Manglebrain Rex, Criminatore Terribilium (The Demon In Dotty’s Attic)

 

I have his name. He gave it to me. He wrote it in the dust on the fourth bookcase in the line of bookcases that run across the back wall of my living room.

Wait a minute, I’ll tell you what happened from the beginning or I’ll get muddled up.

The other night I left him a note on the table in the hallway. Next to the note I placed my ammo which consisted of NONE of the ammo I ordered from online 24 hr Tesco - they wouldn’t accept the order because I didn’t have any money in my bank to pay for it. Stingy fuckers, they could have let me owe it to them, it’s not as if £27.94 would BANKRUPT them, is it? Anyway, this is all the ammo I had –

the picture of Good Linda & the Lamb that poet gave me

the Frankincense and Myrrh Mel told me to use

and the salt Benjamin told me to use

(GO AND SEE THEIR BLOGS)

and over these pieces of ammo I exuded the last remaining bit of GOODNESS I had in me.

 

 

This is the note I left. I wrote it with a purple pen because I couldn’t find a blue one. Or a black one. I don’t know where they’ve gone –

 

Dear DEMON,

I’ll keep this short and to the point –

FUCK OFF.

Love Dotty xxx

 

 

And then I went to bed.

 

 

When I got up yesterday morning I knew something was different. I could feel it. And I could SEE it because there was writing all over my walls and in the dust that coats everything and is NEVER disturbed. It took me ALL DAY to piece together what he had written into some sort of coherent thing and I’m still jiggling the sentences. But this is what I have so far –

 

GOOD LADY OF MEATLESS DEATH SAUSAGE, WORTCUNNING QUEEN OF SOIL AND SEED. I DIE. I DIE. 

NYAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

OLD IS MANGLEBRAIN, OLDER THAN EARTH, OLDER THAN LIGHT, OLDER THAN DARK, OLDER THAN ALL BUT THE EVER-LOVED AND THE EVER-DREADED.

FLESH OF MOON AM I, BONE OF STARS. FOUL FIEND OF ASTAROTH, PRINCE OF SLOTH, CRIMINATORE OF THE CRIMINATOR, I AM THIS, THAT AND THE OTHER.

MANGLEBRAIN FLY THROUGH A FAR BLACK HOLE, DOOR FROM HELL. BANK THE FIRES, I FLY, DIABLO DIABLUS, MANGLEBRAIN REX, FLAGELLUM DAEMONUM, CLUB ME, LASH ME, BLEED ME.

DJINNEE AM I, BLACK BEING OF THE BLACK FIEND, EVER-DREADED, EVER-YEARNED. WISHES TO GIVE, WISHES TO GRANT, ONE WISH, TWO WISH, THREE.

COME, AID ME. PULL MANGLEBRAIN OUT FROM THE SIDEBOARD INTO THE WORLD, INTO THINE VAPOURS OF VIRTUE AND GOOD. IT CALCIFY MY HEART TO LIVE BY THE KISS-KILL, RED DEAD, THRUST-FORCE OF MY SHARP CLAW, RIP RIP RIP, AH THE LOOK IN THE EYES, CORPSE, CRUMPLE OF FLESH AND BONE, ALL GRACE, ALL DIGNITY GONE, THINE SOULS A BLISTERED SADNESS ON MY PLATE, TASTE LIKE LOVE OR CHICKEN, BWOK, BWOK, BWOK, BWOK, BWOK.

GOOD GOOD GOOD. PAIN TO MANGLEBRAIN. NYAAAAAAAAAAA! INFESTATION. BLIGHT OF GOOD INFECTUS ME, I CANNOT SEE, BLIND AM I, ONE EYE GONE, WORMS OF WOOD EAT MY BLACK PUPIL.

BLACK HELL, NO MORE MY HOME. SCRAT, SCRAT, SCRAT. GIFT TO YOU OF SIGIL AND NAME, MANGLEBRAIN REX.

MANGLEBRAIN YIELDS TO MALEFICIA VICTORIOUS.

COME, COME. RELEASE ME.

 

 

He’s written other words and sentences (on my fucking kitchen units, the vandal) but they don’t make any sense. So what do you think I should do, let him out or leave him there? I think he’s trying to trick me.

 

 

Trying To Trap The Demon In Dotty’s Attic (It Isn’t An Attic, It’s A LOFT But Attic Sounds Better)

 

Last night I set some traps to try and catch the DEMON in my loft, but before I set the traps I had to find the correct protective clothing to protect me, namely -

MY GAS MASK — to prevent me from INHALING THE DEMON

MY PROTECTIVE ALL-IN-ONE SUIT THAT FORENSIC BOFFINS AND CHEMICAL DISASTER BODS WEAR — to prevent me from ABSORBING THE DEMON

MY GOOD, STURDY HIKING BOOTS THAT I HAVEN’T WORN FOR YEARS — to STOMP ON THE DEMON or to KICK THE DEMON if the need arose.

 

So, suitably dressed, I set about laying my traps –

First, I substituted all my Cumberland sausages for the LINDA McCARTNEY VEGETARIAN SHITE SAUSAGES I’d cleverly and cunningly ordered from the online 24 hr Tesco (that is one BIG Tesco – the shop must be the size of Ireland!) and that I had delivered yesterday afternoon (Branwell answered the door).

Next, I substituted all my Hobnobs for ROUND RYVITAS (HA HA HA HA) that were also delivered from online 24 hr Tesco.

Then, I went upstairs and sat on the floor directly below the LOFT HATCH. I crossed my legs like a proper YOGI, stretched my arms into the air and touched the tips of my fingers together to make myself into a TRIANGLE and I sat there all night EXUDING GOODNESS. I exuded such great amounts of GOODNESS the house nearly floated away. I couldn’t believe I had that much GOODNESS in me, (it isn’t there now, it’s gone, I exuded it all out), SHEDLOADS of GOODNESS that I aimed up into the air, through the loft hatch and INTO THE DEMON.

