This week the News Snippets are reported, recorded and commented on, by The Nottingham Pensioner Lad, Inchcock (89).
Alto-Ego Inchy: I apologise for the Odeing included in the comments. But the lad has had minimal education. Now, with him contracting Vascular Dementia, as well as various other ailments; Hearing aids, mechanical ticker fitted, Glaucoma, Saccades, Cataracts, Stroke, Peripheral Neuropathy. His tendency to either waffle on, lose the plot or regularly forgets what he was doing, where he is, or where he was going; does not make for readable poetry. But there’s no stopping him. He only sulks when I point out these and other failings to him. Sorry.
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Well, this looks good,
Be happy surely we should?
Read the next one and chew the cud!
Your interpretation will go down with a thud!
I’m aware of how they feel, every patient,
I’m waiting on may a medical appointment,
Dentist, Chiropodist, Doctors yearly check…
That’s been a wait of three years, by, heck!
Audio, DVT and Cardiac…
Then the operation on the cataracts,
Glaucoma and Saccades and the Diabetes in fact…
Will I live long enough to get my treatments?
Sozzled, drugged up, and a man with a violent bent,
But will there be a return to prison requirement?
Easier for him to get drugs in there for his sustainment?
Maybe they’ll offer him some mental treatment?
Tell him sorry if this is inconvenient…
Give him some cocaine and pay his rent?
Run of the mill stuff, for the Nottingham creed,
I understand that he was a gynaecologist,
Nothing suspicious, the chap wasn’t a druggist…
Police won’t look too far into this…
With nine officers attacked and on the sick list!
The Police and I…
Have no idea why,
So sorry the lad had to die…
RIP son… It makes you cry!
No matter why – Animals!
All this violence, drugs, gangs, I comprehend?
Slave importers, youths will re-offend…
No deterrent do the courts send…
Viciousness threatens, it’s today trend…
And I think it will only worsen!
A judge was I thought the only person…
Who could, these crimes amend…
But no, so I’m scared and disheartened!.
Well, this is interesting news for Sherwood…
A 48% increase in crime figures, should…
make my blood boil, make me angry and rude!
I’m not surprised, I’ve not seen a policeman since May!
Didn’t even see one on Tuesday…
Plenty of yobboes lurking…
Don’t suppose they are working?
I just pray they don’t mug me today!.
Raliegh, John Players, Debenhams, Topshop, Oasis, WH Smith, Burton & Dorothy Perkins, River Island, Banks closing down, Virgin Media sold to Liberty Global and has been ruined by them, Macintoshes, Rowntrees, Frys, Cadburys all sold to Nestles…
But fret not, we have 14 new takeaway shops opened… even though 12 went bankrupt in the last year?
Well, looking at my arm that’s encouraging.
So, basically, she’s got 25 days, what an hour a session? Going to some Community Centre; probably gets a free meal, and she can do some drug trading at the same time. I assume that courts will be providing her with a taxi both ways?
Covid-19 and Sars-CoV-2, why they came, is what I’m thinking?
Government confused findings, need reabsorbing…
Pandemic and HMG hold a party, hobnobbing?
Annoyed me, so this Ode I’m now scribing…
Yet, to their rules, I’ve been acquiescing,
Two years now, since any Doctor interfacing,
Definites, the Government are sidestepping?
I feel like I’m permanently convalescing,
Anti-maskers are not exactly applauding…
Anti-vaccers protests showing no signs of concluding,
Jab or mask-wearing? Some are not deciding…
I follow the guidelines, but it can be confusing,
Doing what you can to protect others is frustrating,
Between the Do’s and the Don’ts, there’s bile offloading,
No give or understanding of others, compassion is subsiding,
Sarcasticness abounds, even where I am residing!
Coronavirus arrives, HMG problems beginning,
Changes meant more hassle, problems teething,
Proletariats, needing hopes strengthening,
Some vague chance of things improving…
New strains, deaths, started the mudslinging…
Ordinary voters started teeth-gnashing,
Anti-vaxxers and maskers began badmouthing,
But some uncaring folks just started shrugging,
Accusing HMG of ignorance and gross mismanaging,
The businesses set out to gain more profit – I’m seething!
Indeed, we should be encouraging, not rubbishing?
Official figures are baffling and misleading,
Dyscalculia makes it difficult in reading…
Have the Governments been Shanghaiing?
In favour of financing, from businesses and banking?
Are their advisors’ advising wrongly and failing?
Does their arriere-pensee to us need rethinking?
How do they stop the money-men from sabotaging?
The bankers, investors from profit-pocketing?
Indeed it’s impossible to stop them interfering and scavenging?
And, whatever’s happened to the political duelling?
No calls from Labour, as Kinnock would have been lambasting?
Lib-Dems are still about, are they? I’m just asking!
I think I worked it out; why is the silence blasting?
