Families!

A series of paragraphs found festering in a Word document I felt compelled to post here due to my fear of ever deleting anything permanently ever. They form no coherent union apart from the filthiness and the disgrace. Apologies for that.

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Lara ate so much lard that her dad had to order it in kegs from the supplier. You wouldn’t think kegs of lard existed. Or that a dad could order direct from a supplier. You’d think it was a silly fabrication to work some tired humour into a dying paragraph. Well. You’d be wrong. Lara took lard on her prawns, paella, and pizzas, and other non-P foods like chocolate, chips, and cheese, and other non-C foods too for that matter, like lettuce, lemon and liquorice. One afternoon she died consuming half a pea.

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The child wanted a shoe for Christmas. “I want a green hobnail of exactly four by five inches with a sole base of precisely three footspans,” he said. His mother was in the backroom swallowing three pints of his father’s semen. Instead of intercourse, he preferred to masturbate in old milk cartons and get his wife to drink the remnants in one go. Odd man.

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Liam was a father and as such hated swimming pools. Whenever he swam now it was in the cool depths of the Xantia River, which the Citroen executives had made by filling a ditch with their drool. His wife liked to beat up foreign exchange students with the cast-iron crowbar sticking out her navel. She’d been sunbathing under a building site and fill in the rest yourselves. At three o’clock the couple had a conversation about which peat bog looked the prettiest with their son’s entrails emerging from the ooze. They were hateful people.

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Thomas sat rocking on his skateboard, watching his daddy on TV. His daddy was a powerful politician making an important speech about the economy. Sometimes the camera panned down and he could see a woman on her knees, her mouth nibbling on his dad’s pee-pee. “Mummy, what’s that woman doing?” he asked. His mummy wasn’t there, she was upstairs in the bath frying her brains out with a toaster. Neighbours was on next.

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Sunday contained the grapefruit appreciation hour. The Smithes at No.678 put a grapefruit on a plinth and made remarks about how wonderful it was. “Sometimes I want to tear out my heart and offer it to the grapefruit,” said Phil. “How could you offer your heart to the grapefruit without killing yourself in the process?” asked Phill. “That’s what's so damn puzzling,” replied Phil. “Well, I pledge my undying love to the grapefruit,” Philll said. “Is there such a thing as dying love?” asked Phill. “Stop making trouble and appreciate the grapefruit,” said Phillll. And they did.

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Mrs Timortis encouraged her daughter Lucy to fellate her father. After all, he wasn’t her real dad, and she had to learn to do it at some point. She had recently turned ten and had been practising with courgettes in the kitchen. Mr Timortis finished his shower and came out with his erection. Lucy went carefully to the penis, took it in her mouth and moved her tongue around the nub, performing graceful sucks and taking as much in as possible. Mr Timortis pushed it far back in her throat and she gagged a little, but caught her breath and took him to climax, gulping down the semen. “Thank you, Lucy, that was delightful. Well, shall we go watch some TV?” he asked. Lucy nodded, tonguing a little semen still hanging around the corners of her mouth. This is what passed for normal in the house with the big green shutters on Bungee Street.

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Ronald and Shona lived in a bungalow with no distinguishing features and ate rice 24 hours a day. They were probably psychopaths, but we don’t have time to go into that, there’s too much for us to do before the boss arrives. Do you want to lose your job? Get back to work, go on! And you can forget about that pay rise. We wouldn’t want you getting ideas, as if you’ve ever had your own ideas. Jim and Norma were just lovely. I look after Jim when Norma’s off getting her nose hair critiqued. He’s only eight centimetres wide and consumes lemonade like a fizzy peacock, but hey—at least he knows how to do his job properly. Idiots, the lot of you.