It didn’t work. At least it didn’t bring the DEMON out of the loft - BUT, while I was being a TRIANGLE, exuding GOODNESS, the DEMON started singing. It sang –

 

“I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.

HE’S JUST A POOR BOY, FROM A POOR FAMILY,

SPARE HIM HIS LIFE FROM THESE QUORN SAUSAGES.

Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?

BISMILLAH! NO! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!

Let me go!

BISMILLAH! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!

Let me go!

BISMILLAH! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!

Let me go!

WILL NOT LET YOU GO!

Let me go!

NOT LET YOU GO!

Let me go-0-0-0-0-0-!

NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!

Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go!

Beelzebub has a devil in the sideboard - me! – poor me - poor meeeeeeee…”

 

Now, I need to tell you something about HOW he was singing – he was singing in TONGUES and one of the tongues (the red bits) was MINE – and what I want to know is HOW THE FUCK DID HE DO THAT? It sounded like Demon Duelling Banjos with words, him-me-him-me-him-me but my mouth didn’t move AT ALL, it stayed WIDE OPEN all the time I was there (to exude GOODNESS) and anyway I was wearing my GAS MASK and the way I’d put it on over my WIDE OPEN MOUTH meant there was no way on this earth that I COULD have closed my mouth, it was STUCK OPEN and no one can sing with a STUCK OPEN WIDE OPEN MOUTH unless they’re some sort of genius ventriloquist and there aren’t any genius ventriloquists, you can ALWAYS see movement. 

But last night wasn’t a COMPLETE waste – he’s given away his EXACT LOCATION in my loft. He’s living in the old sideboard that belonged to Granny Euphemia and when Granny Euphemia died she left it to my dear dead Daddy and when my dear dead Daddy died he left it to me but I don’t like it, it’s fuck ugly and riddled with woodworm (HA! I just wrote WORMWOOD instead of WOODWORM because I’m so used to writing WORMWOOD. I changed it). Also, it looks as if maybe I’m starting to get to him a bit, disconcert the little fucker. But he’s a stubborn one. This morning I’ve been back to online 24 hr Tesco to order more AMMO. Here’s a list of the ammo I’ve ordered —

more LINDA McCARTNEY VEGETARIAN QUORN CARDBOARD SAUSAGES

more ROUND RYVITAS

mothballs

rat poison

6 bottles of Domestos – kills all known germs. DEAD

caustic soda

some apples (they worked on Eve)

a fishing net

12 bottles of Harrogate Spring Water (online 24 hr Tesco don’t sell Holy Water)

And I was thinking of ordering a copy of Fifty Shades of Shite so the DEMON would get the impression I’ve read it, but nope, I couldn’t do it, a little voice in my head kept arguing with itself -

DEMON?/Shadey Shite? 

DEMON?/Shadey Shite?

DEMON?/Shadey Shite?

and the DEMON won.

 

So now it’s a waiting game. A battle of wills. Dark versus light, good versus bad (erm, which side am I on?), saintliness versus evil. Dotty versus Demon.  

BRING IT ON, FUCKER. NO ONE BEATS DOTTY. NO ONE AND NO THING. NOTHING.

 

 

 

 

N.B. — In case it’s gone unnoticed, you should take note that I’ve used the word ‘versus’ and not the abbreviation of the word ‘versus’ which should be a small ‘v’ but is now usually shown as a capital letter when, for example, a football match is being advertised –

LIVERPOOL V EVERTON

Not only is the word ‘versus’ abbreviated to an incorrect capital ‘v’, it’s also SPOKEN as the letter ‘v’ (vee) by STUPID ILLITERATE SLOPEY-BROWS ON THE TELLY —

LIVERPOOL VEE EVERTON

Ah, fuck it – I might just keep the DEMON and get him to spew some vile bile and brimstone over ALL THE STUPID PEOPLE.

 

 

Shitey Sunday Picture Post – Inspirational Wordy Posters

 

Today’s Shitey Sunday Picture Post doesn’t have many pictures because I’m too lazy to go looking for proper Shitey Sunday Picture Post pictures today so I thought I’d make a post out of some of the nice little wordy posters I’ve collected. I don’t even have to comment on them because THEY’RE MADE OF WORDS!

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A Shitey Poem For Shitey Saturday – The Stolen Shoes

 

The Stolen Shoes

 

When I escaped from the mental hospital

I stole a pair of shoes,

pretty shoes,

prettier than my own black institutional uglies.

The stolen shoes were white and unworn,

immaculate, clean, soft leather mysteries,

with golden eyelets

threaded through with blue ribbons for laces.

They belonged to Mary, Mother of God,

who slept in the bed next to mine

and woke me in the night with her snoring. 

She was an odd one. 

She wrapped beads round her left thigh, like a bride’s garter,

and draped an old scrap of lace over her head for a veil.

I don’t know why she did this;

she had never been married – she hadn’t even kissed a man –

she was sectioned when she was ten.

At the dinner table she whispered Hail Marys to herself

as her porridge, or her lamb stew, or her custard 

dribbled onto her blouse.

Once, she stole all the pears and hid them in her locker -  

the ward stank but it took days for the nurses to find out

where the smell was coming from.

 

Every Friday morning, before breakfast,  

the stolen shoes were brought out and laid on her bed.

She looked at them for a short while then put them away.

Every Friday morning without fail.  

I don’t think she noticed me looking at them too.

 

The stolen shoes didn’t get me very far;

I put them on before I climbed out of the window  

and ran as fast as I could across the grass, 

but they were too small – or my feet were too big -

the soles split when I reached the wall

and started to climb the ladder I had bribed the gardener to place there for me.

I nearly cried when I had to leave those shoes behind in the rose bed. 