They both think, thank heavens, we are not ruling…
All this confusion, entangling… they’ve no idea of detangling,
So give Boris no bother, or at the subsequent voting…
The masses may vote for us, and we win… nonplussing!
The thought of us dealing with things is blood-curdling!
Labour in power, cause enough for frightful caterwauling!
Well, that’s enough of my HMG & Covid caterwauling,
Not such a good Ode, this one, it left me… Tsking!
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WHY AM I SO UNLUCKY?
I’ll start with one event, the heart thing,
That was not unlucky; it did not leave me whining!
This operation saved my life… Else I’d have been missing…
The Hernia, Peripheral Neuropathy and Colin Cramping,
Cancer of the bladder, and stroke, and a lot of bemoaning. Hehe!
Being an unlucky sod can be so time-consuming,
Leaving very little time left for resting and vacuuming,
A Whoopsiedangleplop, maybe the Thought Storms brewing…
A memory loss, missed bus, lost keys or painful burping…
From near-deadly to a tap left running or finger burning,
Ailments, senility and old age means the end of by beep-bopping,
The worst is Vascular Dementia, the brain transitioning…
My diabetes and oedema cause much bother urinating,
Each morning, the feet will be either bloated or very thin,
It’s not so bad since I stopped doing my trampolining,
The tumbling or fallings is constantly threatening… Neuropathy and Shaking Shoulder Shirley are disquietening!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I regularly get subconjunctival haemorrhaging,
Saccades and the new eye problems are definitely worrying,
Floaters, cataracts and glaucoma, almost frightening!
Everything taking longer to do, from the ablutioning…
Painful bending to retrieve dropped items can sting!
Oh, and evacuations on the Throne, and Wee-weeing!
I nearly always cut myself shaving,
Sometimes taking many minutes peeing…
Occasionally, taking only seconds at urine freeing!
The Porcelain Throne, often with evacuation misfunctioning.
Porcelain Throne options for me are; water-like spurting…
Which can be over like lighting!
Or resistant, rock-hard, and bloody,
Either or both are constantly hurting and agony!
Cleaning, me or the flat internally, is so burdening,
Seems nowadays to take an eternity, and much groaning,
Hardly any time for my beloved Word Pressing,
My confidence is egringolering…
My hearing is worsening…
Every task’s success is gimping!
The leaking blood through the plaster was bubbling!
But it was not at all troubling…
Cause actually, it made me do some laughing…
Which I found rather refreshing!
I’m leaving it up to Alto-Ego and Inchie ID to do the blog today. I may add something afterwards, but I’m suffering the dreaded, loathed DD (Dracula Depression) this morning. As annoying as this is, trying to find out why is equally disconcerting. As far as I can tell, nothings changed from last night? Humph!
You’ve actually got an advantage over me with this problem, Pugface!
Oh, go on then barbed-wire tongue…. let’s hear it, more sarcasm or criticism, is it?
No, no, no. I’ll explain, mate…
Mate! You just called me, mate!
Are you going to answer me or what? Just cause you’re a thick knob-end of an Ego, doesn’t mean we can’t still be pals. Let’s face it, the more we learn, the more we can pester the life out of Inchcock, innit? So we should help each other learn even more things that will irritate our host… Yes?
Go on then, your taking my Inchcock aggravating time away…
No, I’ve just popped into his pathetic brain; he’ll not be up to or responsive to any joshing, bewildering, bamboozling, or distracting this morning…
Just a cotton-picking minute ID, that’s the things we love to do…
I know, but there are some things even more potent than wot we are, and he’s…
He’s got to live a few more years, at all costs, cause if he snuffs it too soon, or even if Inchcock finds some contentment… the IDAEC (Alto-Ego-Consortium) Guidelines, Rules and Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 will come into force. I’ll end up back in the Soul Bank Vaults, for God knows how many years again! So I…
Well, that’s your advantage. I was going to talk about it mush!
If you cock-it-up, a couple of hundred years in the Soul Bank Vaults, is nothing – If I gerrit wrong, that’s it, end of this Id, altogether. We don’t get transferred to another human-host yer know! Oh, no, it’s a harsh existence for us Ids.
So? Worrya saying like? I could be in there for thousands of years. You are aware that the only hosts there are cockroaches, ants and rats, are yer?
So what’s wrong with that, then?
I won’t be as easy as host Inchcock; the cockroaches are cleverer than he is!
Hahaha! I just listened to him, you know, a while ago. He was talking to his pets! No, honestly! He really was; I’m not jesting Alto, I even think he heard them answering him, too!
No harm… he loves them, it’s a human trait yer know, or do yer? He does that every morning… Unless he’s had trouble in the Porcelain Throne, that is. There’s no problem with that…
Hogglebogwash! How long can he be in the toilet, for heaven sake?
