My

My ? Parts one and two.

Part one.

My, what big hands you've got. All the better to grope you with
??????
Scene one.

Two old ladies sat at an indoor waiting room on a British Rail train
station, it's blowing a gale outside and the old ladies are drinking
tea from a flask. They both have on loud headscarfs.

Bid one: My son Willie's wife eats seven boiled eggs for breakfast,
she's pregnant again.
Bid two: What your Willie's wife Wendy, how many's that now ?
Bid one: Five including this one, I won at bingo last night...fifteen
pounds.
Bid two: Yeah, I watched a mucky film on the adult channel.

Enters a young attractive blonde wearing a mini-skirt, she sits
opposite the two psychedelic head-scarfed old ladies, she then crosses
her legs and lights a menthol cigarette.

Bid two: My window cleaner died last week, while he was cleaning my
windows.
Bid one: My God, did he fall off his ladder?
Bid two: Well, my Arthur thinks it was a heart attack, have you got a
tissue my nose is runny ?

Enters a man of about twenty two, with an anxious look on his face and
sweat on his brow.

Young man: My God, I've been looking for you everywhere, please don't
leave me, my life will not be the same without you. My life: I live
solely for you, my feet: they'd walk wherever you command, my hands
will construct the architecture you design, my heart: it is yours, I do
solemnly give it. So please my sapphire, come back to my arms.

The two old ladies cheer as the young man and the young girl leave, arm
in arm. They then carry on drinking tea and discussing window cleaners,
knitting needles, pension books and cheaper hairdos.

Scene two

The same two old pensioners sat in the waiting room, one is still
drinking tea the other has dozed off and there's saliva dribbling down
her chin. Every now and then the other old lady wipes it off with a
jade green handkerchief. Then enters a drunk punk, with intention in
his eye, he sits opposite the ladies and rolls a cigarette, he has
dirty hands and a small orange mohican.

Drunk punk: What you looking at you old bat, what's a matter never seen
a punk before, pretty ain't I, oh so pretty.

He lights his cigarette and blows smoke towards the old frightened,
quivering-in-her-purple-rinse lady. He then notices her handbag and
motions forward trying to grab it. Then a stocky looking gentleman,
with a sunbed tan enters, smoking a filterless cigarette.

Have-a-go hero: Go ahead punk make my day!

The big sun-tanned hero moves trying to grab the punk. The punk is
quick, probably something to do with his amphetamine habit, the punk
sticks out a tartaned Doctor Martin and trips the have-a-go hero, the
hero flies through the air like a hamster fired from a catapault and
cracks his head hard on the British Rail floor, which is peppered with
fag butts and plastic spoons you get from a cafeteria to take away,
which don't look like spoons at all. The punk once again motions for
the bag and the old lady throws hot tea in his face.

Drunk and probably-on-amphetemines punk: My face you bitch, my face,
Arhhh, my face, my face, my face.
Bid one: My, my that'll teach you.

Part two.

My life is a shambles, my flat is a mess and people tell me I have
bad-breath. I help out at the hospital, it's very clean there. I think
I'm the untidiest person I know. My sister complains 'cause I don't use
separate knives for the butter and plum jam. I've got a great
moustache, it really suits me. My car is at the garage being repaired,
my AA should cover. My sister's got an in-growing toe-nail causes her
hell of a lot of trouble. My moods change just like the wind, last week
I saw two Indian guys beating the living shit out of each other, then
the one in the turban pulled out a long knife and stabbed the other in
the shoulder, I wouldn't have minded but it was in Tesco's, right by
the dog biscuits and the cat food. Really changed my mood for the day.
Strange hobbies, yes very strange. Always been a bit of a strange lad,
kids used to tease and call me Norman in school, Norman Bates, no mates
cause I'm Norman Bates. Funny song really. School was mad, best days of
your life, I remember once a music teacher's false teeth popped out
while she was shouting at us, the whole class was in hysterics. My best
friend Kevin could set fire to his farts while singing Bright Eyes. My
life is pain, I have to confess...I'm evil you see, twisted some might
say.
Like the time when I was seven, me and a friend broke into an empty
flat, inside the flat was quite a long piece of washing line, I took
the washing line to my buddy's back, he screamed like a seven-year-old
would, and I hit more and harder. I can still remember my father's
slipper, knowing after I'd finished my dinner I was gonna get it, and
boy did I get it, slowly slurping the final mouthfuls of gravy, there,
looking at the view of the carpet from my father's knee, the echo of
the Sunday match live on the tele as the slow, but hard slaps of the
slipper rebounded off the council flat walls. My mother intervening
saying that's enough now John, but still they rained down, slap, goal,
slap, what a save, slap, they think it's all over, slap, it is now,
slap. My father died a misearable man, and I swear it was nothing to do
with me.
Cats, hate 'em, don't you? Me and a friend tied fireworks to one once,
meoow--BANG, that fucker must have been on his eighth life, I think I
was ten then? You start growing up and people start to point a finger,
that Mrs Willacy at number forty six says I poisoned her dog, if she
doesn't shut her mouth soon I'll poison her, silly cow, anyway with the
dog out of the way and her husband working nights we'll see if her cunt
smells like I imagine. My landlord is a funny man, got a wooden leg and
keeps a ferret on his shoulder, it bit me once. My mother went crazy,
kept hearing voices late at night, it's surprising what you can do with
a bit of paper and sticky glue, here's one I made earlier. I visited
her once she didn't eat the grapes but the coloured crayons that I had
taken. She spoke about spiders and paper weights stopping the paper on
the desk from blowing off on a breezy spring day. She spoke with no
fire in her eyes or soul, she was at the institute's mercy, along with
all the other chin-slobbering, cock-eyed freaks, and I put her there.
And there she'll rot, in the cell made out of jelly and blanc-mange. My
sister's gonna go next I'm sick of her complaining about her in-growing
toe nail, but maybe I'll just take her out. My plan is to maybe, no I
won't tell ya I'll let you read about it in a newspaper one day. My
life is a shambles as I've said before, my life is my own, some choose
one path, I knew from an early age which brambled, thorned, hot-coaled
path I was to take, and I took it, my aim is to rot in hell, sweating
and suffering in the fires next to my evil, rotten father, maybe then I
can poke him in the eye one more time...
My bus leaves in ten minutes so I've got to go, I'm meeting my best
friend Kevin.