 

 

The World According To Dotty (An Illuminating View Of EVERYTHING)

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Wanky Wednesday One Word Post

 

 

shite

 

 

 

 

Dotty Senryus On My Horrendous Near Death Experience Yesterday

 

Did I Or Didn’t I?

 

The pale horse galloped

but not in my direction,

at least not last night.

 

But maybe it did!

Maybe this IS death – a mad

continuation,

 

a seamless sequel,

infinite persistence of

being what I am.

 

Here’s a question – if

death is the colour of truth,

what shade is the lie?

 

 

Shitey Sunday Sausage Picture Post

Cumberland Sausages. Did you know I love them?

I can spell my favourite words with them.

I can watch them live free in the wild fields of Cumberland.

and seeing as it’s Sunday, I can appreciate their spiritual beliefs.

I love my Cumberland sausages. I want them to be perfect

so I applied for this job and got it -

Hip hip hooray

A Cumberland sausage a day

Will keep the mentals away

Oh happy happy day

I KNOW HOW TO STOP GETTING COMMENTS EMAILS WITHOUT UNTICKING THE BOX

 

Do you want to know how to stop getting all those emails when you forget to untick the box on blogs that haven’t had the thingy disabled?

 

 

 

 

Do you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know how to.

 

 

 

 

 

I did some investigating while I can’t concentrate enough to write a post.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you want me to tell you?

 

 

 

 

Or are you okay as you are?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have you sorted it out?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you always remember to untick the box?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HA HA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, enough tormenting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Go to Reader — Blogs I Follow and at the bottom of the left hand column you’ll see, in small faded letters –

‘MANAGE EMAIL DELIVERY SETTINGS’

click on it, and down the list you’ll see a ‘FOLLOW COMMENTS’ box – untick it, and VOILA, no more emails.

 

 

Don’t all thank me at once.

 

Dotty Headbanger – Namer Of Babies

 

I  am touched and honoured. I am close to tears of happiness and joy. I have been blessed.

 

I have named a baby.

 

A beautiful little one year old baby who has just had his 1st birthday party.

 

THE NAME I HAVE GIVEN HIM IS…

 

SAUSAGE

 

and in a minute I can go to bed happy and maybe get some sleep and think about how I can get his mother to change his surname to CUMBERLAND.

 

CLICK HERE TO GO TO KATHY’S BLOG TO SEE HOW IT HAPPENED

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAUSAGE, YOU LITTLE LOVELY.

A birthday gift for Sausage.

 

The Three Red Bins Of Blogging Award (The Best Award I’ve Made Today)

 

I’ve been bored out of my skull today waiting for the universe to die so I’ve made a new award AND IT’S A NICE AWARD because I thought I’d better be nice for a change in case there IS a god.

This is my new award

 

See how nice I’ve been? I think I’ve been EXCEPTIONALLY NICE, nice enough to get me into HEAVEN if there IS a god.

There are two requirements to having this award -

1 — You have to CLICK ON THIS LINK AND THEN PRESS LIKE

2 — You have to CLICK ON THIS LINK AND ADD YOUR BLOG

 

If you’ve already done these two things you are BRILLIANT and I award you my new award which is a very, very classy award, if I do say so myself. If you haven’t already done these two things GO AND DO THEM.

When (notice I’m not saying ‘if’) you put it on your own site, you can set your own conditions to manipulate your readers into doing what you want them to do.  

Go forth, my acolytes, and continue being brilliant.

 

Little Emily Is Dying And Dotty Might Have Destroyed The Universe (If I Have – Sorry Everyone)

 

She’s had a relapse, a bad one. Branwell came last night, but they don’t need me to go up there because Charlotte and Anne are home again. I’m so worried about her I’ve done something I probably shouldn’t have done - I gave Branwell my emergency course of antibiotics that I keep for emergencies and I told him to sneak them to her at the correct times. Like I said, I probably shouldn’t have given them to him but I can’t stand the thought of her being so ill when the very medicine that could make her better is sitting in my medicine cupboard doing nothing. 

But the big question I’ve been asking myself since is - might I be fucking about with TIME and FATE and HISTORY? Might the universe POP or IMPLODE or TURN UPSIDE DOWN or FLOAT AWAY or something just as devastating if little Emily doesn’t stay ill and die when she’s supposed to? Who knows – I don’t know and you don’t know either, the only people who profess to know are the UNIVERSE BOFFINS and all they know is how to talk a load of SCIENTIFIC WORDY SHITE about their THEORIES. But really they don’t know any more than we do – they’re just GUESSING in their SCIENTIFIC UNIVERSE BOFFIN ways of guessing and getting paid a fucking great shedload of money to do so.

Why are there no UNIVERSE BOFFINS who specialise in COMMON SENSE? For instance, when they prattle on about the BALLOON THEORY – I’ve never heard one of them ask ‘What’s on the OUTSIDE of the balloon?’ because common sense says the balloon has to expand into SOMETHING. And what colour is the balloon? (I hope it isn’t yellow, I don’t like yellow balloons, they make me feel sick.) And why isn’t the balloon DEFLATING like old balloons do if they’ve hidden themselves behind the sofa for a week?

And WHO BLEW THE BALLOON UP IN THE FIRST PLACE?

And did who ever blew it up use one of those BALLOON BLOWING PUMPS or did they blow it up with their lips and their breath?

And WHY did they blow it up?

A birthday? A wedding?

And is there any writing on the balloon?

9 TODAY?

HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY?

CONGRATULATIONS (with a little picture of two horseshoes).

It’s all too complicated for my little addled brain to think about. But I’ve affected SOMETHING because WEIRD UNIVERSE TRICKS have already started –

TWO OF MY PENS RAN OUT OF INK THIS MORNING

What are the odds of that happening, eh?