Well, if his evacuation is one of his rock-solid ones, up to about an hour, on occasions, he’s taken longer. When his fungal lesion bleeds, yer see, he has a grossly painful job on, stopping and medicating things…
Gangleboggleisations! Get yersen in the bog; you can pester him while he’s struggling. Give him hell! Bloody heck, a perfect opportunity for giving out some pilgarlic, pooh-pooing, heckling, vilification and raillery. Hahaha! He won’t be able to concentrate on his Porcelain Throne duties at all – Hehehe! Why we could…
Come off it, you know nothing about my host, does yer? You’ve been in this monstrous wobbly-bellied, old idiot for a week now, but yer not learning owt are yer?
Oh, you are, I suppose, yer gerrin’ as thick and decrepit as Inchcock is, pal… yer on the wane, mentally…
You thick swine, on the wane mentally? What else does yer expect? You might have noticed that neither of us is human. We are ethereal, diaphanous beings, or are you not aware of this?
Watch it pug-face, or I’ll report you to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium). You know full well what I meant! I was speaking figuratively, interpretatively, metaphorically, As you are fully aware of; Thunderglobberisations! I thought we’d agreed to be social wiv each other?
Who did? Not me! I’ve not got over you lying to me last week yet… You promised if I signed the IDAEC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice Procedure Adherence 112,145,23, you’d leave this host forever… but no, you are a snotty-nosed ID, aren’t you, so superior… But you being a defrauding, backstabbing, double-crossing, untrustworthy Id that you are, should be reported, not me! Git!
I think you’ve been with this host, Inchcock, for far too long, my old fruitcake! You should just report yourself to the IDAEC as a failure. You’re catching a human beings ailments, such as dementia… No, let me continue…Testicles! If I could, I’d like to tear your head off!.
We’ve already agreed that we are both emblematical, selectively apparitional beings. So tearing my head of would be pointless, don’t you think?
I’m not so sure, Meathead, having never tried to kill anyone before, and as far as I know, no other Id before me has. Perhaps some form of transubstantiating has taken place over the years, and we have acquired the ability to tear off an Alto-Ego’s head? Hehehe!
The same goes for tearing off the head of an Id, indeed?
Ah, I see what you mean. We could, in fact, make history, be the first Id and Alto-Ego to kill each other? Or at least give it a go?
There you go again; you’ve got no morals, have you? What about your Id Oath what you took in training, eh?
Erm, I can’t remember that; it was over three thousand years ago, Dumbo!
Ha! A whippersnapper! Well, for your information, I started off as an Id…
Oh, did you, my friend?
Shut-it! I took the Id oath myself over 5,000 years ago. I seem to remember it went something like, “I shall occupy the given human body as instructed, with the intent of making the host into a big-headed, greedy, parasitic personage within the given period as prescribed by the IDAECC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium-College) Trainer on this day (dated). Convincing the host mentioned above that England will win the world cup again, all Politicians will become trustworthy, and America will land a human-crewed rocket with 5000 paying passengers on board on Mars, at the cost of $3.” You remember that bit, Inchie-Id?
No, and I didn’t miss any lectures or training sessions.
Anyway, it’s time I checked on Inhchcock…
No problem, I can hear him talking to his Carers.
Anyway, what was this question you had for me then? Id my old flower?
Oh, yes… I was a little concerned about why the human hosts always get drunk, stabbing or running over other hosts in their tinned transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire off flaming fireworks into the sky?
Ah, well, it wasn’t always like that, you know…
Tell me what used to happen in the old days Inchie, I’m confused.
Well, in days of yore, the human hosts always get drunk on mead, stab someone, and run over other hosts with the horses and stagecoaches transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky? Then they welcomed in the new year merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky?
Well, I never knew that!.
Hello… Inchcocks took a tumble in the shower…
Bags, I get to annoy him first!
Me first, being the youngest, Crab-Nose!
You got that arse-about-faced as well! The old ones should get priority!
Arse-about-faced… I like it!
We’ll go together, but I get first scoffing, sneering at, chastising Inchcock?
That’s fair enough, mate, as long as you leave the laughing at and humiliating comments in?.
The now two best pals floated through the wall into the wet room with this. But…
Oh, Sod-It! A lot of blood; I think he might be dead?
After all that planning, and arguing too!
Take a close look, see if he’s breathing…
How does yer do that then? I’ve never tried to help a host before?
I’m not sure… erm…
It’s your fault, all that being obstreperous with me!
Well, one of us must wait around until someone finds the body…
We’ve got to report it to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego) Records Dep’t…
Why are they going to make a song about it?
Someone might make a song and dance about it, but me? I’ll be back in the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium) Soul Bank Vaults.
Ain’t these human hosts heartless, dying just like that!
Does yer think the Carers will find him int morning then?
I suppose so… hang on, where’s he keep the cans of plonk for the Carers?
Oh, yes, what does yer fancy mate, Vodka and lime. G & T, Pimms, Mojito, Tequila beer, Strongbow, or Rum & Coke, Id?.
