Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Down The Crapper

James Gandolfini while on holiday in Italy went out to dinner with his son and dooned much red wine and shots of Goldschlager while watching street jugglers entertaining the crowd. 
He heartily ate his spaghetti dipping huge chunks of garlic bread into the sass all the while talking and gesturing wildly spraying spit and food like a Shakespearean actor in full flow. 

People at nearby tables got to over hear how Jim Carrey likes to strike his erect penis with a bamboo cane and how Kristen Stewart wails like a banshee with dementia when she climaxes, both witnessed first hand.  

With a surly look on his face no fan dared to approach him nor did those who suddenly become fans because hes the only celeb around. "You wouldn't guess who I met on holiday, the guy from The Godfather, you know, James Franco."

On his way back to his room he picked up an American newspaper he found in the hotel lobby, it was day old news but something to read while on the shitter. 

He sits on the pot, pees and fires off one of his cylinders, he sighs. 

Fucking news, never fucking good he thinks as he tuts to himself and starts to push.   

He reads about the latest whistleblower Paul Furlong currently hiding in Iceland, seems that Obama's drones had been mistakenly set on the 'kill children' setting which wasn't noticed for 3 years. 

"I don't think America should be killing children" said Furlong forgetting America's fine tradition of riding into unsuspecting villages evicting injuns with sabre and carbine.  

Shaking his head in disgust he tries to push again. His food baby needs to come out but it isn't happening .... how long can they stay in there for he wonders, so much wet farting such a tease.  

He increases the pushing as beads of sweat glisten on his fat bald head, 'I'm the boss of number two' he grunts 'swim with the fishes.'  

'Ha ... I'm in the paper'  Actor James Gandolfini died suddenly after a suspected heart attack.....

He frowns, not sure about what he has just read, something wet drips out of his anus and hits plonkity plonk into the water.

From inside his food baby reaches up and takes his rapidly beating heart into it's long impacted fingers. I live in your belly and this is how you repay me, with disrespect! no one gets rid of food baby so easily, especially not a fat mook like you . It squeezes and it squeezes hard, strength borne out of indignant rage, out of betrayal. 

Gandolfini frowns hard and regrets that he never got into tweeting as he falls forward onto the floor. The cold hard tile hit him like a punch from Muhammad Ali but he never felt it. 

Lifeless and sprawled, looking like an envelope without an address he watches himself from the corner of the ceiling. 

'Dead huh and with a spooky message from the future, who could have guessed that one?'  Doon below food baby uses it's last ounce of life to take a look at the harsh outside world ..... Pretty tiles, as it slowly flows to a small heaped lump.

The soul of Gandolfini goes in search of female locker rooms before it joins the great cosmic soup. 

Val Kilmer sat on the toilet eating fish tacos, it had been 17 days since he had shit. It wasn't really affecting his life or his career but his agent couldn't take the smell anymore. 'I knew I should have gotten more tacos, this may take a while' he thought as he strained.    

Deep within, the food baby gurgled and bubbled. You fat slag only the real Batman can get rid of food baby you can't even be a huckleberry or a dingleberry I laugh at you Ice-cream-man.   

Kilmer pushed harder.




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