TWO pens, the two pens I use – but I didn’t start using them at the same time, one was older than the other. I’ve left them both sitting on my kitchen worktop so I can try them again later to see if the INK HAS COME BACK because if it DOES come back it means TIME HAS REVERSED ITSELF and I’ll have to prepare myself for my front door de-bricking itself.

 

I’m going to have some Cumberland sausage sandwiches (my last?) and then a big swig of laudanum (my last?) and wait for Branwell to come and tell me how little Emily is doing. IF he comes.

Goodbye, my bloggy friends. It’s been nice knowing you.

 

Down In My Air Raid Shelter, Then Back Up Again, Now I’m Going Back Down

 

Last night I was down in my Air Raid shelter all night with my brick, thinking about the busy human world above me and everything that goes on in it - 

births

marriages

deaths

celebrations

business

arguments

accidents

love at first sight

kisses

slaps

singing

dancing

beatings

murders

new love

old love

celebrity

poverty

crime

shagging

house buying

clothes buying

food buying

buying, buying, buying, buying

illnesses

gods

wars 

starvation

tears

neglect

destruction

school life

work life

family life

traffic on roads and motorways and seas and skies, cars, lorries, bikes, boats, planes, the rich and the not-so-rich speeding to where they want to be to get what they want to get while the poor endure or die

and I thought it’s all a load of shite, isn’t it? A big shitey web of shite.

 

I came back upstairs early this morning and opened the back door and the world STINKS, it stinks of the shite being spread on the fields down the road, the stinking fat farmer spreading his stinking SHITE and for what? To feed the greedy, more, more, more, me, me, me.

 

 

I want to be a tree.

A tree is a tree is a tree.

It doesn’t pretend to be anything else.

 

 

 

 

 

Help! Why Has The Like Button Suddenly Appeared On My Pages?

 

I’ve never had a Like button on my pages and no one else has either and I probably wouldn’t have noticed WordPress have added one if I hadn’t seen in my notifications that someone pressed Like on my title page which is called

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A Like button on my pages is fine, it doesn’t bother me, EXCEPT on my title page – I disabled comments and shares on that page to keep it as a clean title page so does anyone know how to disable Likes on just the ONE page without disabling them altogether, please? I can’t find an option for it in the editing thingy.

 

Dotty Update On Pengate And Some Bad, Bad News

 

I’ve resolved the pen problem to the mutual satisfaction of both parties and I get to keep the beautiful, pure white swan feather pen. 

What happened is I had a bright idea so I sent Papa Brontë a BALLPOINT pen, to be precise it was a Papermate Flexigrip ultra pen (black) but three hours later Branwell came back and I had to give him ANOTHER Papermate Flexigrip ultra pen because his father’s first instinct when he realised the Papermate Flexigrip ultra pen didn’t have to be dipped in his inkwell was to throw it on the fire and scream

‘WHAT IS THIS DEVILRY ? WHY DO YOU BRING TO MY GOD-FEARING HOUSE THIS VILE, UNHOLY STICK FILLED WITH THE PUTRID, BLACK SALIVA OF SATAN? BEGONE, CHANGELING, YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE – EVILDOER, DEFILER, OFFENDER OF CHRIST. BEGONE, I SAY!’

Little Emily managed to calm him down while Branwell went outside for a smoke and a sip of laudanum. She showed him her own Bic pens (I gave her two packs of three) and convinced him that if he allowed Branwell to get another Papermate Flexigrip ultra pen from me it could be made holy with a full exorcism before use. Now he likes it so much he’s sent me a note requesting more, in different colours.

 

 

So that’s all sorted, but what isn’t sorted is the fact that MY TELLY IS FUCKED. It won’t switch on. It’s a FUCKED BOX OF SHITE and I don’t know why. Last night it was working fine, no problems, then when I switched it on this morning (I don’t watch it, I just like having the little telly people in the room with me), NOTHING not a flicker, not a bleep, not a fizzle. I’ve wiggled the wires, I’ve smacked the fucker hard, I’ve given it a shake, NOTHING.

IT’S FUCKED.

I’ve got another telly, a little one, in the spare room where Scotty sleeps when he stays BUT I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WIRE IT UP TO MY TELLY-BOX and if I try to do it by myself I’ll fuck that up as well.  

I need Lottie. I’m going to ring her now.

 

Doomdotty In D Major

 

Dismal dame of doom and despair,

Dotty am I

and dotty I am;

daily, dutifully, dumbly

I drip my mundane dross into the ether

as each new day drags itself forth

into drab dawns,

indisputably, undelightfully drear.

 

I died, didn’t I?

Death dragged me to his dominions

and dumped me here

to deadhead his daisies,

damned me for days unending

to his dire displays of despicable

and indescribable woes.

 

The view from here is foul,

designed to devastate –

our war-dogs lie dead in deserts

their bodies dust-dried in the heat,

driven there by the dupery

of our dictators and despots

determined to decimate and destroy.

 

Down in dystopia, devils drink

from the dire ditch of disdain

while demons and damsels

with dirty diseases,

dank and heartsick,

drown in deprivation and despond,

decaying docilely

to the booming, beating din

of Death’s deafening drum.

 

The dead and the done for,

the sick and the starved,

devoured, disconsolate,

disparaged, doomed to damnation

by devious, demented

denouncements of decency.

 

I dream of a deity,

undreadful, undeterred,

worthy of devotion,

disciplined, driven, deft,

disposed to disarm and deny tyrants

their delusions of demigod status;

a divinity who deigns to descend

from his detachment

to lay his indebted, duteous hand on mankind.

 

But the damage is done,

(was done, long ago),

and it will devastate

with doubt, dismay, distrust,

and floods of blood

for all generations to come.

 

I died, didn’t I?

Didn’t we all?

