Saturday, October 15, 2011

ML STEWART: Registered Charity No. 6215463

I started writing this blog yesterday.............

This is getting bloody downright ridiculous. Without giving away any of the plot, one of the characters in UKI is in London with her two daughters, she is breaking the curfew, she was supposed to be heading to the Tube station and she ends up in an illegal Irish Bar. Now I ask you...where the hell did that come from? Talk about “free flow” writing.

The last month has been mental, with the 22,000 downloads of FBK1 etc. I spent half my time on forums and answering emails, but do you know what? Things have calmed down now and by God I’m pleased about that. It gives me time to take a step back, continue writing and step out of the spotlight for a while. Okay it wasn’t a very big spotlight...Okay more like a candle, but you know what I mean.

........... and then the son of the almighty Amazon, Kindle Christ himself must have grassed me up to his dad, who in turn sent a mighty lightning bolt into my crotch. The b+stards have only gone and done it again. FBK1 is free, AGAIN!!!!!!

I was quite happy trundling along selling 30+ copies of part 1 each day. It helped to pay for the court costs involved for the manslaughter charges which arose from that bus hitting Stieeeeeg Laaaaaaaaaarson’s book in the middle of the road and, I admit, it massaged my ego just a tad. But now I am back to being a Kindle Whore.

I wrote my first “tweet” today or should that be “I tweeted my first words today”? I have 3 followers and that was before I actually worked out how to use the damned thing. I used up most of 140 characters with spaces and punctuation, so next time Iamgoingtowriteitjustlikethis.

It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? The Twitter Killer, it sounds a little like the Chatroom Scoundrel... It rubs the L’Oreal PH5 anti wrinkle cream on its skin.

So what are you up to at the minute you crazy bastard I hear you cry? Well MLS is heading to the southern hemisphere in the next couple of weeks to escape the harsh European police (and winter) but, much to your despair, I will continue writing. Rooney the cactus will be planted in my garden so that when I return he should have a full head of prickles. I am having four security cameras installed to keep an eye on him.

The United Kingdom Of Islam is coming along nicely; the manuscript looks quite pretty with most of the words underlined in red or green. I don’t know what it means but I think it’ll help sales when I sneak it out there.

I’ve run out of things to talk about so instead I’m going to post a little bit of ML Stewart’s version of the Bible (covers his nuts). This is my strange little hobby project, which entails me actually having to read the bullshit before I can take the piss out of it (lightning bolt hits the rectum). It is only a first draft which will probably never be proof read or indeed finished.

At the end of the bible passage is my twitter address, please don’t use it.


            In the beginning when Gordon Oxley Developments created the Battersea Towers Social Housing Estate, the area was a formless void, littered with the burned-out trophies of boy-racers and used syringes. A desolate, muddy wasteland, lashed by wind and rain. Then G.O.D. said, “let there be light”; and they erected behemoth steel pylons, connected power cables, inserted lampposts. And G.O.D. saw that the lights were good. They came on at night and went off during the day. Round-the-clock construction called for two shifts, there was the evening and the morning. The first day.
            Since construction started it hadn’t stopped pissing down; “a right fucking quagmire” said the site foreman, so G.O.D. said, “let there be blue tarpaulins erected to cover the whole site.” And so it was.  And G.O.D. called the tarpaulins Sky, and the workers called them “fucking noisy in the wind”. And there was the evening and the morning shifts. The second day.
            And G.O.D said, “let the waters under the sky be gathered into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. Day and night, the industrial pumps drained the wasteland until it was dry and then a gang of six youths from nearby Vauxhall nicked the pumps and generators. But at least the earth was dry. And then G.O.D said, “Let us plant vegetation and grass.” And it was so, until six workers were arrested for growing cannabis behind the portacabins. And there was the evening and the morning shifts. The third day.
            And G.O.D. said, “Can somebody please fix some of these fucking light bulbs. The tarmaccers are coming in the morning.” So the foreman had a whole load of new lights strung up and improved the spotlights for working day and night. And G.O.D. saw that it was good and gave him a pat on the back. And there was the evening and the morning shifts. The fourth day.
            And G.O.D. said, “let’s get that fucking fish pond filled soon, the tenants will be moving in in two days.” And so the birds came and multiplied; feasting happily on the remnants of gangha leaves. And there was the evening and the morning shifts. The fifth day.
            And G.O.D. said, “Bring forth the concrete animal sculptures which will make these poor bastards feel like they’re living in the countryside.” And so the forklifts delivered the cattle and sheep. And G.O.D. saw that it was good. Then G.O.D. cleared up the site and moved all of its equipment, which hadn’t been stolen, back to its depot. And so the Mayor of London came forth to welcome and bless the tenants. White, black, Asian and Eastern European. And as the mayor cut the ribbon to officially open Battersea Towers his Bentley was duly hotwired and found embedded in a telephone box three hours later.
            Thus the Battersea Towers Social Housing Estate and landscaped surrounds were finished and all their multitude. And on the seventh day G.O.D. hired the local Social Club and got all of his workers drunk in appreciation for their hard work. After all it seemed like a good venue to announce the redundancies.

Adam O’Rafferty & Eve Wilson.

            Adam O’Rafferty had been a thieving little bastard from the day he was born. Why the hell G.O.D. decided to employ him as the gardener was beyond anyone’s comprehension. When the tenants in the ground floor flats saw him working nearby they locked their windows. They tried to start a petition against his employment but soon realised that none of them could write English. Not only was he a thief but he was a whinging bastard too. That’s why G.O.D. ended up giving him an assistant, Eve “Stoner” Wilson, what she hadn’t sniffed or injected hadn’t been invented yet. But here they were, working together; keeping Battersea Towers well groomed and tidy.
            All went well for the first two months, but she just couldn’t stay away from the crack pipe. It didn’t take long. They were both high as kites when they got arrested; stark-bollock-naked as well. Eve claimed in court that she was hallucinating due to a snakebite. Adam reckoned that he’d gotten food poisoning from a dodgy apple. Whatever the truth, G.O.D. fired them. It later transpired that Adam still hadn’t learned to keep his hands off other people’s things. It turns out that he’d pinched an I-Phone from his supervisor’s office, ended up doing a three-month stretch for public indecency offences and theft. It doesn’t end there, mind you, rumour has it that when Adam was banged-up, Eve was getting banged-up as well. She dropped a couple of kids; Khan and Abdul. They grew up without many problems. They managed to stay away from the drugs and thieving and eventually started their own businesses. Khan went into arable farming; while Abdul concentrated on sheep farming. It turns out they had some business differences and Khan ended up slaying Abdul, but not before Abdul managed to slash his brother’s face. Khan is still on Europe’s Most Wanted list.
            As for that twat, Adam, he got out of jail and went straight onto benefits. Tucked up in a council house he managed to father a shed-load of kids, all of who apparently inherited his liking for drugs. Most of them ended up in a secure mental hospital after claiming to be eight hundred years old.


 All the best

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