He Hit Me in My F--ing Face
He Hit Me in My F--ing Face
By
Barry Eysman
They were at it again. The Battling Marrieds. In the drive way. He hit me in my f--ing face, the henna haired harridan screamed. And he screamed back, who the f-- wouldn't? And she halloed that he was getting another piece of ass—and he punted back that he had to tell her so's she'd know she wuz losin' 'im, and she said, what the f—- did he thing she wuz losin' and I had had me gullet's fill of the both of them. Same as last year. And all years long, they scream more and more and he lashes out more and more daringly. Brave one, 'he is, I tell you. She could kill him any times she wants. Thinks he's quite sumethin'. I'm here to tell him, he once had competition. That—loomed. While he's a little pipsqueak.
Every time, oh I knows its not me bu-siness, and I'm in the closet most times, but stills and alls, I'm a quiet kind of gent and granted I used to gets meself into a bollox of truble now and then but minds you, I never talks like they does or screams to the high heavens, profanities and my gods, the f-- words they toss about, 'specially she does, it makes me blood boil and me face, such as it is, red as a beet. So they's screamin' and all the neighbourhood must be sitting on their porches tonight eatin' fish 'n chips, enjoyin' the show—NEW SURPRISE HIT OF THE EAST END--and he did hits her agin, rights in the face, 'cordin' to her, I didn't sees it meself, but I had had enuf of it. Little kids comin' by tomorrow night—Guy Fawlkes Day and Halloween they calls it 'ere and can't have the little darlin's hearin' such language—though too many of them in passing by I hears it from them too--what a mess this bloody country is—civilized is they? Ha.
But enuf—last year them at it and this year too—out here in the bleedin' driveway-top of her lungs-embarrasskin—so's they are close enuf—and if I can remember how's, it's been a while, but I got's the anger on like's I did in Whitechappel and she looks 'nuf like ol' Annie to bring back a little of the blood's in me—so I manage to reach out the old knife, the real one, the old mate o' mine, and guts it thru her thru the back and all way thru to the front…the screamer and my word did she scream bloody murder then—and rightsly so..and she falls a gusher and he looks ats her, and ats me, he's tremblin' to beats the band, wish I could larf, I can turn my eyes a little bits, enuf to sees his hair turn freak white, and they's both young, and he's screaming meemies and goes a runnin' mad as a hatter downs the streets..so I drops the knife on her corpse—la, memories that brings back—and now I'm still again…who's gonna believe him after all? If he can say even. Put 'im in Bedlam regardless. Hope they find a nicer home for me. I'm kinda immortal I am I am.
And just like a fore, in me good old prossie killin' days, no one will find me when I'm standin' there Halloween statue they bought three years ago at a antique shop, quite a special haunted antique shop it were, and here am I, o' Spring Heel Jack I be…little the worse for wear..but can still cut the--mustard…and now the kiddies won't have to puts up with the Battling Doxeys..but I've had it with the little ones swearin' and sometimes beatin' up the younger 'uns, so if they gets out a line tomorroy night..well they better watch out for me…god..that blood river looks tasty..brings back the good ol' days…but can't bend down and touch it….still it's a good feelin' I must say.
Have a happy,
The Fiend from Hell