Inchcock’s computer was doing odd things again,
Inchie knows it is doomed; he feels the pain,
Still, he’s got his other worries, Morphine and Lidocaine,
Everything nowadays confuses him; facts are so hard to retain!
His efforts to improve his memory have all been in vain,
But Inchies determination to survive remains unslain,
Then he stubbed his toe, lost his key, then a tumble again!
He set about making an imitation dinner…
Perseverant, dedicated to making this one tastier!
After a few meal failures lately, he’s getting jitterier…
Confidence gone, he tried, but this meal was crappier…
His language, as he turned into a self-hater…
He should have stuck with sausage and mashed potato!
Boy did he swear, spit, as his self-loathing went nuclear!
A good job that no one else was in the area!
Then pains from Duodenal Donald did appear…
The old codger is not having much luck, I fear!.
Depressed with himself now, he got his camera,
His mind wandered… thinking of his meal… beefburger?
“I fell asleep and missed the fireworks, silly bugger!”
As he saw the sky, he thought of being an astrologer,
Realising his eyesight, with so many a disorder…
Cataract Katey, Glaucoma Gloria, and Saccades Sandra,
He’ll see nowt, and the telescope he couldn’t manoeuvre…
His pre-2022 brain and thoughts were even unclearer…
Inchcock got into his overwhelmingly sickeningly…
Beige, second-hand, £300, c1968, uncomfortable, recliner,
Nodded off, woke up in the kitchen – how? Somnambulistically,
Dropped off again, woke at 00:10hrs, not very jocularly…
He’s missed photoing the fireworks – he blames his dementia!
But he still got his camera, and onto the balcony, he did venture…
2022 Had Arrived!
He whipped back the cover where he was reclined,
And mottled legs, and glowing ulcer he did find!
But, no time for medicating now; his leg he disentwined…
Got his fully charged camera, all realigned…
Took two photographs, not too badly defined!
Kettle on, and off he went to the Porcelain Throne,
After half an hour, I had to check on him (Alto-Ego) all alone…
I heard no screams, not even a moan!
I floated into the Porcelain Throne…
He sat there glum-faced, scratching his thigh bone…,
Into his crosswording… He said, “Nowts moved, Alto”,
“Rock solid, burrit won’t move, though!
“Have yer given the Diapharm capsules a go?”
“One yesterday, one today! No, it was two today!”
As I laughed and left, I thought I heard him pray!
Inchcock Leaves The Wet Room!
Forty minutes after going into the Porcelain Throne,
He came out wearily, in pain, and took a Ziprasidone,
He seemed fed-up, looking drawn and on his own…
His usual contentment seems to have been blown…
He started rubbing on his cheekbone…
Oh, dearie, he’s got toothache; but he doesn’t moan,
Just stands there, fascinated, looking out at a drone!
Health Checks Time
Well, the BP SYS is a little high,
As is the Pulse, he wonders why?
Temperature is at 34.2°centigrade, not too high,
He’s unconcerned, and I think I know why…
He’s been in the fridge, reading instructions on his beef pie!
Then checked the cooking times on his chips… Oh, my!
Then went on CorelDraw, to make a graph, that’s why!
I heard him talking from the other room; he was going at it,
He does a lot of chinwagging to himself…
But I’m not worried about his mental health a bit,
Although his finances are losing wealth…
He was happily talking to his pet, Rabbit Rupert…
All the others as well, he did look a little hurt…
When I called his brown bear, Burt…
He grabbed me by the shirt…
Even though he’s only a little squirt…
And I always thought he was an introvert?
I soon discovered why he was being so short with me,
His favourite nurse did not arrive…
I laughed; he threatened to kick me in the knee!
But Arthur Itis and Dizzy Dennis made him fall over, you see,
I’ve never seen him so active…
Till he tumbled over, now he’s definitely inactive…
But he did get back up; it took him a long time to rise…
I laughed at him again. He was very reactive…
To the point of being so argumentative…
I told him, I’m not real, you do realise?
That’s why kicking me was very unwise!.
Inchie sulked a while, took some more painkillers, and skulked off to prepare a meal. I’m worried about him…
He went into Photographicalistical mode straight away. Well…
And after the traditional painful, challenging wee-wee, He got his Canon camera and dropped it, accidentally, Well, he’s getting senile now and rather elderly… His thoughts and actions are slow, performed dottily, He hurt his back, bending to retrieve it; he needed another pee! Yet it still worked, so he took his first photo, jauntily…
He took it from the balcony,
The red van parked, again, illegally…
Yesterday, the lights shone brightly…
This photo came out fairish – a periodicity!
Clear morning, t’was no longer foggy…
The following two shots were taken in duplexity…
Top one to the north-east,
Second to the south-east,
Not so good these, my apology!.
He took an extra snap, using technology…
He’d zoomed in, to him that’s using gadgetry,
He went into a smug mode, as he did one correctly!
