Archive for October 17th, 2022

Author’s opening remark:
Read on and choose between the options given, that’s all you need to do.

Greetings my truly beloved audience! Well you all know me by now so to update you on my fanciful and haphazard life, re-entry into OTB play in BKK is imminent -what to do with it? Choose between Plan A and Plan B please. I’m offering up a car for the lucky winner chosen. Even if that winner is not you…please choose whichever one you think suits me best. As proof to reassure you of the seriousness in play here, I have provided you with a testimony from an heroin dealer outstanding member of the Belfast Prison Community:

Mr. Mohammed McO’Dougle of Belfast AKA Belfast’s top tranny: this McCready is a fucking piss taker. He’s a lying bastard and is not to be trusted. What he’s up to here I don’t know, he’s probably on something, he certainly was last week, and the week before, and the week before that come to and that fucking car he stole is mine and he gave my sister AIDS think of it.

Editor’s Input: yes it’s true the car on offer to the lucky winner was recently stolen late one night but it wasn’t his. It was nicked in a nice area of the city miles from where he lives. It’s not a bad number to shag birds in the back, and it’s good for doing lines of cocaine with mates in the front also. It’s not the car he gave his sister AIDS in but he did get the clap off some bird from the pub in it, and his mate got herpes off her friend in there too. The car will need to be cleaned upon collection as the one who gave his mate herpes stepped in dogshit after leaving the pub, putting a bit on one of the foot mats in the front, making the car stink all the time. The back seat has got a huge inverted cross carved into it and there’s no end of used condoms strewn over it not to mention a large pile of empty beer cans also, there’s plenty of them on the floor panels also. There’s some crack pipes left behind but not too many needles. There are cigarette burns on one of the seats but not too many. And lastly, there’s a tidy collection of jazz mags left on the rear shelf, which you may want to discard (jazz mags is British slang for pornographic magazines). Mostly they are Playboy and quite old. Many of the pages are stuck together and some of them are badly torn. Lastly, his mate can’t find one of his vibrators and thinks it might have got lost down the seats. It’s a purple colour and has got some do-do on it because he uses that one for the bum. He has requested that it be washed up and returned to him if it is discovered. But all that said the motor is in good nick, reliable, with a full tank of petrol, and free for our lucky winner.)

McCready writes: thy beloved audience -let the voting commence. Just choose Plan A or Plan B -it’s really that simple! And to explain further ‘thoughts conjured prior to combat’ means, more broadly, reflection on what to do. And ‘combat ready me’, means, more broadly, how to enjoy chess again.

Plan A

Thoughts conjured prior to combat

How am I gonna take to it again? How am I gonna be? Who’s gonna get hit first? Who’s gonna get laid out cold on the pavement outside the club?

Combat ready me

What I am gonna do when the chess club action is hot is waltz on in on da skytrain with a black bandanna on. I is gonna bop along to heavy metal all the way in. Then I is gonna swoop down onto the street, there I is gonna target the wealthy on the pavement with a bow and arrow, then lure them into the road and beat them up in front of the traffic, just like I used to all those years ago. I’m gonna steal all they’ve got off them and take their loot into the chess club. And it’s all gonna go down meters from where the chess club is at, for there is an Olde English Pub named after me on that spot -that’s where I will be me, where I shall rob from the rich without my band of merry men assisting (these days, they are fucked on drugs at home, and too fucked to get out of bed).

Where the rich shall be robbed.

Then, I’m gonna go in the club with the loot, stop all the games in play and give it to the poor players there that night. I’m gonna do it time and time again all night long so that by the end of the night, everyone’s happy and incapable of seeing me as anything other than a saviour…a kinda modern day Robin Hood if you like.

When I go back home on the train, I will stand and not sit, Anyone, monks especially, in need of assistant, will get it and women and children will be protected at all cost by use of my swift, merciless bow. Just as I get off the train, I will shoot up the security guards nearest with my trusty bow and arrow, just before bedtime. Only then will I sleep soundly with a wry smile on my face, wouldn’t you? I wanna be who I wanna be. I wanna do what I wanna do, then I sleep well. Sleep with thy bow and arrow beside thee I shall, and probably snore all night long also!

In terms of my chess at the club, I am not too fussed whether I win, lose, or draw as long as I am preoccupied with which forest I feel best in throughout my game…or if not where I can steal someone’s horse.

