The HOROPOMO and The Meth Lab

The HOROPOMO, the homocidal, rapist, paedophile, metrosexuals comprised of mostly homosexuals and tasty lesbians, mostly. Though some lesbians did sport moustaches, all the metrosexuals were decidedly insane, particularly the homosexuals,took humongous amounts of drugs, drank copious amounts of alcoholic beverages, lied to everybody, everything and even to the walls, mostly Gyprock walls, known also as plasterboard, just one at a time because a whole room was too onerous a burden to hurl abuse at, at the same time, and if they did, they would wheel around and exhaust themselves trying to keep up the pace that they levelled at four walls at a time. They were known as Gyprock haters, drywall abusers, and the killers of the four walls of Antioch. Such was their intense hatred towards the termite army, seemingly lurking in the walls, that they hurled abuse at them nightly, their cries echoing down the deserted streets, deserted because the local inhabitants dared not venture forth in the darkness for fear of being carried away and eaten in a rather repulsive dish of Stewp, a cross between Soup and Stew, made from water, cooked in a half 44 gallon drum with old vegetables, packets of herbs and spices, opened or not, a liberal sprinkling of body parts and lashings of Methyl Amphetimine or the illicit drug Ice, sleeping during the day, waking in the early evening and venturing about the local neighbourhood to assault anything that was still alive, often mistaking rubbish as old friends who had fallen on hard times. “Old friend”, they would murmur to a pile of rubbish, “You seem like you’re a bit down, I’d like to help you out but I’m skint at the moment”, and would open up their wallet, showing their friend how empty it was indeed and sauntering off into the distance.

It was a rather commonplace day that particular day, around him in a 360 degree arc came the invasive and continuous cries of “Blow it out your fucking arse Henry, we hate your guts, we don’t want him to do anything at all, we brutally murdered, raped, tortured and ate all your girlfriends from your past, we poisoned you, we sterilised you, we robbed you of everything and made millions off of your work”, and a generous round of hearty and generally obnoxious cries of, “Too fucking bad”, it was like a wall of sound that threatened the entire Galaxy and did indeed put a damper on his ability to get anything done at all, even writing a single line required a Herculean attempt accompanied by a tremendous output of energy, massive amounts of patience, and endless entreaties to every God, Spirit, Elder and Insect on the planet to get anything done at all. It took him 45 years to just work out how to keep them out of his house just so he could get a single nights sleep, or even a few hours or even just 2 hours sleep, and all the time, dealing with constant abuse, being the daily victim of rape, so they said, as they taunted him, dealing with the constant theft of his possessions, work, food, girlfriends, all eventually going missing. Such was the case that long ago he decided not to have another girlfriend because they had all been lured away and supposedly forced into prostitution and eventually brutally pack raped, tortured and murdered and their bodies eaten, that was what they said to him as they hurled abusive comments at him 24 hours a day and night.

Some days he had a win against the hordes of the Devil worshipping morons, and this indeed was one of those days. He was going about his business, dodging bullets, blow darts and well trained assassins by the dozen, when he heard the genial cry of, “Can you turn off the water”, he didn’t pay too much attention to it and went about his daily chores. He was washing up and doing some general cleaning of his ultra small but sufficiently sized unit when the more blatant cry of an appeal for him to turn off the tap in the kitchen was levelled at him. He did enquire why he should turn off his own tap, as he was indeed busy cleaning up the kitchen which had recently been invaded while he was out by several thousand thieves, photographers, police, detectives from around the world, several alien races and a herd of angry Buffalo who had recently been anally raped by wild Mincy boys as they grazed and slept. He did refuse to stop washing and cleaning up and the far off cries grew louder, he stopped and looked down, “Oh, you are, aren’t you,” he said to an unknown dweller of a hitherto unknown subterranean labyrinthine chamber, and turned the hot water tap on in the kitchen sink, the cries grew louder, he then poured a generous amount of white vinegar down the sink, waited a while, then emptied a generous amount of bi-carbonate of soda down the sink afterwards, he washed that down the sink with hot water, then scrapped some pigeon droppings off the massive steel T trusses that he had procured to put into place against the front and back door to stop the depredations of the Mincy Boys and waited a few moments. There was the incredibly heartening and heart warming sound of a muffled explosion from down below the floor of his unit, from deep down below where a Meth lab had been constructed and was in use as he went about his day. They had been siphoning water from his tap, and their cries to turn off the water had given their little plot away, and soon he heard the very vocal and abusive screams of, “We hate your guts, Henry”, from singed Mincy boys, burnt cretins, and toasted morons who had been ‘Cooking’ up rather large batches of Meth or Ice, deep down below his unit. As they hastened past, close by on their way to a hospital or some sort of medical help, their hair burnt away, their clothes smouldering and some suffering from second degree burns, he let cry with a cheery “Smokin, Mincy boys”, the resulting addition of a few salient elements, that I just happened to serendipitously acquire during the previous few days and weeks, the super phosphate being the prime catalyst for the IED, (Improvised Explosive Device), did the job nicely, blowing up a rather large laboratory that was manufacturing Methyl Amphetimine or Ice, some 45 feet or 15 metres below the floor of my unit. Some days are diamonds, some days are stone as the song said.