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@meg-doherty
"Do you think this looks alright?"
If by alright, you mean-- ultimate wanky shit stain, so vile that it could put the death in hydrogen-fucking-peroxide, then yeah. Definitely alright, drowning in alright, that piece of piss is wiping it's fuckin' ass with alright.
Leonardo Da Vinci is cradling his mouldy balls in the depths of his grave, I can assure ya that much.
"I’m only drinking until I start hallucinating Steve Buscemi riding a horse. It’s a fun game." He spoke after downing the glass of whiskey in front of him.
"I'm actually wearin' this whacked up pair of Steve Buscemi underwear--" Meg started, approaching the bar to collect a glass of scotch, and throwing it down her throat before continuing. "Bought them as a gag, obviously-- and what a fine motherfucking gag it was, but-- I've found that the alien king himself's eternal presence at the golden glory gates of my snatch brings me a great deal of fucking solstice."
Smashing Pumpkins - Bullet With Butterfly Wings
"Am I what?"
James grinned at the girl, “The Mother Theresa’s can be corrupted so very easily, it’s all part of the fun.” He pointed at her for a moment, “Mind telling me where you think you fall on the spectrum or should I make my own assumptions? I mean you’re not an MT but you’re not adverse to beating up bitches for your fix.”
"I don’t know what double fucking life you lead, my fellow blondie." he quite liked the idea of her being the brawn, though she was quite obviously the brains too, "I’m mouthy, maybe someone’s singled me out to you." He gestured over his shoulder, "You working with flimsy? Are you going to jump me?" he waggled his eyebrows playfully, "Go right ahead and jump me.” He looked ahead again and hopped over the low fence that made a barrier to a park, he’d detour certain ways to throw people off his scent. “I do as a matter of fact.” he told her with a bright smile. He worked hard with his dad and it paid off and then there was his personal trainer job, he was pretty confident in his boxing ability too. “Some like it hot…” he murmured. He was one of those people, his need for excitement and attention assured that. “James is asking,” he extended a hand, “Meg.”
Meg had been unpleasantly unsurprised by most of the people she'd met during her time in Bristol. They were all either falsified in the punk notions they copied word for word out of Teen Vogue-- or pretending to be something other than small town trash. No originality. It was sickening. He was a refreshing, yet still impressive, change to that ordeal. "Corruption is the most beautiful form of creation." The smile on her face was one of agreement. She gave a small shrug. "I'm about as bad as the bad girls get, or so the big man in the fucking sky told me. But, feel free to make as many assumptions as you want, and I'll try not to disappoint."
She raised an eyebrow, a brief chuckle leaving her lips. "How'd you tell? Can you see my 'hitwoman' tattoo? In exchange for my fists, he'll use his. It's a win-win situation." Meg followed him over the pitiful excuse for a fence, kicking a stray branch out of her way as she did so. "You don't really want that, though. If I jump ya-- well, it'll all be over for you. One way or another. You'll either be another bloody pulp on the sidewalk, for the posh cunts to wipe their feet on, or you'll fall for me, all that Juliet is the sun B.S, not sure which is worse." In her younger years, she'd been well versed in the art of handshakes and all that shit. But, over the last few months, her chosen company had been extremely informal, to say the least. Even so, she reached out and took his hand, giving it a slow shake. "Well...-- James, do you like it hot?" When it came down to it, Meg's entire being was a series of flammable dynamites, the heat was how she thrived.
"Am I what?"
Suddenly, a petite, blonde ninja arrived. “This is new.” James commented as she fell into step beside him. James was quick to contend what she said, “Oh no no no, I’m not invincible to anything. I’m delightfully fucking human, I am, with all the faults that come with that.” James had always loved the concept of humanity, being fucked up, being society’s darling, he’d go through the whole spectrum in a day just to see what it would do to people.
James didn’t look back at the drug dealer, rolling his eyes, “Come on, love, where’s your business acumen? I’m an entrepreneur obviously. I treat my business associates well and they afford me the same favour.” He barked a laugh though, “Of course he would have gone down easy, he’s fucking frail as wank. If I’m going to fuck anyone up it’ll be someone with a little more meat on ‘em. No one takes notice if you beat up the smallest kid on the playground…but if you challenge the biggest…” James mused with a light smirk before he set his eyes on the girl again, “And who the fuck are you? The Drug Fairy?”