Nice statue

Plan B

Thoughts conjured prior to combat

What am I to be? I am to be the one who follows the way. The one who performs the art. The one who struts his stuff and makes his moves the fastest. He’s the one that fights and fucks the fastest. And he be me.

Combat ready me

On those nights where the chess action is hot in the city. I will trundle in on an old bus without AC. I will sit on the back seat and look at no one nor will I pay for my ticket. And when I get off that bus, I will walk calmly to the chess club, only stopping when I arrive. There I will wait outside the club itself. Sat on the street with a mask on, staring at the pavement intensely with my head lowered is all I ever do. No one will be allowed to enter the chess club without my permission. To get my permission they must fight me in the street where the rats fester amongst the dirty needles. I will use my kung fu on them, and then after my inevitable victory, I will use my kung fu on whoever looked on at my flawless victory. After the club has ended I will scour the streets for prostitutes. When I find one, I will be most respectful and offer the opportunity to go get high somewhere then fuck like crazy on the floor…and maybe teach them some chess afterwards. Any pimps spotted in their vicinity shall be crushed by my bare fists with real showmanship in play for my new found fuck buddy.

I will not allow myself the study of chess nor the practice of chess. I will only seek out new enemies in front of the club entrance. Everyone male is my enemy only those females I can fuck senseless on the street aren’t…well not usually. No one will ever know my name and I will not play anyone OTB. Only the shadows are where I lurk, there my demonology stops all who enter the chess club and no one who doesn’t. There is no real reason why except that I want to be me and only me, so I must do what I am honourably trained in.

He be like me.

At the end of the evening, I will sit in my dilapidated dojo and practice my arts. I will never speak to anyone nor look at them. I fight. I fuck. I show who’s master on the streets with a flawless victory -that is me. All that aside, admittedly, I am sometimes prone to buying boxes of cornflakes in supermarkets on the edge of the city, the ones that require the longest bus journeys, and there I pay with any foreign money I found on the street…but I do that for self-entertainment purposes only, hence the reason they are episodic in nature and always uploaded onto social media platforms that day.

Very me.

On week days with little to do, I will wander the streets aimlessly and sell drugs there. I will sniff glue with the radio on loud by the temple too, feeding any buffalo found with others in the community but with greater dignity and pride in myself than them. I will think always of myself as just like Neo in The Matrix. I will be so sure I don’t quite belong in this world, able to, by bus stops only, transport myself into different realms (but only on weekdays during dusk, and only if bored). And chess itself I will remain respectful of but wary of anyone who plays it for they are my enemy. Only when there is none in sight will I find the nearest public toilet and hang around there for hours on end. In them I will most likely I masturbate over the most honourable big-boobed women in 1980’s porno flicks…well if, and only if, no one wants my autograph or failing that a selfie perhaps.

Fan of the web site asks: What’s this McCready fellow up to here?

Webmaster’s Comment: not more bloody rubbish from that McCready is it? The fucking bastard shagged my cousin in his car and gave her the clap late last year.

Closing remarks from the local constabulary

PC Smith of Luton: This McCready fellow is a fucking drug addict. He’s given loads of women gonorrhea. All he does is get high, shag birds, then rob their family home. He never does a day’s work, he’s just a drop out. He’s a fucking nuisance, and when we catch him, we bang the bastard up. All he ever wants to do is get high and fuck about. Don’t vote for the bloody little git because there’s a lot of people who want him dead -us included!

Neighbour’s comment: yes it’s true we set his house on fire because we can see from our bedroom that in his, he has a big semi-circle of pictures of world chess champions on the floor, and we see him kneel down in front of them, then he takes off his trousers and underwear, then has a big wank in front of them until he sperms all over one of the chess players. We don’t like to see it. That’s why we did it.

WordPress CEO: he gave my ex-wife AIDS when they met on vacation and now I’ve got it! He stole my friend’s car and set his house on fire also.

Mobile Service Provider Manager: he gave my work friend some chess lessons and then she got herpes off him as well, and he beat up her husband, and one of her brothers. He ran over and killed their dog also.

Mayor of Luton: get that McCready and have him duffed up and done over like in the movies. He gave my cousin crabs at the seaside and stole her mobile phone in the amusement arcades.

British Prime Minster: let’s get this bastard McCready, and a few more like him from Luton, and let’s send them off to Iraq. There’s no birds worth shagging over there and those arabs will blow those bastards up in their hotel first chance they get!

Final note: the author would like to inform his readers that some of the inspiration for this post comes from the song in the video below.


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