Gallus

Fuck this shit, man. Fuck it aw. I cannot handle this shite this early in the fucking day. I wake up fae a belter of a dream and I'm stuck feeling hornier than a paedo outside a primary school. Fringe is stuck on my forehead and the room smells rank but I still am in a mood where I could fuck anything with a postcode and a surname. I'm no fussy, y'see. Maw was a bit pissed off wi me being bi but fuck her. I well know about her affair wi that Italian wuman ages ago so she cannae gie me pelters for it. She still tries so I pure just start singing the Italian national anthem at the daft tube an she soon shuts her fucking yap. God my stomach hurts like fuck. If I was a normal human and that, I'd say that I was in dire need of a good fuck. But aw I have is my hand and my cock.

I'm trying well hard to get a fuckin stiffy but I can't. I fucking wish I was a human, man. I really fucking do. They might be a bunch of fannies and weak as Holy Watter but at least they can get a hard-on without daeing too much preperfuckingation.

The burning feeling in my guts is too much now. I whip off the boxers that I've been wearing for a couple of days (I don't gie a toss about it. I'm no goin' anywhere anyway and I'm still an awright looking geezer. A pair of manky boxers isnae exactly gonnae cause much ae a problem. So fuck it.) and try coaxing the bastard thing into life.

God, the sexual organs are ugly fuckin things. Like a bastarding sausage that's been burst at one end with two onions in a pile of elbow skin. I don't care so much about it when I'm tryin tae blow some guy. I must be one of the few bastards in existence that prefers givin than receiving. It's the spunk, y'see. I'm still a fucking vampire, no? Bodily fluids. It geez me a sense of enormous well-being. But afterwards man, it goes back to looking like some shitey dug's dinner and I either drain the fucker or go back on the voddy.

I'm an elegant party animal. I'm well James Bond.

Mind you, if I was James Bond, I would be beatin aff the burds with stick. Lucky bastard always seems to have some pretty woman in his arm. Posh English cunt.

Fuck it. Not even thinking about Pussy Galore is making me twitch so desperate times call fir desperate measures. I poke my heid under my bed and pull out my special box. It was wan of the Mackay squaad that telt me about this. Fuck knows where they fun out, mind you. The whole family is thick as pig shit. Well, I tell a lie. Maybe the youngest Cathy isnae all that daft. She's no Einstein but she's okay. I mean, she can play the oboe, that must mean somethin 'bout her intelligence, no? We always end up chatting and that whenever the clans decide to join up for a Mother's meetin. It's aw the government's fault man. Da says that the government and other folk are good people and keep us and other fuckers like us in dosh and we shouldnae rise above our stations. I talked tae Cathy about it and she kinda muttered somethin about peace and democracy or some shit. I was too busy starin at her tits to notice. She never noticed and thought I was just takin an interest so she let me keep lookin. They're not big but fuck, since when wis bigger better? Wee wans are better. You can get a better hold of them that way.

The kit's pretty simple. I just went to an all night pharmacy and pretended to be a junkie and managed to score a basic junkie kit. That was a long time ago back in the good old days at the start of this century. Times change but the needle's still good. That and one of the IV bloodpoke things I nicked a bundle off on a blood bank raid with my Da and aw them. They like us daein that. He bought us a new telly after that raid. Fuck knows why, it doesnae make sense to me but I'm no a particularly political guy. I know there's a bunch of pricks at the top that make people do what they want and we fart about and randomly make people shite themselves and we get paid. It's fuckin brilliant man. Better than being a racing driver and I really wanted to be a racing driver when I was young. That Jackie Stewart was my favourite. I grew up since then but hey, a man can dream.

All an erection is is blood makin the floppy thing hard. No exactly rocket science but since I've never had a beating heart, it makes this shite a lot mair difficult. Sometimes through some biological fannying about or something, I don't fucking know, I'm no a fucking doactor, it can get tae a hauf decent position to allow me to squeeze one out. I set up the equipment, hauding the blood bag in wan haun and the needle in the other. I feel along my crotch, trying to find the tracks of previous escapades. I find it and push the needle in and start squeezing the blood bag and grasp myself, tryin to coax the fucking thing to live.

Cathy's back on my mind again. Another wan of the meetings a month or somethin ago she was wearing this kinda short blue dress thing. I could well tell she wisnae really wanting the fucking thing. She kept pulling at the hemline but it wouldnae work. Hand-me-down by the looks of it. Her other sister Isabel must huv gave it to her. She's a right slaggy sorta lassie. Arse length dress seems right up her market. Naw, stop. I don't want to think about her. Cathy...

I keep imagining her playing that daft oboe thing. I'm probably no even imagining a fucking oboe but something like a clarinet or a French horn or a glockenspiel. or some shit. But she's playing it in that arselength dress with those long, long legs. They're freakishly long in my memory, longer and longer. Albino spider legs and fuh-kin-hell, it's getting me going. I kin feel in in the pit of my stomach and I'm finally getting somewhere. Those legs! Opal trails with fine copper hair. Those funny little toes in clear shoes. I don't even fucking know if ya kin get clear shoes but fuck it.

"David! Ur yi awake? Gonnae git the fuck out yer wanking chariot pronto! We got a shitload of work tae day the day and I'm no havin you sittin about with yer thumb up yer arse." Dad's dulcet tones says. I'm too fuckin close to gie a shite though and I just ignore the nosy bastard. I need to get this done. Back to her. Hair in the wind, lips on that long, black abyss...

"David! Don't make me kick doon the fuckin door! Ur yi deef?" he growls. I'm gawn like a whippet now, pretending my hauns are hers, playing my instrument as easily as she kin in my heid. I'm gonnae hit the peak any second. My throat's constricting like there's a noose aroon it and I can feel every wee hair fae my wee toe to my cheeks staun on end. Shiverin at her ghost touch - I know I huff tae reply so I can finish off in piece.

"I'm...I'm gettin'...jesus...gettin' changed, Da! I'll be two minutes!" I call through. Humphing about like some fucking elephant, I hear him fuck off and I can imagine her again in peace again. Those thin lips, hair like rat's tails - she needed a wash that time but I don't care. I'd still fuck her if she stank to high Heaven. Those brown eyes like a Cocker Spaniels...I don't care if people didnae think she was this gorgeous girl, she is tae me.

A feeling like I've been stabbed in the pelvis by a chib made of morphine spurts out relief intae me. The warm feeling of the death o my libido and the lukewarm sticky shite in my hauns - fuck, I needed that, I really fuckin did.

I wipe my hauns on the duvet and grab any clothes near me. If my calculations and calender ur correct, the day's the day that we're gonnae dae in the school play. It's some shite about Jesus Christ and shit. I don't fucking know. Government approved play, natch. They wouldnae want some shitey Pinko or Vampire or Muslim or Jewish or Fenian or Liberal or whatever the fuck our government disnae staun for nowadays. The Evil Ones change their names mair often than I change my fuckin socks.

But fuck it. It sound good in the papers, no? Bunch of radical vampires kill and torture and rape a bunch of good, Proddie weans. I'm an atheist masel but I huv nae time for semantics. I'm off on a killin spree and by God, it pays better than any shitey ministry ever could.