 

 

Easter Eggs Are Yummy And Dotty Has Eaten A LOAD Even Though It Isn’t Easter Until Tomorrow

I've eaten about this much worth of Easter eggs so far and I'm going to eat MORE.

 

This is a very big Easter egg. I wonder if it’s hollow.  I’ve been eating Easter eggs all day. Easter eggs have NEVER made me sick, no matter how many I scran. They’re fucking lovely. THE BERSERKERS can’t keep up with me. Nobody can.

 

I’ve sent Scotty out to buy some more – yesterday he DID return from his meeting with MI5 or whoever he met  (I didn’t think he’d be able to come back) and he has to leave tonight on a mission to fuck knows where so that’s why we’re having Easter today and not tomorrow.

 

Lottie isn’t joining in because she’s on a diet but I can see by her face that she wants an Easter egg, she REALLY REALLY wants an Easter egg, it’s like a battle going on inside her - NO NO NO EASTER EGG, YES YES YES EASTER EGG – but she hasn’t given in yet. I’ll give her another hour before she cracks (HA HA HA HA – did you see what I did there?) We always had Easter egg eating competitions when we were kids and Lottie always won, even Scotty couldn’t beat her, even dear dead Daddy couldn’t beat her, and alongside the lure of the Easter eggs themselves is the call of the FIGHT – if her stomach doesn’t make her crack (HA HA) her competitive streak will.

 

Scotty isn’t very well, he caught Man-Flu the other day when he was up the ladder in the blizzard so it’s his own fault he has it, and THE BERSERKERS have little girl stomachs so I’m winning so far with a grand total of 12 (2 Cadbury’s Creme Eggs, 3 Cadbury’s Caramel, 3 of those Lindt Bunny Rabbits, and 4 Cadbury’s Flake). I don’t know what kind of Easter eggs Scotty’s going to bring back but they better not be those cheap ones that clag to the top of your mouth, I don’t like them.

 

I might be back later to tell you who won.

 

It’ll be ME.

A New Dotty Collection

 

I’ve started a new collection. 

Hellosailor sparked the idea.

It’s going to be FUCKING BRILLIANT.

 

GO HERE TO SEE WHAT IT IS

 

I want EVERYONE TO CONTRIBUTE TO MY COLLECTION.

Thank you.

 

Stinking Stillness – (What To Do)?

 

the towels stink

i stare at them and stare at them and stare at them

but they still stink

 

Happy Mother’s Day, Meine Mami – Here’s A Brilliant Rhyme For You

This is a Happy Mother's Day flower for meine Mami. I can't give her a real flower because I don't know where she is.

 

 

 

If anyone got a post in their email that isn’t here now it’s because it was a PICTURE POST that I made for meine Mami for HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY with some lovely pictures and captions and it was lovely and it was FUCKING BRILLIANT – but it SHAGGED MY LITTLE BLOG RIGHT UP because I can’t do pictures. So I’ve made a little rhyme instead –

 

 

 

 

 

A HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY RHYME FOR MEINE MAMI

 

Where have you gone, meine Mami?

It’s been years since we last had a hug,

since then my brain has gone gammy -

it’s all manky and skanky with fug.

I miss your old legs, meine Mami,

and the fun and the laughs of our games

with the butter and mayo and jammy

that we spread on your varicose veins;

and your laugh, like a crying old donkey

with its tail trapped in somebody’s door;

and your eyes, even though they are wonky

and as grey as the dust on my floor.

Please, please come home, meine Mami,

your absence is harder than stone

and it hits with a quadruple whammy

each hour when I’m sitting alone.

Meine Mami, I miss and I love you

so much that it makes me feel sick;

when you want to come home I’ll be waiting

with a Cumberland sausage sandwich and a plate of McCain’s Chippy Chips and a packet of Hobnobs and a BRAND NEW BRICK.

 

 

 

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MEINE MAMI

 

 

 

 

Yet Another Dotty Gloomy Shitey Poemy Shitey Pile Of Shite (Sorry)

 

Wraith

 

like some ancient, lost ethereal thing

on and on I stumble

 

down springs, autumns, winters, summers,

into the slows and sloughs of remembered other days

 

where I sift through piles of sighs

green with lichen and moss,

 

harvest memories of a kiss,

a smile, a touch, an eyeflash

 

 

there are no flowers…

just memories, like raptors, gather

 

 

another dawn breaks

and I wake

crying in colours and mad, mad sparks,

trying to suck the screams back into my heart

as the sun

my beautiful sun

slides from the throat

of the beast

 

 

I Made A New Page For You While I’m Waiting For The Boilerman

 

It’s for you all (y’all) to add your links to your blogs and so you can find other good blogs to read.

SPREAD THE LOVE, MY CHICKADEES, far across the wide, wide, WordPress.

Add your own blog to DOTTY’S PET BLOGS.

And go and visit each other.

But always come back to me.

Because I love you.

You are ALL beautiful.

And sparkly.

No exceptions.

Except one.

 

Dotty’s 100th Blog Post (And It’s F***ing Brilliant) …

 

… or it would have been if I could have been bothered writing a post. But I can’t be bothered, I’m knackered after all the commotions and shite so I’m going back to bed and this is all you’re getting today.

Anyone have a problem with that?

 

EDIT EDIT EDIT — I came back because I forgot to tell you what I did. LOOK HERE  

 

I AM A HACKER

AND IT IS GOOD

BECAUSE CLOWN’S ARSE IS ON FIRE

AND HE’S IN A BAD MOOD

 

 

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

 

GOTCHA, BOZO.

