Subject: pear cider
Right, Mandela McConnachie, what do you think you’re playing at? I got home from a day’s hanging about outside Iceland down at the shopping centre to find a bottle of pear cider and a stuffed bird on the doorstep. Whassat all about?
FYI - I necked the bottle with my ma and the dead bird is in the re-cycling bin. Well, somebody might have a use for it.
FYI again – my ma loved the cider. Didn’t know pears could be used for that as well. She says you’ve taught her something worthwhile and gone up in her estimation. My dad shouted that you’re still a wee wanker, as if, like you can hear him down the email. Guess who I agree with?
Right, first you don’t reply to my email. Then you send me something else daft in the post. A box with two pigeons. What was with the stupid wee cardboard shells on their backs and the black masks? Ninja turtle pigeons? You’ve pure lost it, ya numpty. My ma didn’t have a hangover after the pear cider and still likes you. My dad has his hands covered in pigeon shit and wants to chib you. He’s been in the kitchen sharpening the handle of a spoon in case you come round tonight. My advice? Fuck off and die.
I was pure munchin’ on my Big Mac and saying to Shelley and Grunter (they’re back together – Shel forgave him for selling her rings down at Cash Converters. Says his heart’s in the right place. Saddo. If he did that to me he’d be getting his jaw re-wired right about now.) and sayin’ that if I get home and there’s any wee presents I’m going to go all Hulk on your arse. AND guess what. Three pens from my favourite stalker. What’re you trying to say? Think I need help writing or something? And why do they have a French flag on them. Is a French pen some weird trick you learned about in prison?
I repeat - F.O.A.D.
Subject: 4 calling birds
Right. I get it. You’ve gone fucking postal. Gonnae stop sending me stuff. And yes, I also get the shitty attempt to copy that old crimbo song. My name might be Pocahontas McGlumpher but that doesn’t make me stupid.
Mind you, how you managed to stick those wee mobile phones on to each of the birds’ wings...I got it straight away. CALLING birds. With wee mobile phones. Cool. One of the phones even had some diamonte bling painted on it.
Enough. Awright. There’s a point when stalking becomes creepy. I know we had that first date at Pizza Hut an’ it was special, but it’s not like you bought me a stuffed crust or nothing.
Dad says if he sees you he’s gonnae strangle you with your Lacoste hoodie. Ma says to wait until you send round more of that cider. (Where did you get it, BTW? I'm looking for a christmas present for mum and that would be perfick)
Man are you persistent. My Ma likes a man that keeps at it. She gave dad a weird look when she said that. He went all red and choked on his Pot Noodle. I’ll never understand grown ups.
Today’s parcel? Five onion rings. Gave me a wee chuckle. But see, you need to get over it, dude. I told you, I don’t know if you’re Burberry’s da. We only did it that once and you only put it in a wee bit before you did all that jerky stuff. There’s no way that was pure enough to get me up the duff.
At least you made me laugh the day.
No more, eh?
TO BE CONTINUED (if I can be arsed and there's nothing worth watching on the 999 channels on sky)