He even charged up the battery…
For him, that’s technological activity!
But the twerp couldn’t get the card to work The computer was confusing the burke! Card reader not recognised, he went berserk! From his efforts, he did not shirk… And by some miraculous quirk… He got it to work, the jerk!
After making a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, stubbing his toe, and dropping the milk bottle, he cleaned the mess up. Took his CBD.
The formula was frivolously formulated for phrasemaking while Inchcock was busy cutting himself shaving. He can’t recall what it was exactly but decided that as he continued with his ablutions and medicationalisationing, he might get inspiration or a vague idea for a new plot. But, by the time he stopped the chin bleeding and utilised the Porcelain Throne, the earlier plan of his blog’s theme had plodded off into the ether, lost forever…
Teeth cleaning, nasal decongesting, and into the shower. Inchie banged his shoulder against the power-box (Dizzy Dennis to blame). Swore violently. Took his shower, then set about doing his medicationalisationings.
These went reasonably well (Did I say that?) The most painful bit of agonistically applying the stinging Betamethasone cream really was nowhere near the pain it usually was? This was a good start.
Treating Arthur Itis, Colin Cramps, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley, Ankle-Ulcer-Herbert. Harold’s Haemorrhoids, Saccades Sandra, Duodenal Donald, Back-Pain-Brenda, Little Inchies, Fungal Lesion were all medicated. The none Carer and prescription items were applied to many parts of the body.
Saccades eye drops. He was gobsmacked at getting some of the liquid into the eye, for once. Of course, he managed to get some in his nose and mouth as per usual.
A second hobbling speedily attended visit to the Porcelain Throne was followed by taking two Dioctyl® capsules. To counter Trotsky Terence’s return! Messy, very much so! Took ages to clean things up afterwards.
Carer Richard arrived. Soon got the medications sorted, and he made sure I took them and didn’t drop any, bless him.
It was his last call, so he spent a little while having a chinwagging session with me. The lad’s gone through many similar procedures as I have, but poor Richard got them a lot earlier in his life. Which I appreciated.
He’s coped amazingly well with things. A caring bloke, too.
He seemed to be cheery,
And, off Richard did flee,
I had another pee…
Colour chart for the wee,
Was on number three,
Now six, it smelt musty!
Oh, back to the lavatory,
Oh, what a malady!
Well Into The Afternoon…
But no one had told Inchcock, the chatterbox…
Chattering to himself, sipping dandelion & burdock!
Thinking he may just wash his socks…
A message comes through on his voicebox…
Unsolicited mail, through his letterbox…
He forgets the socks: arrears in his Carer fees shocks!
Over £400 – Oh, Hollyhocks!
That’s not what he said, but it also rhymes with Bullocks!
He plans to get it paid by the following equinox!
A change of nosh style, I’m watching the size of my hips!
Vegetarian sausages, peas, swede and lentil potatoes…
Chilli sauce, onion gravy, a banana, oranges…Oh, and chips!
I forgot to take from the fridge the tomatoes…
And now my rear quarters blows and blows!
The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme Series
All the best to my faithful flock of followers all,
The masses who have remained so loyal,
To the rubbish I’ve posted, my error-ridden scrawl,
Be they funny, sad, pathetic or philosophical,
Christmas time again… although there is no snowfall…
I’ve got plenty of fodder in, all very edible,
Although Inchcock is unquestionably unintellectual…
His Odes come out mostly; sadly ineffectual,
My followers are precious; you are my windfall!
And, both of you are moral and mortal…
Thank heavens for the WordPress portal!
The Verbal Conflict I Listened Into
From my scrawled notes mostly, so accuracy may be limited. Certain words (naughty) have had to be substituted. I left the last word in; cause there was nothing worth replacing it with. Sorry!
Worra yo doing here? I am Alto-Id; you don’t recognise my superiority?
Never seen yer before, or heard of yer… Worra yo do then? Don’t bother answering, I’ll tell yer… I am the principle that pertains to pleasure, while you, the Alto Ego, is the principle that relates to reality.
Is yer? Well, I’m the one in charge ‘ere…
Hahahaha! Knob-rot, mush!
Do yer mean like Inchcock’s fungal lesion on his Little Inchy?
No, I am well aware of all of the idiots’ ways, whims and stupidity; I’ve been waiting in the wings and watching, learning for donkey’s years. My usage of the Knob-Rot indicated that you talketh rubbish, Alto!
Yer a bit nasty ain’t yer, almost cruel, I’d say. Inchcock is struggling with my existence, now you cum along, and it’ll likely as not send the old git bonkers… best you piss-off out of it mate!
Oh, dearie me, it’s as I feared. You’ve been in Inchcock that long. You have been infected by his senility and ignorance…
Owd on! I knew Rat-face when he was almost verging on normality, for a human-like. See, I’ve been here for ‘im forever! I’ve supported him through some terrible times and ailments, apart from mucking it up with his depressions; it’s me who gorrim through double pneumonia, cancer, duodenal ulcers, being shot… twice, his heart replacement, diabetes, peripheral neuropathy.
