Kissing with her thighs open.

But facetiously folks.

Today I participated in a phonetics experiment in which I was asked to listen to strange, robotically garbled sounds, and type out what I thought was being said. About three quarters of the sounds were completely undecipherable, but my instructions were to 'just guess' where this was the case. My errors afforded an unpleasant glimpse into my psyche. I wouldn't say it has an 18 rating as such. It's more like an incredibly unsettling PG without anything explicitly violent or sexy for the certification board to get censorious about, but will still fuck up certain kinds of sensitive kids for life - like, say, The Never Ending Story or The Wizard of Oz

After each attempt, the correct answer flashed up. Invariably I blushed and lowered my eyes away from the experimenter's thoughtful, occasionally pained frown. In my defence, the noises produced from the machine I was plugged into had a kind of plaintive, Satanic-bot quality to them that suggested the following dark aural interpretations.

'The broom is in the corner' I heard as 'Daddy put me in the corner'

'The pretty lady pours the milk' I heard as 'I'm so sad, she tore up all the silk'

'The silly girls shout' sounded to me like 'I'm a wretched maggot mouth'

'The kitchen's through that door' sounded like 'Now you can't hurt me no more'

Ladies?

Aren't you a pert little thing?

The title of this post is my new pick up line. One of my lady-wise friends advises me that, though not perfect, it's better than 'Dear Customer', followed by a frank appearance appraisal. Hey, say what you like about the ol' Dear Customer strategy, it gets them bug-eyed with fear. Which is something. A friend of mine likes to knock the females back with 'I'm not paying you to talk', which has a Wall Street slash-and-burn ruthlessness about it I quite like. He won't let me borrow it, because I've already borrowed and failed to return his favourite VHS, 'The Rape of Richard Beck'. No more borrowing privileges. A real ball breaker.

The thickness of bars.

Why do I destroy everything I touch? Because everything I touch, I touch really hard, over and over again, until it is broken. Fundamentally we are alone. How was your day, honey? There are no moral standards, everything is permitted. Did you buy bin liners? All I care for is banal, rinky-dink chart indie. It's the only thing that makes me feel alive. Some truths: I couldn't love a woman without back dimples. Eaters of meat are out too, unless they're prodigious gum chewers, or it's a one-off, 'we're stranded in the Andes' type thing. Tonight I watched people loudly assert the merits of their own home town in contrast to the demerits of their opponents', and I fucking loved it.

Adventures in self pity.

When my friends kiss girls I like, I deface their books in creative ways. Binomial nomenclature is useful here. Robert Nozick's 'Philosophical Explanations' becomes 'Philosophical Explanations, OR, how David tore my heart out'. His copy of 'Paradise Lost' is now the story of 'Paradise Lost, OR, how David failed in his obligations of friendship accrued through shared experiences, loving acts and assurances of the Broz before Hoz principle'. Taking the time to read through a whole novel crossing out the villain's name and replacing it with my betrayer's was a little more laborious, but the payoff should be magnificent. I just wish I could be there the next time he flips through his copy of David Copperfield and sees himself for what he is - no better than the loathsome, conniving, treacherous HEEP. I didn't want to be too predictable, so I've done the same with some of his non-fiction too. Currently I'm working on Ian Kershaw's biography of Hitler, first published under the title 'HITLER', now available in limited edition as 'DAVID'. I intend to slip it back onto his bookshelf at a prearranged 'let's talk this out' session at his place tomorrow - it's going to be a long night!

I've had a lot of fun with plays. It's been a challenge trying to integrate insults about this rodent into the dialogue artfully, without messing too heavily with the characters' natural cadences and lexicons, but I think I've done okay. Here are some samples - see if you can spot my alterations!

Beckett, 'Krapp's Last Tape'

ADA: You laughed so charmingly once, I think that's what first attracted me to you. That and your smile (Pause.) David is a lousy turd.

Shakespeare, 'Hamlet

O that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.
David is a fucking douchebag.

Stoppard, 'Travesties'

Carr (decisively) :No, it is perfectly clear in my mind. He must be stopped. (Removes shirt to reveal white undershirt with laser-printed portrait of David's face, contained within a red circle, a thick red line running through it). The Russians have got a government of patriotic and moderate men. Prince Lvov is moderately conservative, Kerensky is moderately socialist, and Guchkov is a businessman. All in all a promising foundation for a liberal democracy on the Western model, and for a vigorous prosecution of the war on the Eastern front, followed by a rapid expansion of trade. (A straw effigy of David is wheeled in, doused with gasoline, and set alight). I shall telegraph the Minister in Berne.