RuKsaK

Read Meta-Bryan part 1 first, if you haven't already.
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Ray Flinckers was a rounded, rosy, sexually deviant clown, wearing a hairstyle like combed porridge and a cheery smile people couldn't trust. He must have been around thirty-five when he worked in the Jolly Land Arcade. His habit was to find video game engrossed fourteen year olds and then one-stroke their arse and say:
‘You’re a bit good aren’t you?’
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‘Oy! Cunt! Get your filthy, Flincking hand off RuKsaK’s arse. He’s nearly got his high score.’
‘Well, he is a bit good, isn’t he?’
‘Oh Christ! You horrible pervy bastard. I’ve been playing that for forty minutes and you got me killed. We’re not coming to Jolly Land anymore you horrible, greasy fucker.’

He was still grinning in the bliss of the after-stroke. He’d given my arse one upward rub and I’d lost the game. That’s what bothered me most. Then, before I knew it, Meta-Bryan had Flinckers’ right hand grabbed in his, his middle finger arched back.
‘That was the wrong journey you fat freak. How do you want this fucking gay pinkie snapped? Until it goes back at it at the flabby knuckle or twisted in the middle? Either way you’ll be stroking the wrong arse through a bandage next time.’

Flinckers was wailing at Bryan to stop:
‘Please! Please – I was just being friendly. I didn’t mean anything.’

Kee-rack!

Flinckers dropped on his knees clasping his dangling hand in shock.
‘I warned you Flinckers – you’re on the wrong journey. Stumbling suits you. You should do more of it. By the way, tell anyone, and the police will be hearing about your finger and the places it finds itself. Come on my RuKtim.’

I guess Flinckers must have taken in Bryan’s cryptic bastardness – we never heard anything about it. Even at fifteen, he knew he could roll out distinctively muddy phrases which sounded like probable wisdom:
‘Hey – Rukster. I used his name as an adjective. Did you hear that?’
‘Yeah – you said Flincking. Pretty funny.’
‘It’s not funny, it’s just me shagging bits of language on the end of my cock again.’
‘Jesus – you’re nuts.’
‘Anyway, my cock’s got a secret. A problem. Let’s go for more toast – I’ve got enough money.’
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We also sat at the back, not the window, just in case Flinckers was looking for us. The aged waitress looked suspicious when we came – I was shaking a little. Bryan was rapping the table with a coin.
‘I fucking hate Formica. It’s so frigging predictable. Watch my penny roll off the table. See - fast, straight and screechy – every fucking time like that. That’s such crap. That’s not the journey is it, Rukwise?’

Bryan frequently had a mindless intolerance of everyday objects. This is the only thing which annoyed me about him:
‘I see ‘journey’ is your word of the day, but I really don't know what you're on about. Look, Bryan, it’s like hanging out with a fucking crossword, if you’re going to tell me about your problem, your cock, whatever, just tell me – please!’
‘Okay – it is my cock. Some fucking lovely rumbly semen flew out of it, went into the eggy-weg of Bren. She’s pregnant with my cum.’
‘My god!’
‘That’s not the absolute pit bottom of it Rukster. Bren is surplussing shit over this one. She insists I tell her parents – tomorrow. I need your help – tell me how to spill my words like a normal freak.’
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Part 3 coming soon.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Meta-Bryan part 2