Sunday, 11 December 2016

Views from the Fat Man - PART ONE


Tony Joy - aka The Fat Man - wants to share with you his thoughts on how this year, which is rapidly coming to an end, has been, and what he would have done to make it better. Fuelled by strong lager and a hatred of all people of the non-white category, this foul-mouthed, overweight layabout has lots to say - if anyone wants to listen.

"Girls getting naked are here to stay. Porn is BIG, whether you agree with it or not. This year, we've all had to suffer up to our armpits the endless news stories concerning the current migrant situation affecting Europe. Now, the Calais Jungle has been dismantled, and the immigrants have been sent packing to various refugee centres throughout France. What I want to say is that the influx of unwanted migrants was a big thing, which is now starting to wobble, before the whole bloody saga will probably come to an end. This crisis is not big enough to hold our attention, unlike porn, which is as solid as a rock, and which will still be here when the refugees are long gone.

"This is a full English breakfast, crammed to bursting point with fat, grease and other unhealthy things. This is the BEST way to start the day, and ranks as one of my favourite gut-busting meals. It would be a brave man to tell me that this sort of food is bad for you. THINK STRAIGHT and EAT GREAT is my motto, and to hell with your carrot juice."

"What can I say that hasn't been said already? We are being destroyed by TV and the celebrities which spring up from nowhere, thanks to this ghastly medium. If they're not touching-up kiddies, banging on about the migrant crisis or just bothering us like flies around a lukewarm turd, they are surely up to no good. I'd rather spend an evening with a family of refugees from Syria than a minute with these drossbags."
"Very soon our passports will no longer mention the words EUROPEAN COMMUNITY on the front cover, as BREXIT and all of its consequences slash through the chains that bind us to the continent, and shackle us to a regime of oppression and rigidity. YES, we have got our country back! I've scratched my head and balls for hours on end, to think of one reason why BREXIT can't be good for us, and I'm struggling to come up with an answer. We're on to a winner with this, and our darkie and darkest days are behind us. Clean the streets and the streets will stay clean, for tomorrow is a day of new changes!"


"With their sad faces and underfed bodies, they could be right in thinking that life isn't a bowl of cherries. Driven out of their homeland by civil war and starving to death, a decent cheeseburger would be enough to make 'em 'appy. You see: I AM A SOLUTIONS MAN!"

TO BE CONTINUED.





Sunday, 20 November 2016

Casualties



I ate my sandwiches alone. It was my second week at the factory, but I was still unloved by my fellow colleagues. I looked around the restaurant, as I ate my mid-afternoon snack, and thought to myself that my colleagues were all cunts. Scum. Bastards. Slags. Whores. Dogs. I despised them all. Not because they didn't accept me, but because it was me against them. It was a war. There had already been one casualty, and there were going to be others. That's what wars are all about. Casualties. And if I didn't want to become a casualty, I would have to take out my opponents – one by one. Only the fittest would survive. It was me or them.  


There's going to be a war...
Extract taken from "The Londoners" - an ebook for kindle by Luke Ryman.

Wednesday, 2 November 2016

Thin lips






 A man could easily become depressed in such circumstances. A sea of bodies – yet none of them virgins, and all of them familiar with rough sex. Samantha spoke to me again. She asked me where my friend had got to. What friend? The one who I said I was waiting for. Well, there was no friend. It had been an excuse to make her shut her vulgar mouth, and deflect her away from me. Except that it hadn't worked. She said that her friends called her Sammie. That seemed logical. I had to move closer to her, because a man had pushed me in the back, to get to the bar. Sammie smelt of cheap perfume. I looked at her face. It wasn't as bad as some of the faces in the pub. She had turned her back on her girlfriends, and wanted to speak to me. I offered Sammie a drink. She asked the barman for a vodka and coke. Much better than a pint of lager, I thought. Sammie had unblemished skin, and thin lips. A small nose. Blue eyes. Dark hair. But that fucking tattoo. She said that she regretted having the tattoo, because she thought that later on – when she was older – it would look stupid. I laughed and agreed with her. I said that I didn't have any tattoos. Everything about Sammie was slim. Her entire body. Her thin neck. Her fingers. Thin and so feminine. When she took her glass of vodka and coke I looked at the way she gripped the glass. It was a delicate grip. I had been wrong to write her off as chaff.  

Love is in the air in southeast London. But how will the evening end?
"The Londoners: Part 1" out now for kindle via amazon.

