Having been bed bound yesterday and feeling amazingly better today, this was somewhat frustrating. It did result in a number of daft drawings (octoswans, pirates, and supposed Jasper portraits), some internet surfing, reading, sleeping, holiday planning.
We saw dolphins on the bow, both phosphorous (glow in the dark!) and not, in both daylight and night, and watched 'At the edge of the world', a film about the Sea Shepherd. Its cetainly raised some issues and highlighted the passion out there for whales but I cant see myself endangering my life for anyone but family, and Jasper, maybe a couple of friends.Anyway a dull day turned out to be OK as we had good conversation and began to bond a bit with other crew members.
As the evening are very quiet Mark and I have taken to doing daft things like writing, one sentence at a time until we have a little story, as you can see the end result is somewhat daft.
A Story by Maria and Markles
Once upon a time there were two people. George was 37 years old and his life had gone down hill somewhat since his career as an electric guitarist had ended suddenly. He had never quite got over that fiery red head Trish, swanning in with her tight red dress fit to bursting. The shock had caused him to slice off two of his fingers with the cleaver, and despite the hospitals best efforts he never played professionally again.
In his place Trish, everything he wasn't; confident, beautiful, adored by everyone, all she needed to do was wink and you were trapped under her spell. And trapped he was from that moment on he couldnt stop thinking about her.
A sad case, a strummer with three stumps having a shady wank on his lonesome. Trish would flirt with him, make him think there might be a future for the two of them together, then just has his hopes rose he would see her out with someone else. That was her game, always up for the next best offer. There was always a better offer for her, than george could manage and it began to drive him crazy.
In a moment of rare optimism he had signed himself up online, not pushing his luck it was a dating site specialising in love lost disabled people. He even dated a few, but noe of them came close to Trish, if only she was disabled, then perhaps she would have to choose him.
George and his stumpy hand, thats how he saw himself, whereas Trish she was perfect, not a blemish, he had to do something to make her want him. But he had to be subtle, if she knew it was him behind her 'accident' then that would be the end, she would never talk to him again.
As vain as she was it didn't need to be much, he wasn't about to chuck acid in her face, he had no desire to fuck a melted plastic doll face, perhaps something to stop her flashing all that flesh. He wasn't really a tits man anyway, he preferred doing it doggy style, so perhaps an accident in the boob area was what he was looking for.
But he didn't want some plastic surgeon undoing all his hard work, unless instead of something physical he screwed her over mentally, rumours of a third nipple with some shocking never before seen photos might do the trick?
How had it come to this though, with the police outside and her lifeless body at his feet. Time surely for a quick shag then, what more had he got to lose? As he finally got to see what he had lusted after all this time, he realised it wasn't going to happen; it wasn't only his head that the blood had drained from.
The police charged as he sat desperately slapping his flacid cock against her greying breasts, this was the image The Sun used as the next days headline. "Dead beat beating the Dead" it read.
The End
Or is it?
Yes it is
She's right it is
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