Norm fights off suggestions he's up himself
October 23rd 2008 23:03
Norm, philandering despot and self-effusive waiter, has been deeply hurt and aroused by feelings of guilt, shame, pride, tenderness, resentment, pride, despair, delight, fear, hatred, envy, indolence, apathy, desire and levity over ideas he might not have any.
"He's got no idea how to set me on fire," Gandhi said, saturated in petrol as he sniffed the can, his fingers, your bum, your mum, my mum, as Norm, fumbling for a good match, struck up a conversation with a conservationist and, as it turned out, rape-victim.
"I swear, I never laid a thinger on her, your honour," the recently captured, bagged, tagged, catalogued, classified, Norm, guilty as sinfulness, told his single-cell mate and micro-organism, wriggling around your honour's chamberpot in an unintelligent display of life.
"What have I got to feel guilty about? Other than this sentence," the clearly shady Norm, a narcissist if ever I saw one, told his toilet, steaming with life, as he watched his face, and the judge, in a position of authority, took off his wig, scratched his pater and swore to God.
"Let me explain a few things," Norm, you've probably never hear of him yet, beseeched of his new chums in the toilet, "I'm more than a match for any of you. I'm a wet-blanket, a stick in the mud, a wet blanket in the mud, a stick in the blanket and the lust goes on."
Norm, more than a match, not up, himself, dispassionate, like a computer, except a smut-arse, warm and tender, unfeeling, feeling, all things to all men, unpopular, unconcerned, has his head down and his bum up and his head up and his bum down, looking for a light.
"He's got no idea how to set me on fire," Gandhi said, saturated in petrol as he sniffed the can, his fingers, your bum, your mum, my mum, as Norm, fumbling for a good match, struck up a conversation with a conservationist and, as it turned out, rape-victim.
"I swear, I never laid a thinger on her, your honour," the recently captured, bagged, tagged, catalogued, classified, Norm, guilty as sinfulness, told his single-cell mate and micro-organism, wriggling around your honour's chamberpot in an unintelligent display of life.
"What have I got to feel guilty about? Other than this sentence," the clearly shady Norm, a narcissist if ever I saw one, told his toilet, steaming with life, as he watched his face, and the judge, in a position of authority, took off his wig, scratched his pater and swore to God.
"Let me explain a few things," Norm, you've probably never hear of him yet, beseeched of his new chums in the toilet, "I'm more than a match for any of you. I'm a wet-blanket, a stick in the mud, a wet blanket in the mud, a stick in the blanket and the lust goes on."
Norm, more than a match, not up, himself, dispassionate, like a computer, except a smut-arse, warm and tender, unfeeling, feeling, all things to all men, unpopular, unconcerned, has his head down and his bum up and his head up and his bum down, looking for a light.
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Comment by damian
Urban Telegraph
The Squirter McGee Diaries
And I thought David Duchovny had it bad.
If you ever get stuck in there, I'll be happy to explain the reverse Heimlich manoevre to you.
Comment by Norm
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Yeah, poor David Duchovny. I'm a celibacy-addict, but do you hear me complaining? Constantly.
Explain away. It can make you feel better to explain away.
Comment by Morgan Bell
Deep Pencil
Business News
Movie Train
Comment by Chris Champion
Vyoos
Zoomies
Bloggercises
The Blog of Lists
Newly Old
Money Whither
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
This post reminded me of a passage in Graeme Swift's 1996 Booker Prize winning novel, Last Orders. Which is not to suggest he's a better writer. Just that there are uncanny similarities. And that should come as an encouragement, and high-praise.
Swift doesn't number the Chapters. This is from a chapter titled Lenny:
Well, I should've known better than to pick a fight I hadn't got a hope of winning. But that's one thing I aint ever known, better ... It's the way you're made. It's hard fighting against your own nature when it's in your nature to fight. We aint here to do the honours or pay respects to Jack [Norm] because he worked so hard on his own nature he turned into something else. We're here because he was Jack [is Norm].
- Swift, Graeme.Last Orders. London: Picador, 1996.
Comment by Norm
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Champs, you can hold up the sign that reads A PAUSE for me, any day.
Dave, I've never heard of that Swift. I hope he's no relation to Jon. I can't stand that bastard. The ligaments in his legs are gone. Norm is a puppet. With a mind of his own...ers.
Cheers.