Wednesday, 19 October 2016

London

What is life without a bit of fun?
Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow is another day.
So what if you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. So what if everything seems black and grey.
Tony and Dave are familiar with life's problems, but never do they feel like giving up.
And why?
Because they're in London, and London is in them!

Monday, 5 September 2016

Absent underwear



Who are these awful creatures? With their big mouths, vulgar laughs, cheap lipstick and absent underwear, who are these foul-mouthed, beer-swilling girls?


Don't know and don't want to know, you say to yourself.


What a shame that Tony Joy doesn't follow your couldn't give a shit attitude.


No, not our Tony. No, not our fat friend with the bulging eyes, bloated stomach and disgusting habits. For he simply loves awful creatures.


He gets his kicks from watching them vomit their vodka and orange over the pavement, for whilst they are bent forward, emptying their guts, the man with the bulging eyes is right behind them, dribbling over their naked arses.


It's a sight that should be avoided, unless you get your kicks like Tony Joy.


Meet the man and all of his friends, as he and his cronies weave their way through the streets of southeast London.


Meet them all in "The Londoners" - a trilogy, out now on kindle, via Amazon.

Sunday, 24 July 2016

We ain't gonna die - it's turbulence!


The three of us woke at the same time, as the plane started to shudder and lurch violently. Tony looked at a terrified Andy. He looked very pale and it smelt like that he had shit himself. Tony leant across to him and gave him a very serious look. The plane shuddered again, and as it tried to correct itself, Tony told Andy that it was all over. We were all going to die. We had lost all engines, and we were plunging towards the Atlantic and towards our death.

Sick bastard! But that was Tony.

Andy started to gasp for air, and would have stood up, if he still hadn't been strapped into his seat. Tony laughed a sick laugh and patted Andy on the thigh.

Turbulence, you idiot. It's turbulence. We ain't going to die. We're going to Vegas!

Dave, Tony and Andy are high in the sky, heading to Vegas. But will their plane get there, or will it drop from the sky like a bag of bricks?

Find out in Humourland, a collection of amusing short tales about love, life and dodgy pizzas.
Out now on kindle.



Tuesday, 12 July 2016

Fly the Flag


Fly away to get away! We did, and now we're back.

Summer is still with us, but for some of us the holidays are coming to an end.

"Ate too much, drank too much - but what a pleasure it was AND without a screaming bloody child in sight."
"You forgot THAT one who insisted on jumping in the roof-top pool, even if the sign says that it's forbidden."
"Oh, yes! Well, there's always one little bastard who likes to ignore the rules."

The beer was great and the food was edible. The ice-cream melted under the blazing sun and we burnt our shoulders driving all over Malta.

And back at home one balls-up came after another. Roy Hodgson threw in towel and David Cameron did the same. The whole world was talking about Brexit and how we've got our country back.

Peace will descend upon our magnificent land one day soon.

France slipped up at the final hurdle against Portugal, Cliff Richard is after the police and Andy Murray lifted our spirits at Wimbledon.

Poor France! But at least the spirits have been lifted over here. There is a feel-good factor in the air, and as I write the sun is out. But for how long...

Soon summer will become autumn and then winter will come knocking at our doors. Brexit will be forgotten as the world zooms in on the clash of the century: TRUMP versus CLINTON.

America and Americans, if you want YOUR country back, there's only one way to go!

The hour of the aperitif is now upon us.

Happy Holidays!

Meet Dave, Tony et al in my various ebooks, out now on kindle, via Amazon.


Tuesday, 28 June 2016

Clouds

It's a funny old time to be English - or is it?

Churchill would be glad that we've finally cut ties with those meddling bastard bureaucrats at Brussels - the bastards who were intent on destroying our nation.

TOO LATE you bunch of brainless cock-suckers. WE'RE OUT and WE'RE OUT TO STAY.

So now, as summer is finally upon us, we've finally got our country back, as Donald Trump quite rightly said, when he heard that Brexit is what the British people want.

FUCK EUROPE! they shouted from Milton Keynes to Bexhill-on-Sea. FUCK EUROPE! and all of the shit which comes with it.

Now let's repel the unwelcome ones back to the sea. Let's make Britain something which the British people can be proud of.

ENGLAND FOR THE ENGLISH, and to hell with the east European scum who are wandering down our country lanes as though this is their home.