Meg raised an eyebrow, listening to his ideas on the concept. "No? There's a pretty big fucking necessity of evil in humanity, though-- so I understand why you're so smitten with the idea. The Mother Theresas of the world? They're not truly human. Sure, they look human, and they smell human-- but they're insanely boring, none of them ever really know what it's like to be alive. Like-- they're the good people, filled from the crown to the toe top full of kindness, selflessness and all that shit. But I'd rather shoot my brains across several walls than live that kind of life." The blonde was nothing if not graphic in her philosophy.
"Do I look like the type to rock a briefcase, a pant suit and a fuckin' PA? In the business world, I'm the brawn that the bitches pay to take care of the mouthy ones. Entrepreneurial fuckery goes in one ear and out the other, for me." Meg had to admit, the dude had a valid point. The corner of her lips turned upwards slightly as she dropped the burnt out blunt to the concrete. "Got a fair bit of confidence in your right hook, hm? But yeah-- I can see what you're talking about. Then again, if you fuck up everyone who gets in your field of vision, big or small-- you get the reputation. The infamy. That's when things get hot..." She looked over at him, her features twisting to mimic the smirk on his own face. "What a title. I'm Meg. Who's asking?"
"Am I what?"
"Am I stupid? Mate, I take myself seriously and if I don’t take myself seriously then who the fuck else is going to? Between the average Joe arsehole who spews out pop culture references like they’re making it rain and the women who remain, to this day, smarter than I’ll ever be there’s a lot out there that could make a blonde, fitness instructor seem imbecilic. Even more so than I actually am. That’s something that grates on me, I can take seeming stupid, what I can’t take is someone making me seem below my average. If I didn’t take myself seriously I would let that happen.”
"Here’s one more serious point: I need the bag for sixty, any more than that is a con." The dealer was baffled but James had made his point, he thought, in his own way. "Pleasure doing business with you, mate." The young man made off down the street with his usual swagger.
Meg, finally free from what had, due to Old Bobby deciding to tell her his entire life story-- with the appropriate hand gestures and actions, felt like the longest shift in her entire life. Some days, working at the bar was bearable, but sometimes it just reminded her of hell. Cigarette in hand, her gaze wandered over to the young boy, throwing words at a guy who was most obviously a drug dealer. She raised an eyebrow as she he spoke, paid, and began to walk further down the street. When he reached the corner that she was leaning against, she pushed herself off the wall and fell into step beside him. "You sure have a lot to fucking say, dude. Imbecilic or not, everybody knows the one way to make yourself sound like some sort of intellectual cunt is to keep the words flowing like the tears of pre-teen heartbreak. You're right, though-- the fuckers that think it's brave and empowering to be able to take the piss out of themselves, those are the people who are going to end up shanked and lynched in some alleyway. Taking yourself seriously means you know what you're invincible to. That's why you see all of the top cunts crackin' jokes about other people."
Blowing the smoke from her last cigarette puff, she gave a slight head nod in the drug dealer's direction. "Sixty is a load of shit. A good punch or two and you could've gotten it for free. Violence for goods. It's like-- basic fucking consumer economics."
I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me. You have no evidence, therefore you cannot make an arrest. Take them off me, right now. It’s probably some kids setting me up, I don’t know, maybe my ex has turned on my overnight, you might be mistaking me for my brother - he’s like the almighty crack head, wanted. But I swear I did not beat the shit out of that knob-head. I was helping him out.
Hey, hey, hey. Officer-- It's a load of crap-- oh, pardon my language, this whole situation. I've been with this bloke all night. I mean, embarrassing as it is, I feel obliged to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth-- y'know? He'd been pestering me for weeks to go out with him, I finally said yes, and we went out for-- well, I suppose that's not too relevant, is it, Officer? Thing is, Paddy here hasn't been out of my sight all night, so some nasty little boys are obviously playing a joke on him. Besides, he's too sweet to even harm a fly, trust me. Nicest bloke you'll ever meet. I'd never spend more than two minutes with someone who'd do such a thing to another person, it's horrible. Isn't it, Officer? It's just horrible.
