rear entrance ? I've used them both, often and sometimes even at the same time, if you catch my drift. But I digress. I am a vision of loveliness, and Dear Gentle Reader, we both know that I could not be as lovely on the outside if I were not beautiful on the inside and I am. Beautiful, inside and out. Let's go pay a visit. You visit with me , Dear Gentle Reader. Stay out of sight and enjoy the fireworks. She'll not be expecting me to phone back. She knows me well enough to know that I'm not stupid enough to do that. She's stupid, not me. She'll expect a visit, a visit from me but she'll open the door if , .....if the caller is an attractive man. An attractive man in distress. An attractive man in distress with a foreign accent. Something Mediterranean, a breathy voice. What a stroke of luck, I know just the imbecile. Didn't I slap his unbidden searching hand away from my thigh only moments after he'd tried to force his attention on me in that infernal bar, the Ewer and Harpsichord. Check the time, Ewer and Harpsichord still open and makeable by closing time. Here's a fashion tip ladies, and I give you this for free. The Ewer and Harpsichord is the place to go to pick up idiot wankers with more money than sense. Add in to that the double bonus delight that they're free with their money and yet they do not expect anything in return. These guys prefer to be seen in this poser's bar with a beautiful woman on their arm. They prefer this scenario in front of an approving audience of their peers to scenario two. Scenario two, them all alone, their peers absent and that same beautiful woman is now laughing in their face at the smallness of their penis. One of my favourite putdowns is " that's like a willy- only smaller" . That really cracks me up. To work. OK, here we are in the Ewer and Harpsichord, Hammersmith, elbow my way through a sea of posers. "Gangway" - I shout. Beautiful woman coming through. Eyes turn in my direction.Their bodies stand away from me, giving me the desired room, their heads are still in the same place though, their necks somehow strangely elongated rather like giraffes necks, as they fix their eyes hungrily on what I can only describe modestly as my ample cleavage. Music's playing loud, conversations made even louder. Tune in with my good ear to pick out his latin drawl, it's the only way to find people in this dark, dank , noisy cavern if n you don't see them straight away. I'm listening for a nasal Mediterranean lazy drawl ( Sacha Distel from yesteryear comes to mind) as the call sign of the previously mentioned wanker. Wanker identified at 9 "o" clock high. Change direction, there he is , totally unaware. Good, good. And even though he seems to be getting on famously with that little bottle blonde on the next bar stool to him, I suddenly, and mysteriously lose my footing and end up sitting on his lap with him cradling my fall, and as I do so I accidentally on purpose quite inadvertently swat the bottle blonde on her ridiculous head with my sharpened elbow. A move that Martin Keown, the trained killer hatchet man who masquerades as a defender for my beloved Arsenal FC would be proud of. Us girls love football these days and there is much like this to learn from watching the Premiership players as they go about their art. The blonde is forgotten as I focus his attention on me. She meanwhile, scrambles around my feet nursing her soon to be corker of a black eye with one hand while she retrieves her scattered cosmetics and objets d' ordinaire back into her open handbag with her other hand. I feel compelled and can't resist the urge to mentally price the items as she gathers them up. Retail price, wholesale price, percentage mark up and desirability are all accounted for in my computer of a mind. Girls total worth - £34.95 HCV ( hand bag content value) and that's on a good night - believe me. Time to have a good look at Romeo. He's had a lot of alcohol by now but he'll suffice for what I've got in mind for him tonight. My all knowing perceptive pelvic floor tells me that he's gotten himself a small erection, whether that's the aftermath of his Blonde encounter or his delight at my prescence I know not and quite frankly I hardly care. It will be useful though to lead him out by from this hell hole. Let's get him to say his good nights. Here he goes firmly in my grip as we reverse our way out through the scrum, me leading him by his trouser front, him mouthing his goodbyes to all and sundry. All those like him. "Goodnight wanker, yes , I'm a wanker , you're a wanker, over there he's a wanker, goodnight wanker, night wanker, bye wanker. I'm a wanker too, goodnight all you wankers, goodnight , goodnight, goodnight. Oy wanker, goodnight. Then we're out like a silent dark birth, out on the cool street outside. "Taxi", I cry and flick up my commanding arm third reich style. To my command one of the specially upholstered carriages separates from the rank and spins to our roadside. I pour Romeo in, hardly noticing that he's going through his " your place or mine" litany. Surely his parents should have told him that that routine went out a long time ago - "get with the programme stupid" I'd say if I could be bothered, which I'm not. I have bigger fish to fry, I give the cabbie the address de jour and inspect the seat checking for a good place to sit. Come stains , no it does, and though these seats in the taxi are impregnated, last nights come is still there, and as it is unable to descend into the fabric it sits waiting for an absorbently clothed person to mop it up into. You can - not me. I prefer my come where I prefer my come inside and under my clothes and to know its mine , or his , or hers, or them both, or all our friends. You see, I have a great understanding of come. It's come, not love, that makes the world go round. If I only could write the music I'd be on Top of The Pops next week. Move over Alice Cooper-Diana's the new chick in town. IF YOU ENJOYED THIS THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS (TO DATE ) ARE IN THE EXTENDED WORKS SECTION ENTITLED "THE GRAND MOTHERS TALE"
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