Branwell To The Rescue – Manglebrain Is Back In The Sideboard

 

Branwell has saved me – AGAIN. He nicked some Holy Water from Papa Brontë’s drinking jug, brought it down to my house where he found me hovering over the kitchen table (not flying – floating!) singing Kylie’s ‘I Can’t Get You Out Of My Head’, got my trusty trepanning kit out of the drawer it lives in, dipped the end of the drill in the Holy Water and TREPANNED MANGLEBRAIN OUT OF MY HEAD AND BACK UPSTAIRS TO THE LOFT.

I love Branwell. People can say what they like about him, he’s my BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WORLD. Fuck little Emily, she’s a flaky, flighty bint, more concerned with her stupid WRITING than with saving her so-called friend (me!) from being possessed by a DEMON – when it comes to the crunch Branwell always rides in at the crucial crux to save me. He’s like a knight on a white charger except he’s not a knight and he doesn’t like riding old Bessie because he can’t stay upright on her back for long, and Bessie isn’t white, she’s dark brown with light brown patches and a dull creamy-coloured streak on her head. He’s reliable, trustworthy and honest, and he’s NEVER stingy with the laudanum or the opium or his special brew of Absinthe that he makes himself in an abandoned shepherd’s hut up on the moor.

I’m going to make him some Cumberlaudanum sausage sandwiches and a cake.

 

 

 

Dotty Is Being Beaten And Eaten By The Demon And I Don’t Know What To Do

 

I can’t think today. I couldn’t think yesterday either because Manglebrain is doing his demonic thing. He’s chewing my frontal lobes and all I can hear are slurps and smacks and chomps and crunches. He has NO MANNERS. I’ve tried giving him PROPER Cumberland sausages, not the fake Linda ones, but it isn’t working, he prefers brain.

He wants to make a pact with me but I won’t listen, and I also won’t read what he’s written which is difficult because he’s scrawled ALL OVER EVERYTHING in my house, he’s even written something in the dust on the screen of my laptop (this laptop) and I’ll have to DUST IT OFF with my little pink laptop duster that I can’t find because I haven’t used it for ages.

I’m tired. He keeps me awake most nights, whispering his shite – 

 

MANGLEBRAIN REX, CALUMNIATOR, CRIMINATORE, ACCUSER, SCOURGE, NOISOME BREATH OF ASTAROTH, WIND OF CHANGE AM I.

I AM CENTRE, I AM CIRCUMFERENCE, SWIFT IN MOTION WITHOUT FEET.

I EAT.

I EAT.

 

and all sorts of complete bollocks like that, on and on and on.  

I don’t know what to do.

 

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.

 

 

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