It will never be your home, because England is for the English!

Let's turn the page and forget the past. It will be hard and there will be times when we question our choice. But never give up, because the future is great and ours for the taking. So seize it with both hands and just be glad that our darkest years our behind us.

Sunday, 5 June 2016

The Beast & his Friend


Peter Ward had been to France to see an old friend of his. Ward had first met David Tyler in London, all of those years before, when life seemed a lot better and the world was full of opportunities and rewards for people who were willing to take a risk. Ward had taken a risk, as he had arrived in London with his pockets empty of money, nowhere to live and no job. Eventually, after drifting through life for a while, Ward got a job as a mechanic in a garage in Catford. It was there that he first met Tyler, and it was then that their friendship blossomed.

The two colleagues shared a tiny flat, above a newsagents, just a few streets away from where they repaired cars to earn a living. Tyler was a year younger than Ward, and was born in Folkestone – a part of the world which Ward knew well. When they weren't up to their elbows in grease and grime, the two colleagues – now close friends – would spend all of their free time in their local pub, which was situated at the end of the street in which they lived.

Tyler was a heavy drinker, but he justified his love of lager and whisky by saying that when one works hard, one has the right to play hard. Ward didn't understand why Tyler had to justify his love of alcohol, because as far as Ward was concerned, Tyler was an adult, and he could do whatever he wanted whenever he chose to do so. It was during this time that Ward also became dependent on alcohol, but never once did
either of the two friends miss a day's work because they had consumed too much alcohol the night before.

Extract taken from "After Dover" - an ebook for kindle by Luke Ryman


Thursday, 26 May 2016

Glen


I don't like mindless violence, and I only use my iron bar if I really have to, and only when I need to protect myself. It makes me laugh when people talk about Glen and his iron bar, as though I spend most of my life laying into people for no apparent reason. Well, that's not the case, and because I steer clear of drugs, and shit like that, I seem to get by, without being involved in anything that I'd rather avoid. Criminals operate on different tiers, and whilst I take my hat off to those who deal in drugs, and make loads of money, I think that there's a good life to be made from pickpocketing. Tony agrees with me, and often says that greed is the downfall of many a criminal, and that all the while he's got enough money to buy a drink, and have a bit of fun, then that's good enough for him.

EXTRACT TAKEN FROM THE LONDONERS TRILOGY - FOUR YEARS IN LONDON - AVAILABLE FOR KINDLE VIA AMAZON


Wednesday, 20 April 2016

Tony





Strewn across the bedroom floor were Tony's t-shirts and underpants, together with his much-loved Arsenal shorts, which he had stolen from a sports shop during a Christmastime shoplifting spree. He was really proud of the fact that he had managed to get away with the shorts, without being caught, and said that while he agreed that shoplifting is immoral, he got a real buzz from walking into a shop and helping himself to whatever he wanted.

He had even left an unfinished glass of lager on his bedside table, and after peering into it, I saw that a film of dead insects and mould had started to develop on the surface. All of a sudden I no longer had the urge to go to the pub for a pint of lager, and not wanting to vomit all over myself, I backed away from the table and continued to look for any cash that Tony may have inadvertently scattered throughout his bedroom, in the same way a squirrel hordes nuts, so in barren times, it always has something to eat, and doesn't have to worry about where its next meal is going to come from.

But the fat bastard had left nothing of any value lying around, unless his stash of pornographic magazines had some sort of resale value. But even then, there was no way I was going to touch his magazines, because soiled magazines containing pictures of nude women are on the same level as unfinished glasses of lager.


Tony Joy is in Florida, but Dave Cooper isn't! Without his only friend in life, what is Dave going to do? Find out the answer to this question - and others - in Destroying Buck, a short and amusing tale about a fat man getting up to no good in Florida.

This ebook can also be found in Humourland, which, as the title suggests, is a series of amusing tales in one ebook.



All titles, and others by the same author, are available for kindle via Amazon.

Tuesday, 5 April 2016

AMERICA


MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN is all he wants to do, and so come November, and if you are American,  then this is the man - and perhaps the ONLY man - who can achieve that goal - with the help of YOUR vote.

He hasn't mixed his words and he's made few friends on the campaign trail, but at least Donald Trump has made it clear that if you're an immigrant, a terrorist, a parasite or any other form of indesirable being, YOU better pack your bags and get out of town, for a sea of change is in the making.