Don't worry, though. We were just going home anyway, it's much too late to be roaming the streets, I think. Bad things can happen when it gets dark-- scary things. Can we just go, Officer? Please? I don't much like the dark, it gives me the creeps.
"Look, I tried, I swear. It’s just really not that easy to scare geese away."
"I dunno, dude-- you could've fuckin', oh I don't know-- where's daddy's prized shotgun when you need it, huh? Not that I need you to come swooping in like some Indiana Jones cunt, saving my pretty little Legally Blonde ass. I'm more than capable of kicking a few geese in the tits and pulling myself out of the metaphorical danger ditch." Meg scuffed her heel against the gravel as she ran a hand through her hair. "If you're looking for some sort of fucked up 'thank you,' you're going to be seriously disappointed, cause like-- I don't know if it's regulation on your side of the moon but, usually you only get a thanking for success, for failure it's usually more of a spanking. But I'm so not in the right mindset for any of that Lovelace-esque kinky shit, that crap only takes place on the weekends. My work schedule is much too demanding for chronic blizzards of anal pain, hope you're not going to harbour too many hurt feelings."
Pulling a packet of cigarettes from her back pocket, she held it out to him. "Only consolation prize I roll with, new dude."
Comprende, Senior Cockwash?
I’ll spunk si in your mouth, ‘cos me randy brown mama O says compassion exists. Yeah, get the fuck down, me skin sword is itchin’ to fuck a misandry sandwich in your pubes galore palace down there.
We're going with a Spanish cumshot joke, huh? You're a real fucking slice of cultural heaven, anyone ever told you that? Oh, c'mon now, you wouldn't know compassion if your own dad raped that shit stained throat of yours with it. That's a ice cold fact, man.
I hope you weren't in the mood for some Romy and Michelle level catch up, because I'm not up for that right about now. People to see, puppies to kick, you know how it works. But, hey-- Try dagger.
"Then do enlighten me, Meg."
"It's not always complicated. I've seen the Nicholas Sparks candy bullshit in real life. It happens, just not on the dark side of the fucking moon."
It’s my birthday and I am officially no longer a teenager, this deserves a drink— Anyone fancy it?
Only on the proviso that your exit from teenage hell marked your exit from the group of Bristol bitches who sip pink drinks with their legs crossed and their pinkies out. Mixing cosmopolitans is starting to give me hives, so, I've refused to do it-- watching 17 year old barely legals try to knock back a whiskey bomb or too is the greatest thing to happen to me since I splashed out on a premium bong, to be fucking honest.
Happy birthday, I 'spose? You gonna spend the night celebrating by getting drunk and dancing on the tables? Cause that's all fine and great, but the minute you start taking your clothes off I'm goin' to kick your ass out of here. I'm not about to get myself into shit protecting your promiscuous grrl personality.
Wanna request a song? I’ll do a hardcore, lo-fi version of Wonderwall. Everyone loves it.
Wonderwall? Really? You'd play it just for me? Aw, Cat-- I knew you weren't like all the other girls. Fuck-- all you need now is a few kegs, a bonfire, and maybe a wet t-shirt competition in the background, and you'll have completed the transition into a fucking frat boy. This shit is R-I-D-I-C, bitch.
All things considered, though-- you're probably a lot better at plucking these sorts of strings than I am. Only shit I can fuck on a guitar is Smoke on the Water-- and that's about pre-school level crap.
I think school is trying to kill me
Like blood. Like murder murder.
Like murder murder? Somebody get me on the phone to the Nobel Prize committee, I think I have a nominee-- for fuck's sake, kiddo. You're in Bristol. There's a lot of people who wouldn't mind getting their hands around that weedy little throat of yours, and straddling ya until the last breath has been taken-- but the faggity hags at the Kingdom of Education? Not likely.
What I suggest, is that you hold up the local pharmacy for some adderall, maybe grab me a box of vicodin while you're at it-- head down to the powerhouse of all strip clubs, wank until your hand is an official shrivelled semen claw-- and forget all your woes.
Fuck, dude-- I should be a life counsellor.
"Aren’t all love stories?”
"Not quite."