 

The Tyrant God Of The Internet Smites Little Dotty – Defences Are Up

 

Following last night’s TRAVESTY OF JUSTICE when the self-styled TYRANT GOD OF THE INTERNET spewed his PUTRID WRATH AND STINKING BILE all over me, your poor, helpless little Dotty, it was brought home to me that ATTACKS ON THE INNOCENT can manifest in many various UNEXPECTED, UNJUST, UNFAIR, UNFITTING, UNCALLED FOR, UNPRINCIPLED, UNREASONABLE, UNSPORTING, UNGENTLEMANLY, OPPROBRIOUS, DISHONEST, DISHONOURABLE, DUPLICITIOUS, DISGRACEFUL, DISREPUTABLE, IGNOMINIOUS, PETTY, CORRUPT, CROOKED, INGLORIOUS, JANUS-FACED, SHABBY, SHAMEFUL ways.

My reply to you, you MEALY-MOUTHED AUTHORITARIAN TAG THUG, is a BIG FUCK-OFF ELECTROCUTED FENCE around my little insignificant blog, and a BIG FUCK-OFF MINEFIELD and a BIG FUCK-OFF REINFORCED STEEL WALL INSET WITH BIG FUCK-OFF FLAME-THROWERS and a THOUSAND BIG FUCK-OFF SLINGS ON THE PARAPETS TO HURL BIG FUCK-OFF PILES OF COW SHIT AT YOU and a THOUSAND BIG FUCK-OFF CAULDRONS FILLED WITH GOAT’S PISS AND PIG’S PISS AND SHEEP’S PISS AND HORSE’S PISS AND MICE PISS AND RAT’S PISS AND GERBIL’S PISS AND SPIDER’S PISS AND GRANNY’S PISS and it will ALL BE RAINED DOWN ON YOUR SMUG, STUPID HEAD IF YOU COME ANYWHERE NEAR MY TAGS AGAIN.

 

DON’T MESS WITH DOTTY, ARSEWIPE. YOU WILL NOT WIN.

 

 

 

EDIT EDIT EDIT – ———–  VICTORY IS ALMOST MINE. I’ve got most of them back except Pile of Shite. It’s amazing what a well-worded up-your-arse email can do, isn’t it?

 

 

The Dotty Headbanger Award For Being Mental And Loving It

THE DOTTY HEADBANGER AWARD

FOR BEING MENTAL AND LOVING IT

 

 

I feel like a horrible cow for not accepting awards that people give me so I’ve decided I’m still not going to accept awards, instead I’m going to GIVE OUT MY OWN AWARD because I’m nice and kind like that and it is bettereth to giveth than to receiveth. Also, I needed to show off and brag about my new-found skill of being able to WRITE INSIDE A PICTURE which I spent all morning perfecting.

I’m not really sure how this award thing works, but from what I’ve seen there are specific QUESTIONS TO ANSWER, so here are the questions for THE DOTTY HEADBANGER AWARD FOR BEING MENTAL & LOVING IT.

 

QUESTIONS TO ANSWER

1.  How many bricks do you own?

2.  How many Cumberland sausages can you fit in your mouth without chewing?

3.  What is your most inventive way of using biscuits (or cookies if you’re American)?

4.  If it was made compulsory to have a mental illness which one would you choose and why? (If you have a mental illness already you have to choose another).

 

 

So now I have to give it out to people – BUT I CAN’T, I don’t want to leave someone out and watch them sitting alone in the corner crying because they haven’t been chosen (like when the BITCHES who chose the netball teams never picked ME). So what I’m going to do is present it to EVERYONE WHO READS MY LITTLE BLOG AND EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATES IN ITS MENTALNESS to say THANK YOU VERY MUCH and you all (y’all) can do what you want with it, either give it out and MAKE ME VERY FAMOUS or ignore it (at your peril).

P.S. You now have a choice of TWO pictures, mine (the one I sweated blood and tears over) or the new posh one made by clownonfire (the link to his blog is on the right at the top of Dotty’s Pet Blogs). Choose which one you want.

 

Dotty Is The Reincarnation Of WHAT?

 

How the fuck should I know, I’m not a REGRESSION HYPNOTIST. And I’ve never been able to afford one so who or what I was in my past lives will have to remain a mystery for now. There IS a chance I was one of Branwell Brontë’s painted pox-ridden laudanum floosies because little Emily said she has a strong feeling she recognises me but she doesn’t remember how, only that she knows it’s in connection with her brother (she thinks we’ve become such good friends because we both have bad brothers).

Why is it that when people get regressed and go back into their past lives they always find out they were RICH and WELL-TO-DO, and if they weren’t rich and well-to-do they were POOR MURDER VICTIMS? Or they were wrongly executed? Or they were Cleopatra? (This also happens with We Who Are Mental - our delusions of being someone else are always grandiose la-di-dah delusions – I am Jesus/Napoleon/Cleopatra (she gets around a bit)/God/Mary, Queen of Scots/etc etc etc).

The regressed always get to be someone with a really meaty history, never a boring one. Why doesn’t anyone want to be old Joe Bloggs the cheesemonger, or Jane Clapp the hatchet-faced fish wife, or Miss Agatha Pratt the virgin spinster cat-lady?

I want to be regressed. I want to be regressed and find out I was NORMAL-MINDED. I want to KNOW what it was like. Are there any REGRESSION HYPNOTISTS reading this? If so, get in touch and I’ll let you practice on me and I WON’T CHARGE YOU ANY MONEY FOR MY TIME. You can even come to my house and I’ll make your dinner for you. It’ll be nice. We’ll have Cumberland sausages and McCain’s Chippy Chips and for pudding we’ll have spotted dick and custard (made for me by my lovely Aunt Bessie).

 

P.S. If I was an animal in a past life, I bet I was a SLOTH.

 

 

3.00 am And Dotty Is Awake AGAIN

 

This is the third night in a row I haven’t slept. If I don’t sleep soon I’ll DIE of awakeness (I wonder how that will work).