Of course, he's been called radical, racist and he's been compared to Hitler, but if a man so desperate to change the face of his nation has to be these things, then so be it.

What a shame that Francois Hollande and Angela Merkel can't stand up and be counted, instead of turning Europe into a dumping ground of immigrant dross.



They're smashing down the walls that serve to protect the European state, instead of manning the towers and forcing the invaders out of town. They mock the likes of Donald Trump, when instead they should be following his lead, and putting THEIR respective countries first. At least David Cameron has refused to allow the UK to become a paradise for millions of refugees, understanding that Britain is better off without them.

Over here, it must only get worse before it gets better, where as over there, in the U.S., with Trump in charge, the American population will soon benefit from the policies of a leader who puts HIS people FIRST and HIS country FIRST.

Love him or hate him, just be content with the fact that out there, in the wide world, there is at least one man who's got the balls to stand up and say what he thinks - and to hell with political correctness!



Sunday, 28 February 2016

Those wonderful days (part 1)

It's all coming back to me now, with its nauseating odour and chemical-crammed contents, all to be found in a foil sachet which looked like something astronauts took with them whenever they went on another mission in space.

I am talking about that wonderful culinary creation of the seventies - Vesta boil-in-the-bag curry - which was a regular Saturday night feature back when I was growing up.

Sold in dehydrated form, this beef curry was about as good as it got if you were looking for exotic food to eat in, when you couldn't be bothered to get off your arse and get a takeaway from your local Indian restaurant.

I can still see the powder being poured into the saucepan, before water was added, to create before my eyes that wonderful stodge, which was as curry-like as your imagination could make it seem.

Vesta ruled the kitchen back then, when this was all that was needed to give us some much needed feel-good factor, in a time when life was grim and all was not wonderful in the garden.

This magnificent meal could have ruled for a thousand years, if it had not been knocked of its perch by that other example of haute cuisine, the Pot Noodle. Another dehydrated dog's dinner, this time brought to life by pouring boiling water directly over the chemicals which were contained in a plastic pot. After a good stir, before one's eyes came to life another Saturday night classic, to be consumed in one's favourite armchair, whilst watching Bruce Forsyth's Generation Game on BBC1.

But how many times, as we got halfway through eating our Pot Noodle, were we alarmed to find that no matter how hard we had mixed in the boiling water, there always remained lumps of powder concealed in the plastic pot? End of Pot Noodle, we said, as we put the uneaten remains in the bin, knowing that a starving dog would think twice about eating this rubbish.

Oh what fun we had mixing powder with water on a Saturday night, in the name of cooking. Fun these foods were to prepare, but unfunny is the fact that we actually ate this stuff.

Still, the chemicals never did me any harm, but for a decent curry these days, nothing can beat a chicken vindaloo from your local indian restaurant.


Tuesday, 23 February 2016

Celebrity arseholes






So Jude Law has decreed that children of migrants currently cluttering up the Calais countryside should be transported to the UK, where they should be housed and watered at the expense of the British tax-payer. This is the latest example of a celebrity talking through his arse. This brainless fuck-wit should poke his nose out of politics, and concentrate on doing what he does best - making shit films.

But Law is just the most recent of celebrity vermin, who fail to see things as they should be seen.

We all remember Cilla Black and the very unfunny Ronnie Corbett showing no sympathy for the victims, when it was revealed that Rolf Harris had been diddling kiddies for years. Their only thoughts were for "poor Rolf" - as though the bearded scumbag was suffering as much as the children he molested. Black is now dead and Ronnie Corbett - who made his name milking the success of Ronnie Barker - mercifully no longer appears on our screens.

The world of entertainment is full of ponces, faggots and would-be politicians, who live on a different planet to ours. The likes of Jude Law are dangerous and the Ronnie Corbetts of this world are clearly deluded.

Rolf Harris is due back up before the judge very soon, to answer further accusations of kiddie-diddling offences. If this c**t was half decent, he would have hung himself in his cell months ago, instead of being a burden to British tax-payers.

Law's pleas should fall on deaf ears. In Britain the priority should be the pensioners who struggle to live from day to day. Migrant offspring, with no grasp of English, are certainly NOT what the UK needs right now. Neither does the UK need celebrities like Law spouting drivel to boost his image.

LONG LIVE ENGLAND! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN! 

