Bein' a One with de Spastic Nation.

For two years or so I lived in a wicked community in Holland, in a village on the coast. It was a new integrated project in a large loonybin, established back in the day by monks. A large area of flats and houses was designed thus: Large house of group of spazmos, normal cunts. Large house of group of right spazmos, total cunts. And so on. My girlfriend worked as a carer there, and so was privileged with a particularly cool joint for fuck-all. Living there was fucking great. Being surrounded by complete loopers, the friendliest cunts on Earth, was wonderful. Ruud, about 60, would preamble around all day, occasionally expressing his delight with a rising "Whooh!" and would hug you the first time you saw him everyday. Lisa would prolapse about once a week, always good for a laugh. David was always hanging about trying to stop bellowing obscenities while grabbing his crotch, and one of the normal cunts living down the road was a raging queen who was always getting beaten up in the pub with every cunt on E.

The village itself, not 40 seconds walk away, was a model traditional Dutch affair. The juxtaposition of the two 'worlds' was interesting. The spazmos would occasionally cause mad incidents, a disruption in the 'normal' and 'spaz' realities, a wormhole. My point is this: the Dutch are mental, and the line between sanity and spastication is gossamer thin.

I have a chronic disc problem with my back, and it has decided to attack. Must lie down. Laters.

"Oh Jesus no don't let this happen again". Me, to my back.