Piffle! Utter rubbish, you pathetic imitation of an Alto-Ego you!
What? I thought I wuss doing a good job… well, I was! After all that I’ve done to annoy him, I did not know if he was coming or going at times…
Exactly! That’s why I’ve been activated, see?
What about glaucoma, saccades, floaters and cataract, then? How come you’ve not addressed his vision problems then? Hey?
Well, I can’t physically mend them, can I? It’s my job to just ensure they annoy him as persistently as possible, innit?
You have no idea, have you? What’s the point in letting the git to go blind? How will that build your reputation in the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? You’ve got to do better, else you’ll not be moved into another body when he snuffs it… I’m telling you!
The CIAC management is more than happy with my performance in the 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock.
How do you know?
Well, they’ve not complained…
Have they sent you a monthly report for November yet?
Monthly Report? No, I’ve never had one.
Hahaha! You’re in the shit, mate! You could well get prematurely removed from 930038-530/TIT Semi-male model Inchcock and sent to a body that is mentally and physically undamaged…
Oh, my Gawd, no… Are you joking?
How can any Alto-Ego cope with a human like that? I won’t stand a chance of worrying, scaring, frightening or intimidating them…
I know. This could mean the end of your existence Alto!
No, no, no, we live forever…
Only if the CIAC management deems that you are worthy.
Oh, shit! I was so happy here, a comfortable rotund over ample midriff, an uncomplicated, slow brain to peruse through at my leisure, without much intelligence or activity going on…
You are aware that the host body has the capability to eliminate you, are you? (Sounds of chucking in the background).
No, you’re wrong there…
Yer? What about CIAC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 then?
I’ll tell you. “In the event of any Alto-Ego failing to cause a suicide attempt within 72 years of occupation (Failed) of the aforesaid body; Any host at this time maintaining 70% of its maximum intelligence, 50% of its willpower, and 50% of its maximum concentration; can apply to it Id to eliminate any Alto-Egos from its earthly body – upon signing its soul over to the CIAC Soul Bank Ltd!
I ‘ave to think abarght this…
Take yer time, Alto; I’ll move on and inform Inchcock of his options…
NO! It won’t work cause Inchcock has nowhere near 50% of his concentration left. Only 10% of his memory…
And you think that I can’t retrieve it for him?
Oh, yes, I can, easily!
Well, that’s not in the Spirit of the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? I’ve never been so happy before as I am within 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock has been. He’s so gullible, malleable, a right thicko to con and manipulate…
And I can change all that within a few seconds. By advising Inchcock of his options, Hehehe!
But I might have to go back to the lonely CIAO Retention Safe again? I’ve already had 2000 years in there before getting this posting? Oh, my dearest Id, whatever can I offer or do to prevent this from happening?
I may be tempted to say nothing to the idiot host under certain conditions…
One: You bow to my every whim, order and threat!
Erm.. go on…
Two: You openly admit to Ids being totally and unquestionably superior to Alto-Egos!
Mmm? Go on…
That’s it… if you agree, I’ll keep my gob shut! But it’s a one time only offer, so you have to decide now!
How do I know I can trust you?
How do I know I can trust you?
I’ll tell you what… As a ‘Class A’ Knight of the CIAO Id Convention, I swear this to be true! Sign the Oath stating these beliefs as written, and I’ll leave the Inchcock Host instantly, never to return.
That seems okay… Alright, I’ll do it, and you’ll disappear instantly?
You’ll never see me again!
Here you are then (Scribbling sound) and good riddance!
There I was, in heaven… with Sweet Morpheus, it was so nice!
I was romancing a buxom lass named Eunice…
And Inchie butted in, with his pestering moans and advice!
But, for the first time ever, we agreed and did empathise…
Perhaps it was not wise for us to try to fraternise?
But we did; I think he enjoyed it likewise!
Inchie: Well, that hospital visit was farce wonnit, mate?
Inchcock: Huh! You again, what’s wiv the mating bit, then?
Inchie: I know we’ve ‘ad our ups and downs, but you’ve been through a rough patch fer this last twenty years or so, and I thought it’d be nice to be nice for a change…
Inchcock: Did yer? I feel like by being non-argumentative, I’m taking away your little pleasures…
Inchie: Worrya mean?
Inchcock: Well, yer usually wins all the verbal fights and tiffs we ‘ave…
Inchie: Naturally yer turd! I’m yer Alto-Ego, yo are the ethereal thing like. So fings like conscience, giving a toss, and yer ability to fret, worry, show signs of pissed-offerdness, and you can get a bit depressed at times… I’ve noticed that! So I’m taking my chance to confuse yer all the more you see?
Inchcock: Not really; I’m flummoxed again already! Why can’t you just leave me alone to get some rest and peace?