Turkey & Jesus




When I had filled my plate with turkey, potatoes and beans, and the old man had taken his place at the head of the table, I realised that if Buck had some expensive wine in his collection, there was no likelihood that any of it was going to make it to the table.

And then, just as I started to dissect my turkey, Buck asked us all to pray, and thank Jesus for putting the food on our plates and the water in our glasses. When the prayer was over, I realised why religion had never been quite my thing, and why Tony looked so depressed. But starting to feel hungry, and not overly concerned about Tony's problems, I stabbed my fork violently into my turkey, and watched with delight as my potatoes shot off my plate and onto Nancy's dress.

Dave Cooper is in need of a drink, but with Buck in charge, only water is on offer - together with Jesus!

What is Dave doing in Florida and why is his friend, Tony, looking so miserable? Find out now in Destroying Buck - an ebook for kindle by Luke Ryman

Saturday, 13 February 2016

Welcome to...



A man pushes his bicycle through a disease-infested puddle and another wanders hopelessly along a disused railway line, looking somewhat pissed orf with life. But at least the sun is shining and those jolly kind chaps from feed-a-fuckin' refugee are on their way with tomato soup and bread rolls. Yes, for in one's lowest moment, nothing beats soup and bread to help blow away those migrant blues.

And where is this shite-hole on earth to be found? Is it in some corner of Africa? Is it in Iraq? Is it in Bangladesh? Mais non, mes amis!  This hovel of a homeland is to be found in Calais, a town only a ninety minute ferry ride away from Dover, in dear old Blighty.



What 'o me old chums, not the very same Dover which that little bugger Adolf Hitler wanted to get his hands on all of those years ago? Yes, THAT Dover, whose white cliffs stand tall over the Channel, protecting this little corner of England.

But where is all of this heading, old chap, if I could be so rude as to enquire? Well, there them migrant buggers, with their Adidas tracksuits and terrible table manners, would just love to hop on one of those ferry things and take a ride to Dover. And once there, they would be awfully grateful if the British government would play the white man, and give them asylum, free housing, free food, free education, free internet access and free...



GOOD GOD, NO!!! I hear you all cry, from the comfort of your armchairs.

And who is resposible for this bloody can of worms? Well, that little shite-bag of a Syrian president has got a lot to answer for, but the finger of blame can also be firmly pointed at Francois Hollande and Angela Merkel, who, between them, are rapidly turning Europe into a right old bucket of cow shit.

So it's no wonder that David Cameron and his chums want to get our bums out of Europe, before it's too late. The trouble is, within the ranks of the Tory party, there are certain members who think we should stick with Europe, pull down our barriers and lay out the buns and lemonade for the migrants, who we'll pay to come over to England.

Tonight they're lining up for food in centres run by do-gooders, in Calais, and tomorrow they could be in Kent!

If Hollande had half a brain in his fucked-up head, he would be better off sending this lot packing before turning his attention to the good citizens of Calais, who have all had enough of this. Local residents are afraid to go outside, shops and bars are closing every day and unemployment is soaring through the clouds, as the migrants battle with police, intimidate anyone and everyone and who are desperately trying to get to our shores.

So let's fuck Europe me old chums, before it fucks us. Let's burn that ghastly cow Merkel alive and let's hope that those poor old buggers in Calais may one day get their town back.

LONG LIVE ENGLAND & GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.


Sunday, 24 January 2016

Humourland


What plans does the fat man have for a failing golf club? Why is Tony serving fast food to earn a living and where is Dave when Tony needs him most? And if Paris is all pavement caf├ęs and smelly people driving badly, just why has Tony got to visit this wonderful city? After love in Vegas, junk food in Florida and beer and roulette in Paris, what can Bordeaux have in store for two of England's worst exports?

All aboard, for we're off to Humourland!

Out now for kindle, five short and amusing tales in one great ebook.

Click here to get your copy.

Monday, 11 January 2016

Destroying Buck

Welcome to Florida!

Here you will find alligators, oranges and a fat man called Tony Joy.

But Tony would rather be back home in London, with his old friend Dave Cooper by his side.

Stuck in a loveless marriage, employed in a grubby fast food restaurant and friendless, it's no wonder that Tony is depressed.

Don't worry Tony, Dave will come to your rescue in your hour of need, and Dave will help you right a few wrongs.

So all aboard with Dave Cooper, in this latest amusing story from Luke Ryman about beer, love and cheeseburgers.

Destroying Buck - out now on Kindle via Amazon