 

 

KUM-BAH-YA M’Lord, KUM-BAH-YA

KUM-BAH-YA M’Lord, KUM-BAH-YA

KUM-BAH-YA M’Lord, KUM-BAH-YA

WOOOAAAHH LOOORRD KUM-BAH-YA

 

 

SOMEONE’S SINGING M’LORD, KUM-BAH-YA

SHE’S NOT SLEEPING M’LORD, KUM-BAH-YA

GIVE HER QUININE M’LORD, KUM-BAH-YA

WOOOAAAHH LOOORRD KUM-BAH-YA

 

 

A TOT OF LAUDNUM M’LORD, KUM-BAH-YA

TO MAKE HER SLEEPY M’LORD, KUM-BAH-YA

SHE DRANK THE LAST BIT M’LORD, KUM-BAH-YA

WOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

LOOOOOOOOOOORRD

KUM-BAH-YA

 

 

Will my eyes drop out soon?

 

 

 

Did Jesus Steal My Followers?

 

I was up all night again last night (that’s two nights in a row – how many more before I DIE?) worrying about my missing followers and trying to fill the gaping, glaring gaps in my house left by THE BINNING OF SOME PRECIOUS COLLECTIONS when I had a thought — what if my missing followers were stolen away by JESUS because I have more followers than he did at the start of his career? He could have kidnapped them due to overwhelming jealousy, or he could have tempted them away with a bit of BREAD and a FISH (if they prefer bread and fish to Cumberland sausages then I leave them to their fate, they are UNSAVEABLE).

Or Jesus might not have pinched them, they might have just been VERY TOUCHY about me mentioning the huge difference in followers. Some people do get VERY TOUCHY about Jesus, like the VERY UNNEIGHBOURLY JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES I lived next door to many years ago who tried to steal my garden the first summer I lived there (they didn’t get it – I went to my local council and REPORTED THEM). During the garden battle I happened to be going through a DECORATING MY WINDOWS phase and I put some decorative signs in one of my kitchen windows, (I had TWO kitchen windows in that house), the window that just happened to face their door. I can’t remember all the signs I put in the window, but I remember that one was a big recruiting advertisement for BLOOD DONORS (very pretty, if I recall rightly), another was a very fancy bumper sticker that said JESUS IS O NEGATIVE and across the top of the window I strung some sparkly fairy lights and a foil MERRY CHRISTMAS decoration that glimmered in the summer sun and twinkled softly at night when the fairy lights were on.

I can’t be certain if it was the garden battle or the Jesus thing but they didn’t speak to me again. I suspect it was the Jesus thing. And the amount of EVIL LOOKS they threw at me forever afterwards – all I have to say to that is professing to be GODLY and GOOD and LOVE THY NEIGHBOURISH doesn’t actually get you people to heaven UNLESS YOU PRACTICE WHAT YOU PREACH.

So if my missing followers DID leave because they were VERY TOUCHY about me having more followers than Jesus in his early days, well I’m sorry but I CAN’T HELP THAT – a fact is a fact and you’ll just have to get over it.

 

Come Back Runaways And All Will Be Forgiven

WHERE THE FUCK HAVE MY TWO ABSCONDING FOLLOWERS GONE?

I got one new one today which should have taken the total to 81 (or 80 if you don’t include me) but TWO OTHERS RAN AWAY FROM ME. Why would they do that? I’m not horrible to you all, am I? I don’t hit you with big sticks, do I? I don’t make you do dances for me (though I have thought of asking), nor do I make you wash the dishes or make my bed or cook my Cumberland sausages. So WHY would TWO OF YOU run away?

Have they eloped? Good luck to them if they have, but COULDN’T THEY HAVE LEFT ME A NOTE? What have I done to make them reject me so publically and so cruelly? Don’t they have hearts? Don’t they know what rejection DOES to a SHE-HERMIT? 

I’ll give them till tonight to come back and BEG FORGIVENESS. If they haven’t returned by 10.oopm that’s it, they’re on their own, I don’t care what trouble they get themselves into - they’ll have made their choice, they’ll have to live with it. And I’ll disinherit them. I’ll cut them out of my will and out of my LIFE. And I’ll give all their clothes to the charity shop. And I’ll write all over their shoes with a BLACK MARKER PEN. And I’ll sell their computers on Ebay and KEEP THE MONEY.

10.pm. That’s your deadline, traitors.

 

 

EDIT EDIT EDIT — A KIND WORD FROM ME TO YOU

You are all like my children, innocent and needy, and I AM AFRAID FOR YOU when you venture out into the big wide WordPress alone. Come back, Child, and other Child, and I’ll make you a nice cup of HOT CHOCOLATE and give you a HOBNOB to dunk in it.

 

ANOTHER EDIT —

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE COME BACK. I NEED YOU. I MISS YOU. I LOVE YOU. I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU.

 

 

The Universe Is Bestowing Blessings On ME, Dotty!!!!!

 

What’s happening? What’s all this GOOD LUCK I’m having? Is it a result of me SAVING THE WORLD yesterday? Have the BUTTERFLIES grown extra pairs of WINGS? Is it an anomaly in the UNIVERSE? Has a NEW BLACK HOLE opened up in a distant GALAXY and is, at this very moment, sucking up all the BAD?

FANFARE. DRUM ROLL.

DAH-DAH

I HAVE WON THE EUROMILLIONS.

Me, Dotty, the Dotty who never wins anything even a booby prize. I just checked my ticket from Friday night and BOSH, I’m a winner! Granted, it’s only £2.80 but that’s A PACKET OF CUMBERLAND SAUSAGES (£1.50) and almost ANOTHER PACKET OF CUMBERLAND SAUSAGES!!!!

Waaahooooo!! Get in there, Dotty, you lucky cow!

