Matchbox Pubic Hair [Flash Fiction] by Paul Tristram

9039-44-sho006Get that gun out of my face motherfucker, or I’ll bleed all over your brown loafers, you _ _ _ _ _ _ _!

It is indeed very strange; I mean just the mention of its name sends cold shivers down my sober back; I simply cannot look it in the face, its attraction is too much, it is so twisted yet so beautiful, it is the echo of things to come, ah, but I am a lucky Bastard.

I spoke to someone on the phone the other day. Well, I am young, free and stupid (I mean single!) again, Hi Girls!

I went into town today and bought two Cd singles ‘Bozos, parts 1 & 2 by The Levellers.

I’m reading ‘Cannon Fodder’ by Louis Ferdinand Celine.

Hey, I’m on the fucking phone, I’ll give you a ring and tell you my number, OK.

I was going into town with Piss this morning, so I went up to his room, he was putting his boots on so I sat down on the floor to wait for him. While I was there I decided to make myself a roll-up, as I was rolling it I noticed a matchbox on the floor about a foot away. When I had finished making my cigarette I leaned over and picked up the matchbox to get a light, fuck me I threw the fucking thing across the room.

It had no matches in it, it was full of a light brown pubic hair, Piss was absolutely hysterical, he laughed so much that his false teeth nearly fell out (I must mention that only four of his teeth are false, the other three are his own?)

“You dirty stinking Bastard!” I yelled in disgust while getting up to wash my hands in his sink.

“Who the fuck do they belong to?” I added with a grimace.

“They’re that bird’s who I was barreling up at the rehab!” he explained through tears of laughter.

“You need a fucking lobotomy!” I sneered.

“Leave it out mate, you’re having a laugh ain’t ya, Oi! but I love her, I’m a villain, I’ll blow your fucking head off!” he answered still laughing.

“Don’t be such a fucking pussy, they’re only hair, you daft cunt!” he added.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you had just showed me but I touched the fucking things!” I replied, finally seeing the funny side.

“I’m going to have to get some more off her, the other night when I was steaming drunk I must have eaten some because half of them are gone?” he said seriously.

“Fuck off, I don’t wanna hear about it, hurry up and get your coat on, for Christ Sake, you’re fifty years old, you dirty old Bastard!” I answered.

So we then went into town and nothing much happened for a change, we walked around for awhile, Piss kept asking thirty and forty year old women if they needed any turkey neck (He has been reading Bukowski!) but none of them seemed to know what the daft twat was going on about, so we managed to get home without getting arrested.

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