“They say cocaine’s for horses and not for men, they say it’ll kill you but they don’t say when.” From an Ancients’ lullaby.
A child: “Tell us, Old One, of Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho”
“Ah, Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho, he was an clown, an laughing stock, good, as stanislav did say, for fuck all, not even for tying the thongs on his own footwear, lest he fall over them and smash his stupid grinning face on the ground. Bo-Jo, against all sense and reason for he had never accomplished anything in his life save debauchery and twaddle, became Tribune of City and did have it all at his feet and all the maidens therein and he was loved for the simple reason that he was not Gordon or one of Gordon’s servants as had been the previous Tribune, Ken the Whine, who was an utter cunt and did consort with Reptiles and with brigands and butchers from Beyond, bringing them even unto City and celebrating their slaughter of Innocents, whining and smirking, like an walking arsehole. And so Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho was Tribune of City almost by default and knew not even the first thing he should do save say Ho-Ho-Ho at all who questioned him. And the children of City, parentless and ill-guided, took to stabbing at one another with blades and Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho said only Golly Gosh and Ho-ho-ho, little buggers, eh, what’s to be done, teach the little perishers latin, eh, that’s the ticket, Ho-ho-ho, never did me any harm. And multitudes remarked that lo, ipso facto, quad erat demonstrandum, neither had it done him much fucking good, the useless, idle coke-snorting buffoon.
Blame me not, Ho-Ho-Ho, he would say, for anything, I’m only the man in charge Ho-ho-ho, you knew what you were getting Ho-ho-ho, jolly good laugh, eh, cogito ergo cuntum est, eh, Ho-ho-ho; it is chaps, the little white powders, doncha know, Mayor’s Little Helpers, Ho-Ho-Ho.
And Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho came from an tribe within an tribe; there was George Osblow-Ho-Ho who was judgement-impair-ed by means of being an coked-up wastrel and good, as stanislav the plumber taught us to say, even for fuck all, the useless, innumerate little fuckpig, and William Ho-Ho-Ho-Mr-Deputy-Spanker-I-Yam-Ay-Very-Clever-Fellow and Dave Camero-Ho-Ho who pretended to be Chief and he did surround himself with thieves and nincompoops with whom he had been an rich young bully and they were call-ed the Bullying club and did foregather and by means of potions and powders did make themselves even stupider that they had been born, which was already considerably well blessed in the stupidity department and they did go a-bullying and rampaging among the Ancients and it was such qualities of leadership which led the Ho-Ho-Hos to think, Fuck me, chaps, if that Jock spastic can do it, why, so can we and so they did preach to the Ancients an tale of compassionate Ho-Ho-Hoism, which was just an form of Gordonism in an set of garments painted with stripes and an loud voice. And much splitting, was there, of infinitives, seeking, as did Dave Camero-Ho-Ho, the perfect bite of sound, as they called their lies, each and every last sorry-arsed, shit-eating, thieving, lying, degenerate, sonofafuckingbitching one of them.
(all, making the sign of Ruin) “and every last sorry-arsed, shit-eating, thieving, lying, degenerate, sonofafuckingbitching one of them.
“Elder:”But enough, children, of BoJo the Ho-Ho, he is incidental in the Saga, which laments, down the ages of Man, the Horror and Terror and Mayhem wrought, in his cowardly misbegotten life, by Gordon the Ruiner…….
© stanislav the Polish plumber 2009. Website – Call me Ishmael
The Goodnight Vienna Audio file
