thirdform

pass the sick bucket
reading Tolstoy, Yeates, Dickens, Tennyson, Hardy, bronte, all them people. phyllis and verity laying next to me in bed. believeing brahms is the best thing since sliced bread. opium pipe at the ready. tophat and waistcoat. gentlemans clubs, archery. and never a dull moment. always moving from one lady to another. how does Jack do it? adored by everyone in society, even those you cheese off.
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
no depression. no existential despair. no feeling of wanting to smash this accursed city to bits. never scared of leaving the house. the world is your oyster.
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
new a clarissa once. was gonna ask her to go behind the bushes and plead her to dispense with 2 grams of cocaine and bunk off year 9 class. then i remembered she was one of the other blind boys assistants daughter and i thought hmm either a goody twoo shoes or i could get into serious trouble. but man. what a missed opportunity. the only other person i knew who was vaguely victorian was this bloke called Stephen who i had to be the year 6 buddy of. the fucking year 3 cunt never even spoke to me so no idea why they matched me up with him. probably one of those idiots raised by newly minted parents who probably had fucking gianormous portraits of lizzy's big, bulbous and drooping tits. I suppose that's sort of par for the course isn't it? comes with the territory. though in this case it will be Victoria.
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
some weirdo posted about dressage on my facebook the other day. funny as i thought they was into 92 hardcore in my school the only person. strange strange stuff. ironically the mans who went to oxford were the least victorian of the lot. just like budding entrepreneurs and had weird european names and shit. probably carved up some poor turk's organs in a liverpool mafia rivalry and used the profits from that to bribe the institution. who knows.
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
You need to be sexually repressed, melancholy, sensitive, conflict adverse, passive, to have been raised in a rural idyll, to have read too much and visited too many national trust properties at too impressionable an age.

A man out of time.
 

sadmanbarty

Well-known member
i'm outraged that we're letting corpse get away with pretending he's middle class.

his dad had bead covered car head seats, he's very clearly from ghanian security guard stock.

that's why he's always banging on about yeats and renaissance art. its a working class person's notion of the middle class. my mum does the same. she pretends to like opera and and art galleries, not realising that real middle class people don't like high art. we already know it's an illusion.
 

sadmanbarty

Well-known member
corpse has the most english face on the planet earth.

he's baked bean cum through and through. wanking to girls aloud posters. lads holidays. his mates even call him a "banter lord".
 

sadmanbarty

Well-known member
about once a week i'll walk past someone i think is corpsey. i'll have to intently look at them before shrugging it off. he's the spirit of england. leave means leave.

the last one i saw was on the way to seeing luke, it was a bloke with no legs in an electric wheelchair.
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
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Working class Geordie fantasy

Kneetrembler behind the stables
 

luka

Well-known member
i read the mayor of casterbridge, which is not a very good book, but it is interesting in its moral priorities and judgements. frankly, it's psychotic. that's where the interest lies. a woman has a flirtation and i punished with a 'skimmity-ride' and death from shame. for example.
 
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