Monday, 3 September 2012


I met a girl in a bookstore, we knew it was special when we both reached for the same copy of 'How to tell if they're the one.' We held each others gaze, but had to let go when our palms became sweaty. I told her my name was Gary, which it isn't, I guess I was overcome with emotion, maybe that's why she offered me a tissue? She took my number, I'd forgotten to take off my prison overalls, and said "If we're meant to be together we will meet again." With that she left, the store detective caught her and asked her to either return that to the store or pay for it.

A day later I received a text from her, it read 'Don Quixote', after it had finished that fine novel, it told me that she had transplanted her brain into the body of a cat, and that I should do likewise. I did so, which made working my job as a bus driver almost impossible. They let me go, but luckily when I hit the floor I landed on my feet, perhaps it wasn't so bad being a cat after all.

I roamed the streets looking for her, staring deep into the eyes of every cat I passed, believing that that mystical connection would shine back at me regardless of the form that contained it.

I searched for her for 10 years, unfortunately in cat years that's 57 years, but I found her, she was standing in the very same store where we first met, except this time she was stuffed and mounted advertising a reprint of Breakfast At Tiffanys. I tried to buy a copy, but had forgotten my wallet, and my opposable thumbs.

I sought solace in a bar, Solace wasn't there, but his brother Comfort was. I told Comfort my tale of woe, Comfort said "Woah." I said "No, woe." Comfort said, "I see." I said, "Well it is the winter." Comfort said, "No, I understand." But I don't think he did.

Four months later a year had passed and I was on my death bed, I knew it was pessimistic of me to buy a death bed, but it had a memory foam mattress, ironically though I had started to become more forgetful. As I lay there dying I stained my sheets with all the inks I was using, but the t-shirts sold well amongst the hippy community and I finally made my fortune.

I was interviewed by a fashion magazine and they asked me if I had any regrets, I said my only regret is that I don't have any regrets. They asked me if I could turn back time whether I would? I said no because then all my clocks would be wrong. Finally they asked me where I saw myself in five years, I said I'd be 23 years older.

I can't say I've lived a terrible life, mainly because of my stutter, but, it does make me sad to think that the only girl I ever loved had her pussy stuffed by someone else.