Welcome one and all to the latest instalment of Woe, live and direct (as live and direct as a writing can be) from the mean streets of my desk in Aldershot… The last woe looked at nature and it is being turned in to a BBC 12 part special filmed in 3D-HD Touch-n-Smell-ovision… should be proper cack.
Today though were taking the Woes in a new direction as we tell a simple story, of a simple man who by simple means achieved simple things that were simply great, this is the story of Harry Blogger….
On a cold night outside a furnace, in the smog of Teeside, an abandoned baby cries from a basket. Slowly an elderly lady drunkenly stumbles to her doorstep to see what the commotion is. “Whose that outside me door like? If yus is from the provy yus can go fuckk ya’sef” The old lady looked down in disbelief. “How’ay man, Bill ya fat drunk bastard, how’a look a’ this”. “Wor is it ya woman, if it’s the provy I aint in”. Bill drunkenly bellowed to his inebriated wife. “It’s wee one!”.
The drunken lady and old Bill decided to raise the child as their own, but as they were hopelessly poor and alcoholics he did not have the beat of upbringings. He spent his days cleaning the brushers for the lad who cleaned the boots of steel miners for a penny a dozen and his evenings perched under a table in the local public house… It was here that the young man honed his comedic talents and learnt in great detail about the finer things in life, of football and darts, of pies, of parmos… of women.
His knowledge grew, as did his ability to tell jokes, and soon he had hoards of people longing to hear his takings on the weeks football matches. The boy started publishing his musings on the back of old napkins and sold them at 2 pence a pop. Although he was happy in his life he longed for more, his dream was to go to the school for gifted writers, Blogwarts, but being a poor orphan raised by drunks, he knew he could not ever afford such a life style.
One day as he was writing a particularly funny bit about Kevin Keegans hair-do getting mistaken for a magpies bird-nest, when a man came running past being chased by policemen. The boy seeing the man needed help quickly started telling jokes, and soon drew a crowd. The man on the run was able to lose his chasers in the crowd, but before he made his exit he came up to the young boy and said “I saw wot you did for me squire, I wont forget that, not never in me blinking loife, I’ll see your looked after”.
The next day their came a knock at the furnace, when the boy answered he saw no one, but below he saw a package with his name on. Inside the box was a wad of cash the likes of which he had never seen along with a note that read “I said I wouldn’t forget yous squire, take this deniro and live your dream, good luck mate, just beware of those jealous of your gifts”. So the boy packed his bags and bid his adopted drunken parents a fond farewell, as left to follow his dreams at Blogwarts…
The rain was coming down fierce as the boy arrived at the train station, eagerly he searched for his train, the vehicle that would take him to his new home. He climbed on board and looked for a seat. All the seats were taken but one, next to a grubby little boy in a QPR shirt who drew an uncanny resemblance to Danny Dyer. The boy sat next him and said “can I sit here like, lad?” “yeah course you can guvnor, my names Ron Charlsie, pleasure to meet cha, chim chim cheroo” said the little boy… “I’m awf to become wroiter at the Blogwarts school for good writing and grammar and stuff” The little boy was taken aback as he cried “Me n’all man, we ought to be best pals, yous wanna a tab?”.
As the boys smoked a regal a friendship was born, one that would be very important as there were those eager to see the little lad from tees fail. It was late when they arrived at Blogwarts and the two new best buds made it up to their dorm together, to start their education in good writing and grammar and stuff. The next day they made their way to the class room and were introduced to their new class mates. Everyone was very kind to the 2 new pupils, that is everyone except for one nasty, bitter little boy… Ruthless Mouthnoise! “Oh my god, look at your clothes, you two look like a rustic gay couple” The little boy did not take kindly to that at all “Shut your mouth or I’ll bottle yous, cuntlips!” he retorted… “listen, BOY” Mouthnoise sneered, “my dad is the current chief sports writer on the B B fucking C, that means I will be too one day, so show some respect for your superiors”.
Then as quick as the friendship had formed between the boy and Ron Charlsie, a rivalry and hatred formed between himself and Mouthnoise. As the year progressed the boy became top in all of his classes and was even made captain of the footy team and the writing about footy team, he had grade A dart score achieving 3 9DFs in his first season. His success grew as did the rivalry with Ruthless Mouthnoise, and it became intense as they approached the big end of year “good writing and stuff competition”. Mouthnoise wrote a piece that contradicted all he ever written before, but also managed to state the obvious and borrow playground analysis for his conclusions. It was sloppy at best. The boy however wrote a flowing article filled with wit and clever observation, everyone loved it. Except for one person who thought it relied too much on northern stereotypes and colloquial humour, and that the pub in which most of it was set was fictional. But apart from him everyone loved it. Well except for the handful of people who didn’t really have a problem with the writing, but thought that the same old people commenting about it afterwards ruined it. But everyone else loved it, and the boy won the competition and Ron Charlsie finished second. But unfortunately for him, Mouthnoise came last, and the teachers took it in turns guffing on his article, then it was set on fire and the ashes of it were sprinkled over cats wee.
However as usual in life, what is fair and what is just have very little to do with how reality unfolds. Both the boy and his friend Ron Charlsie got jobs writing blogs for the prestigious BBC which were brilliant and enjoyable and followed loyally by literally dozens of people. But the evil and talentless Ruthless Mouthnoise, was as good as his word and when he brutally killed his father by repeatedly reading one of his articles to him, he took his place as chief sports writer. And as a dawn of darkness swept over the BBCs online content, he swore vengeance upon the boy from tees and his grubby mate who had shown him up and ridiculed him back at Blogwarts school for good writing and grammar and stuff…
The above story and its characters are all based on real people, and ideas from other books, its plagiarism from start to finish. The boy is Robbo, Ron Charlsie is Chris Charles and Ruthless Mouthnoise is that cunt Phil McNulty.
Well here we are then, episode numero seven-tose of the Aldershot Woes, and it is a literary shit box of poor story telling, bad grammar, shabby structure and 2 dimensional characters. All in all, another Woefull effort. I hope you enjoyed it though I sincerely doubt you did unless you have some sort of brain trouble or you’re a literary masochist (How is McNulty’s new blog?). But I’ll keep banging this sh!t out regardless of how crap it is, and you never know one day I may be Chief Sports Writer…
Were dropping the ho/woes running gag, as it was limited at best…
You can’t follow me on twitter as I am invisible, you would be wasting your time even trying.