Friday, 31 August 2012

A Londoner Called Kevin

I live on the south coast, in a town which is only eighty minutes from south London, if the trains are running on time, and nobody's committed suicide by throwing themselves onto the line. Only last week an immigrant decided to end his days by doing just that, and because the police had to come to inspect the scene of crime, and then had to pick his body parts up, the trains between the south coast and London were running a few hours late. The selfish bastard could have just taken an overdose and be done with it, but because he probably had a big chip on his shoulder, and he thought that England hadn't treated him in the way he had hoped, he chose to go out with all guns blazing, and fuck up the lives of a few thousand commuters.

Kevin - A Londoner. Extract taken from "The Londoners" - By Luke Ryman

Thursday, 23 August 2012

Dinner In Vegas, With Dave Cooper & Tony Joy

We started to eat our steak and fries before everybody else had been served. We knew that it was impolite, but as Tony said, as he stuffed what seemed like half of his steak into his mouth, he was fucking starving, and the beer had started to go to his head.

Tony had also emptied half of the bottle of red wine into our beer glasses, telling Justin that he thought the Bordeaux had been a good choice. Justin frothed at the mouth when he saw a seventy dollar bottle of wine disappear down our throats, saying that he had never come across such vulgar people in his entire life.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon and we were spiralling out of control. Tony was starting to get affectionate with Sharon, who he announced had something that he wanted to try, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was. She was confused, but took whatever he said as a compliment, even though he was slurring his words, and shouting loudly at the top of his voice that he wanted more beer.

Getting rowdy in a Vegas restaurant. Extract from "An American Adventure" - By Luke Ryman.

Sunday, 19 August 2012

You Can't Get Much Lower Than This

There are only sluts in this part of the world. All of them unemployed. All of them without a future. Their only entertainment is sex. Kez is one of those sluts. Sadly she was now pregnant, and so she was unwanted. In the eyes of people like Tony, she is now even lower than a slut.

Drunken slags enjoying themselves. Extract taken from "The Londoners" - By Luke Ryman.

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

A Very Gay Affair

And so there we were, thousands of miles away from the sanity of London, sat in a wedding chapel, on the outskirts of Vegas. I looked at Tony and asked him just how much worse our holiday was going to get. He didn't reply, because he didn't need to. As far as he was concerned, his face said it all. It said that it was going to be impossible to plunge to even lower depths, because nothing but NOTHING could be as bad as being sat in a wedding chapel, on the outskirts of Vegas, taking part in a gay wedding.

Attending a gay wedding in Las Vegas. Extract taken from "An American Adventure" - By Luke Ryman.

Sunday, 12 August 2012

Sammie Didn't Like Rough Sex

Tony's eyes were bulging with disgust. Girls like that will never be able to satisfy a man. I agreed with Tony. It had been a mediocre experience.

Tony reacts with disgust on hearing that Sammie wasn't that keen on violent sex - An extract taken from "The Londoners" - By Luke Ryman.

Tuesday, 7 August 2012

An American Adventure - By Luke Ryman

The style of the restaurant was the same as the one back in Frostproof, with the exception that here, in the window, was a life-size cardboard cut-out of old Buck himself, welcoming his customers with a massive grin and twinkling eyes. I chuckled at the sight of the cardboard version of Buck, fading at the edges from the hours of sunlight it had endured, and doing nothing to convince me that Buck's Burgerland was the best place in town for a decent meal.

Buck's Burgerland in Haines City, Florida - as seen by Dave Cooper in An American Adventure

Saturday, 4 August 2012

An Extract From "The Londoners" - by Luke Ryman

On a street corner, somewhere in south-east London

I turned left after the furniture shop and started to walk faster. I had covered a mile in what seemed like only a few minutes, and now my mind had turned to Jill's cosy flat, situated halfway up in a depressing tower block, on an estate overrun with drunken teenagers and single mothers. God, it's an awful place, but people have to live somewhere. Teachers, hotel receptionists, salesmen, plumbers, and low-ranking police officers. They all have to live somewhere, even if home to them is a tower block in south-east London. People have to live, eat, and fuck somewhere in life, and we can't all live in posh streets, in fancy houses, and drive big cars. Only a small percentage of people are lucky enough to fuck in massive beds, on sheets made of silk, in bedrooms that overlook fantastic and breathtaking landscape that make you glad to be alive. The rest of us fuck in small beds, on cotton sheets, in bedrooms that overlook slag heaps or junk yards.