youri tielemans
in a bygone time, people were named after their professions, or the profession of their forebears. “smith” was someone who worked as a blacksmith. a “fletcher” used to make arrows. a “mountbatten-windsor” would mount unsuspecting children in the royal county.
tielemans has had a hard life. he’s had to spend the past 7 years living in birmingham and leicester. statistically, he should have been stabbed over 18 times during this period, a figure he pokes fun at with his new shirt number at united. with his salvation in manchester cruelly taken away from him, he will, as his forebears, yearn again for the sea. setting off as a crewmate and not returning to shore for years.
when his ship is battered by a storm, he will have no choice but return to dry dock and naturally seek the warmth of a woman, having only
known the callused hands of the ship’s first mate for a lifetime, he will seek the company of a lady of the night, taking her to a modest hotel. they will sit on the bed and begin formalities. her hand would snake up his thigh to find him as limp as a jellyfish.
“ar, all this time and sea, i don’t have me land legs. can we head to the shitter and i’ll sit in a few inches of water in the tub. maybe that will make me feel like i’m at sea again and raise me ardor.”
after a few minutes of boob work he’s still like a furled rope.
“i wouldn’t just be wet at sea, the spray would lash against me face. perchance you could splash me?”
the willing brass began cupping water from the tap and hurling it at him.
“ar, it’s no good. it reminds me of the rain but not the wind that comes with it. how it would crash against me as i cowered on deck.”
she thought for a moment and grabbed the shower curtain between her two biggest toes on her left foot and began billowing it at him.
“yes, yes, i feel a twitch. the main sail is on its way to be hoisted. but with rain and wind like this, a storm’d be brewing. the sound of thunder will get me as hard as the decks i swept.”
she glanced over at the bathroom cabinet beneath the sink and began slamming it open and closed with her other foot. she slammed, she billowed and she splashed. “are you ready, youri?”
“ar, with thunder this loud, the lightning would be overhead.”
as quick as a flash she began flicking the light switch on and off with her last remaining hand. she billowed the curtain, she splashed the water. she flicked the light switch over and over and bellowed over the crashing of the cupboard “are you ready to make love to me now, youri”
“are ye must be joking, in this weather?”
tielemans, pele sailor.
mazraoui
with the never ending influx of immigrants, the uk has turned its back on its traditonal hatred of muslims. yes, it shines through in the odd reform candidate’s twitter history as they’re trounced in a local election, but it’s a far more encompassing hatred of all foreign types now. scientists think this occurred shortly after the extradition of boss-eyed muslim cleric abu hamza and the subsequent ending of all terrorism. mazroui has a chance to change all this and return us to the good old days as he takes on the role of muslim hate cleric.