Inchie: No, no, no! It doesn’t work like that, dumbo! It’s my job to hassle yer, keep yer on yer toes, like. Else overwise yer might commit Hagi-Kari… then…
Inchcock: What! After all, I’ve been through, do you think that I’d top missen? Rubbish, claptrap, your just stirring things again, aren’t you?
Inchie: Yea, I’m good at that, ain’t I, no doubt about it…
Inchcock: For God’s sake, if you are me, or my other half, surely you must suffer the agonies that I do – so why bother…
Inchie: Ah, you’ve not gorrit yet, have you? You are! I’m not me…
Inchie: Yo just said, for God’s sake, yea?
Inchie: Well, I know that yer doesn’t believe in him… see? Provin’ what an ignorant, uneducated, pug-faced, pathetic, docile, pussy-cat, yer really are, cocker!
Inchcock: Fair enough with the name-calling; there may be an element of truth in some of what you say about me – but surely you must be the same yourself?
Inchie: Perhaps mush, or maybe not. Are you not talking to yourself in reality? Come on… answer that, yer moron!
Inchcock: If there isn’t any God, then why even bring up the subject – I’ll tell you why, no… hang on, what was the question?
Inchie: I know, but it got yer going, see!
Inchcock: How can one see? If you are really me? There is…
Inchie: You retardate; You just can’t grasp it, can you, tit-head?
Inchcock: Grasp what?
Inchie: The relationship between us, knucklehead! Yer still think yer talking to someone else?
Inchcock: I am, you!
Inchie: Yer, but I am you! Ain’t I?
Inchcock: Just because you say so does not mean that is correct!
Inchie: Ah, so you think we are two different entities then?
Inchcock: I’m not sure… what do entities mean?
Inchie: Concentrate pillock! Fink abarght this… you’d know what the word means, yea! If you was me, and I was you… right?
Inchie: Look, numbskull, I think it best if yer gerron with the pork pie supper you wuss plannin’, then I’ll give yer an hour or so, I’ll come back to hassle yer a bit more. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?
Inchcock: Does this mean I’ve won an argument with you?
Inchie: No, you silly old fart! It’s cause it’s Christmas!
Each Tip is followed by an Inchie or Inchcock response:
1)Here is a list of the reasons to curtail your drinking. Such as feeling healthier, sleeping better, or improving your relationships. Combined, these actions taken can motivate you.
2) Put in writing; Set a drinking goal. Set a limit on how much you will drink. You should keep your drinking below the recommended guidelines: no more than one standard drink per day for women and men ages 65 and older, and no more than two standard drinks per day for men under 65. These limits may be too high for people who have certain medical conditions or for some older adults. Your Doctor can help you determine what’s right for you.
Doctor? Talk to my Doctor? Now there is a challenge without a doubt. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her, I don’t think I would recognise her if I did ever get an appointment! Being partially deaf rules out the telephone. All my Emails are routed back to me!
3) Keep a diary of your drinking. For three to four weeks, keep track of every time you have a drink. Include information about what and how much you drank as well as where you were. Compare this to your goal. If you’re having trouble sticking to your plan, discuss it with your Doctor or another health professional.
Apart from, Inchcock suffering from arithmophobia, and vascular dementia, this causes me some concern. He’s hard enough to control as it is. This could drive him to drink, you know?
4) Don’t keep alcohol in your house. Having no alcoholic drinks at home can help limit your drinking.
I don’t have a house, is it alright if I don’t keep any alcohol in my flat instead, please?
5) Drink slowly. Sip your drink. Drink soda, water, or juice after having an alcoholic beverage. Never drink on an empty stomach.
Ahem! You told me not to keep any alcohol in the house (flat). So, if I want to weaken and have a tipple, I have to get a taxi to go down to the beer-off to get my plonk, then come back with it, which costs me at least an hour in time, and the bottle of beer £I.20, and the £10 taxi fare, should help me reduce my intake. Naturally, I will not be ordering a couple of cases of Guinness three times a week from Amazon and hiding them in the wet room…
6) Choose alcohol-free days. Decide not to drink a day or two each week. You may want to abstain for a week or a month to see how you feel physically and emotionally without alcohol in your life. Taking a break from alcohol can be an excellent way to start drinking less.
These suggestions are not going to work, you know. Cause the Amazon beer deliveries can vary between one to three days. The Vodka, Gin and Rum from Valley Wines can change even more, sometimes arriving on the same day, other times three days later? Luckily, I keep a good stock in.
7)Watch for peer pressure. Practice ways to say no politely. You do not have to drink just because others are, and you shouldn’t feel obligated to accept every drink you’re offered. Stay away from people who encourage you to drink.