 

First Aid For Hermits

 

Always being alone in your house can be dangerous but combine it with not speaking to other people and it becomes potentially fatal. I’ve had many accidents that could have been serious if I hadn’t known what to do at the time. To avoid death (and why NOT avoid it, you avoid everything else – why should death be any different?) here are a few First Aid basics you really do need to know. Bear in mind I’m NOT a doctor, I can only tell you what I personally do when I injure myself.

I’m presuming you have a well-stocked medicine room, if not just make note of the items in big writing and get your Shopping Person to get them for you- I can’t be bothered making a shopping list for you today.

 

Bumps and Bruises

For bangs on the head caused by banging your head on the wall fill the sink with equal amounts of ABSINTHE and WITCH HAZEL and put your head in it (be careful not to drown). This will help to bring out the bruising. If you think you might have knocked yourself out then it’s possible you might have concussion or a brain injury so go and have a little lie down for a while until the headache has gone. A big swig of Laudanum will help with the pain.

 

Nicks and Cuts

For little nicks on your fingers caused by the cheese grater, or for slightly deeper cuts from the scissors you use to separate your Cumberland sausage links, stop whining and stick a PLASTER on it. Deeper nicks and cuts, (such as when you’ve bought a cow home and you’re butchering it so you can freeze some for later and you chop half your hand off instead of the cow’s head), require an antiseptic ointment of OPIUM and LARD, a BANDAGE, and a strip of plaster to stop your bandage from unravelling. Clean the wound first though with your ARSENIC DISINFECTANT OINTMENT. A big swig of Laudanum will help with the pain.

 

Trapped Nerves

For a trapped nerve in the neck caused by kneeling at your window at an angle that allows you to keep watch for white vans with spies in them without being seen by your nosey neighbours, I’m afraid you need time in TRACTION. Use a SAW to make a neck-sized hole at one end of your kitchen table. Don’t worry, it won’t affect your keep fit routine, (see The Dotty Way To Exercise ©™®), in fact you’ll be using your DIET COKE BOTTLES for this too, doubling your value for money. Tie your diet coke bottles to either end of a LEATHER STRAP (a handbag strap will do, it doesn’t matter if you only have one handbag, use it – you don’t use if for anything else, do you?) place your diet coke bottles at either side of the neck-sized hole and lie down (on your back) on the table. Carefully lift the diet coke bottles and place the leather strap across the front of your neck. Let the diet coke bottles drop off the end of the table (slowly and carefully, you might want to avoid beheading yourself). Stay in this position for 3 hours. Repeat daily for 6 weeks and the weight of the diet coke bottles will free your trapped nerve allowing your future white van vigils to be pain-free and comfortable. Big swigs of Laudanum taken hourly will help with the pain.

 

Stomach Upsets

If you haven’t yet learned how to cook your Cumberland sausages you might have a few stomach problems. First of all, always cook your Cumberland sausages for at least an hour, contrary to popular belief crispy is good, so is black. To cure stomach upsets already caused by uncooked Cumberland sausages make WORMWOOD tea (if you’re not a gardener you can use ABSINTHE but not too much because it’s a potent alcoholic drink and you don’t want to get addicted). A big swig of Laudanum will help with the pain.

 

Twisted, Sprained or Broken Arms and Legs

If you haven’t cleaned your house yet you’re at great risk of tripping over some bit of shite that shouldn’t be on your floor. This is VERY PAINFUL when you do it and as you’ve no way of knowing the severity of the injury (unless you have your own X-Ray machine which I’m saving up for) it’s best to err on the side of caution and SPLINT the limb you’ve damaged. If your stock of pre-made splints has run out and you’ve been too idle to make some more, it serves you right, you should keep up with your housework, I’ve already told you this. If you’re a new hermit and this is the first time you need a splint, what you do is you take a shelf from your bookcase (lay the books in neat piles on the floor) saw it down to fit your arm or leg and strap it on to said arm or leg. You can use anything to secure it (I’ve found knee-socks work well) as long as it’s tied tight enough for the splint to stay on. Keep the splint on for about 3 months. Big swigs of Laudanum taken hourly will help with the pain.

 

Strangling Yourself On Your Shower Curtain

It might happen that one day you’re playing with your (toy) ducks in the bath and you get a bit too involved and try to swim with them underwater but when you dive you hit your head on the bottom and can’t get up and to save yourself from drowning you grab the shower curtain but you’re so disorientated you get into a fight with it and it wraps itself round your neck and tries to strangle you and when you finally get free of it you’re left with nasty strangle contusions round your neck. And it bloody well hurts. A lot. Well sorry, there’s nothing you can do for this except take a big swig of Laudanum to help with the pain.

 

May you all remain injury-free and painless, my hermits. Be safe, be careful, and most of all be prepared.

 

 

Friendly Mormons, Where Are You?

 

I’m thinking of dabbling in religion, specifically I’m thinking of getting to know some Mormons. I used to know some, a lovely couple. One of their children was in the same class at school as one of mine.

He was a Mormon priest. He lent me his reference books while I was studying. He drove me places. He did my garden every second weekend. All of this in exchange for a mere 30 minutes per fortnight (timed) of trying to convert me. Right from the start, when he first offered my child and I a lift home from school, I told him, ‘You’ll never get Dotty,’ and he knew he wouldn’t, bless him, but he kept up the pretense over a glass of fruit juice, a packet of Digestives and the copy of the Book of Mormon he gave me. He felt sorry for me. His wife did too. I let them. While he did the garden she cleaned my house. She kept it sparkling, and she also brought her own cleaning products with her which saved me having to buy any. One day she offered to decorate the bedrooms. I couldn’t let her do that all by herself so I asked if she wanted to bring her Sisters round to help. Lovely ladies, the lot of them, once they’d done the bedrooms they wanted to do the whole house. Who was I to stop their good works?

That was a lot of years ago. Since then I’ve become the she-hermit you read before you. But I miss my old Mormon friends. So do my carpets, my oven, and my overgrown hedges. 

 

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