I was reading Brenda’s again, the past all there in words and glossy pictures. Reading it stretched out on my bed scratching the fresh itches on my legs, the book resting on my little mary. The doctor had made me another appointment for the day after tomorrow to cut new cancers from my legs, sure they will be back. Only one more after that, he said, before day ten when Brian Nine (b) will be ready and I get the old green needle. Brian One put his head round the door scratching his back. ‘Wendies are here, Brian.’
‘OK Brian.’ I put the book down and moseyed on out to the lounge.
In the expanse of our well massive lounge the Wendies were sitting on the sofa’s drinking tea, all ten o’clock scholars. Everyone’s lounge is well massive nowadays. Especially the family homes down by South Point. But then nowadays everyone is eleven people.
I sat down next to Wendy Nine. She is a (c). She was scratching her arse, leaning forward in her seat scrubbing away at her bum-bum. Everyone was talking about the Tortelli’s last night and how hairy and rushed they were, how they can’t believe how people used to live in the old mainland cities, all ickle. Wendies are our girlfriend.
We talked about the Tortelli’s and then we watched the Tortelli’s. Tortelli Jr. was complaining to Mama Tortelli, all stroppy faced and narky, about how he can never get in the bathroom because Sissy Tortelli was always in there, doing some rubbish. Our bathroom is well massive; we can all shower in there at once if we need to, if we are all well dirty at once. Sometimes we take the Wendies in there too, showing our form and getting action on with her tom cat and there is still plenty of room. We laughed at the way the Tortelli’s waste their time like that, standing in a well small hallway taking the owl and getting righteous, their buzz constantly caned. Their bathroom is way smaller than my rad scooter. How we laughed.
I told them about getting my red card notice for the green needle.
Then we sat at the table for dinner and Brian’s Five and Six served some dinner and opened wine. Everything was way fine, all munching down well happy until Wendy Six knocked the open wine over, well gesturing and splashed and sploshed it right into Brian Six’s dinner. He had been to work and was a bit tired and well narked so he got straight away snappy at her.
‘Clumsy fucking women. I just fucking cooked this bastard dinner.’ He stormed off to the kitchen to try and save his meal, his buzz in shreddy tatters.
The Wendies started weeping at his sudden outburst, dabbing at their face tears and still scratching at their little mary’s and backs and arms and norks.
‘You bloody bastard bastards are always shouting at us.’ Said a couple of Wendies, all blurty.
‘Yeah, it’s not our fault.’ Said more Wendies.
‘It’s only wine, Christ, would you Brian’s get a grip!’ Another clump of Wendies, all spitfire.
They had all got together on one side of the table, bunching up, cluster fucking, consoling Wendy Six. We Brian’s were all together on the opposite side of the table, uncomfortable and itchy, buzz’s on the wane.
‘We’re not always shouting at you Wendies.’ We said.
‘It is only wine. He’ll get more food. He’s been to work today. Take it easy.’ We said.
‘Yeah, lets be calm.’ We said.
But it was too late to be calm, what with the owl all taken. The Wendies were standing now getting ready to wag their fingers all well angry ready to give us some Larry Dooley. I hate it when they wag their fingers; there are so many digits to waggle and then they give us all Larry Dooley. We stood too. Brian Six came back in.
‘Dinners fucked. Thanks a fucking lot. Fucking hell Wendies!’
‘I suppose you are going to bring up the Robin’s now!’ The Wendies said getting way spitfire, looking for the lavender to lay us out in.
‘Bring up the Robin’s?’ We said all confused.
Last year the Wendies had left before the gospel with some well lame Robin’s. We walked right in on them having a massive stinky orgy in their flat, totally unsuspecting. We were all meant to be going out to play some footy; we were all kitted up and feeling well rad with our kicking feet. We think they did it on purpose; wanting to be caught to make a point then fake some Jimmie Brits. We don’t like the Robin’s; all oblomovism, full of utter banana oil.
‘We knew you would throw that in our face’s. You always do. As soon as something upsets you all. Brian bastards!’ The Wendies were waggling their fingers in our faces. Some of them still having a weep round their eyes, the rest scratching their various areas well itchy. We were scratching too. Always with the scratching.
‘You brought it up, you fucking stupid mares!’ Some of us shouted back at the wagging fingers. We had way got them back by discussing Uganda well hardcore with the Vickies. They don’t know that though. Way not. We didn’t want to get caught; we wanted our stinky orgy to run its course. Those Vickies discuss Uganda like low down B Girls!
‘It always the same with you lot! Don’t think we don’t know about you and the Vickies.’ Some Wendies screamed at us.
‘Yeah, double standard pricks!’ The rest shouted all wagging fingers and scratching. Our dinners were all getting well cold.
‘What? What Vickies?’ We Brian’s managed, rubbishly, buzzes caned.
‘Yeah, like you don’t fucking know. We know what you did.’ They were no Wendies weeping anymore but still plenty of scratching. They looked angry enough to lay us out in lavender; maybe they were having a visitor.
‘Well you did it first. Cheating bloody strumpets!’ We Brian’s stood our ground.
‘Strumpets? Fuck you Brian’s. We are leaving.’
‘Yeah, well, OK then.’
The Wendies stormed out giving us all evil looks and downwards sneers. Condemned by twenty-two volatile eyes blazing in well similar heads.
We all sat back down with our cold dinners. ‘Shit it!’ Said Brian Six. His buzz happily dispatched.
I said; ‘The Tortelli’s will be on again soon,’ thinking of the theme music.
In The Tortelli’s Tortelli Jr. had a row with his girlfriend Jenny Popalopados. He was late for their date at some ickle cinema because he couldn’t get in the bathroom back in the poxy small house. Their bathroom is way smaller than our rad scooters! How to live like that? They had a big row in a well narrow street while old-fashioned rain ran down silly old bricks like weepy tears. They worked it out and they got all huggy. Just the two of them and with no mutual scratching at all. We didn’t laugh much as the theme played out at the end. Some us looked a bit weepy in the eyes.
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