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| danny boyle, sudanese, riyad, wikipedia, funny, trailers, wallpapers, pictures, fazed, artists, disco, viagrajokes, | Hence the mysterious sore. We never moved it. It died at some point, the billy gallo sore went away, and we had one less little victory in our lives. Anyway, I went to university because I was billy gallo supposed to. I drifted billy gallo aimlessly through a law degree while snarling with socialist ferocity at my fellow students, who all seemed to be related to the Sultan of Brunei in some way and drove their gleaming white Mercedes to college. After I left university I became a burnt-file salvager, working for a paranoid American alcoholic midget called Helene, who defrauded insurance companies with astonishing devotion and success. It was like working for my mother, so I didn’t stay long. I went back to university to study journalism because, well, I don’t actually recall why. By this stage I had ceased to care about anything much and what the fuck, one career is as good as another when you’re a trainee miserable cunt. I passed my initiation as a fully-fledged miserable cunt while working as a journalist, uncovering scoops on sheep rustling and petty teenage vandalism in Gloucestershire. |
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| At one point, my mother developed this weird kind of sore on the back of her neck, riyad which puzzled her hugely. It puzzled us too, it was right on the back of her neck, riyad red, round and raw. She went to the doctor about it several times and he gave her various creams, but still the riyad sore persisted. It was all very strange. Until one night my sister came to my room, giggling, almost choking with glee, and hustled me into the TV room, where my mother had passed out sitting on a bench that lined one room of the wall. Her head was lolling back on the window sill as usual and she was snoring heavily. My sister told me to go and have a close look at the back of her head. I tiptoed over and oh, the joy, the fierce joy as the mystery of the sore was revealed. On the window sill, behind the precise spot my mother always sat to smoke, drink, berate us and then pass out, there was a small, plump, cactus plant. And every night, my mother would pass out, and every night her neck would fall right back on that cactus. |
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