I’ll do my best to watch for Pier pressure, but I do not live at the seaside? I exist miserably alone in this three-roomed flatlet. No pets allowed. But I do have a Koala and Teddy Bear for company. My Cyber lady friends sent them to me from Canada and Australia. When I wake up in the middle of the night requiring a shot or two of Gin, shampoo or cans of plonk. We often have a chinwag before I pass out in a drunken stupor on the floor.
8) Keep busy. When you’re at home, pick up a new hobby or revisit an old one. Take a walk, play sports, go out to eat, or catch a movie. Painting, board games, playing a musical instrument, woodworking — these and other activities are great alternatives to drinking.
Would it be alright for me to try and take up a hobby from my twenties? If any of the girls are still alive. Also, the medications, memory, and my appendage still work, of course.
9) Ask for support. Cutting down on your drinking may not always be easy. Let friends and family members know that you need their support. Your Doctor, counsellor, neighbour, Carer or therapist may also be able to offer you some help?
My Doctor again, she’s been known to be annihilistic, Although when I see her, she’s good, medicationalistic, After Coronavirus, she has come over all antagonistic, But there’s no need for me to go ballistic, I’ve enough bothered with the knees being arthritic, Now joined by signs of becoming an asthmatic… Three years ago diagnosed as being a diabetic… Still awaiting the first appointment, Tsk! Pathetic! The after-stroke sessions can be a smidge athletic… The bladder, ulcer, reflux and rear end can be problematic… Saccades in the right eye, so the sight is not precisely copacetic! Peripheral Neuropathy causing hassle; I mustn’t sound sematic… I wanted to listen to some music: I like a bit of classic… The hearing aids broke; at this rate, I’ll soon be brassic! I may seek help from a loony bin or someone ecclesiastic?
10) Guard against temptation. Steer clear of people and places that make you want to drink. If you associate drinking with specific events, such as holidays or vacations, develop a plan for managing them in advance. Monitor your feelings. When you’re worried, lonely, or angry, you may be tempted to reach for a drink. Try to cultivate new, healthy ways to cope with stress.
Huh! I’m always worried, lonely and stressed!
11) Be persistent. Most people who successfully cut down or stop drinking altogether do so only after several attempts. You’ll probably have setbacks, but don’t let them keep you from reaching your long-term goal. There’s really no final endpoint, as the process usually requires an ongoing effort.
Who are these people, please? A carer calls to do the medications, a nurse every month or so for blood tests… Erm… Oh, yes, the food delivery drivers. Bob from the Winery driver doesn’t encourage me to drink… overly.
Some of these strategies — such as watching for peer pressure, keeping busy, asking for support, being aware of temptation, and being persistent — can also be helpful for people who want to give up alcohol altogether.
Sometimes, one would like apanthropinisation,
The world is going crazy, every single nation!
I no longer have any paid occupation…
Of course, this does mean less oppression,
I’m coping with the still rampant tellurians aggression,
Muslim, Christians, Catholics, Jews and Caucasians!
Black Death, now the fearful Coronavirus infection…
My neighbours tell me it was sent by the Martians?
NASA say on Mars, there is not even any vegetation,
Can we please have some verification?
Why do not Scooters & Cyclists show no care or empathy?
With pedestrians who are disabled, wobbly and elderly?
I’ve had three of them, two scooters and a cyclist, run into me!
Leaving me shaken up. Once with bleeding arthritic knee!
All just carried on, after looking at me all bolshie!
Now, when I can get out, I’m worried and do it nervously!
Cars parked on pavements, I have to hobble into the road, you see…
Passing drivers shake their first, and get all honky!
The language they use is curse worded defamatorily!
Doctors to visit, booster too, I hope it’s not snowy and windy!
The state I get into, just taking a wee, bladder in contortion!
It either slowly builds up pressure, as if it wants an ovation?
Giving out pain is the bladders main occupation,
A trickle, sharp stabbing, then give Little Inchie some vilification,
Other times, things burst out, all at the bladders own volition!
Then, maybe it’ll start and die off, come again, utter vacillation,
The only thing guaranteed, is that I pee with great trepidation!
Ode Verse 4 – Hoping Sanity Returns
I make excuses for feeling depressed, like, I’m poorly & sick,
Too many ailments to cope with, that characteristic,
I may have a toothache, or feel a smidge asthmatic?
Always present, are the ailments that are arthritic,
And when Peripheral Neuropathy Pete goes ballistic,
Always a danger of a tumble, of them my fear is authentic,
When the memory goes, or things diabetic…
They are accepted easier, somehow not so dramatic?
Duodenal Donald, they tell me can be fatalistic,
What can’t? I’m going to stop being so idiotic…
Acting like a deranged lunatic… well I am, also nihilistic!
I’m not over-energetic, overenthusiastic, or over-optimistic,
Perhaps, I’m psychokinetic, psychoneurotic, even phlegmatic?
But I don’t know what they mean, me being simplistic…
Although the moments of semi-contentment are spasmodic,
So, being a foodaholic, into the fridge I’ll have a frolic!