by Nevs Coleman

Fiction 1: Bad Kebab.

November after The Wetherspoon’s, you and the wife had a bad barney last night and you’ve gone out for drinks to try and make up but things aren’t quite right, you thought a few pints would calm things down. You’re still at unease when they’ve called time and you’re waiting at the kebab shop for your doner and cheesy chips for her, the world is still swirling and you’re dreading going back out in the pissing rain when the big guy shoes directly in front of you “large kebab and chips mate.’ The rest of the queue snarls but nobody says anything. You look up at him, he’s unshaven with ginger hair, warts, black cut off t-shirt. A hook hangs off as an earring and he’s swigging from a  can of Tennant’s. He clocks your gaze and ‘Your bird’s got nice tits, mate!’

You say nothing.

He sneers down at you.


You look around and she’s covering herself up, people are starting to snicker at you, you don’t know what happens next but suddenly you’re outside and it’s raining on you and your head is spinning. Then there’s a huge pain in your balls and you feel something kicking in your head. The taste of copper is all around your mouth and nose and you look up to see him groping your missus. The next thing is that you’re on the night bus and it’s damp around your crotch. You end up sleeping on the couch only you’ve shit yourself and you’re not in any condition to clean yourself up.

The next morning it’s still damp and you drag yourself to the shower because you need to get ready to go to work, you look at your cock and it’s a bloody mess. You use the shower to hose down your thighs and there’s a burst of pain as soon as the stream connects with your testicles. With no small pain you manage to get the shit and crusted blood from there and they’re blue and black and there’s green ooze there. You ought to go to the doctor but you can’t afford the day off, you struggle into work  After lunch they can see you can barely move so they send you home. With one pint to steady your nerves you wander to A + E. They examine you, shake their head. The painkillers are mixing up your head but you can just about make out them saying ‘Need to remove NOW.’

They tut and wait for you to get sober ‘Sir, your testicles are damaged. They need to be removed from your body. Do you understand?’

You nod.

Then you wake up again. She’s waiting for you a few days later when they release you and she’s full of sorrow and hugs and tea. You don’t want to talk, you feel sorry for yourself. When she goes up to bed, you go online and look for videos of girls you like to look at, but there’s nothing happening.

Because you don’t have testicles anymore. At first there’s hugs, canoodling, you lick now. You didn’t before, but now you do. You try everything, she tries not to mention it. But after six months she has no understanding left for you. ‘I need to be FUCKED Not licked, not stroked, not nibbled, I need you to fuck me.’

So you spend the compensation and severance pay on new and more devices, widgets, lotions, till your money runs out..she’s been getting less and less happy with each new machine you bring home.  And she turns to you and says this:

‘You’re in the way, darling. You’re in the way and  I don’t care how you feel about it anymore because I have put up with enough. I need to be fucked and if not by you then you need to find me a man to do it. A real man who doesn’t cry or say sorry. For what you’ve put me through, he’s going to need to be bigger than you. Now get out there and do it.’

You cry and stumble and search around bars and pubs and after a few misunderstandings and black eyes  a bloke finally agrees but when he gets to your place, he changes his mind because what you didn’t notice while you were caught up in your misery is that your beloved darling wife had got fat. Fat and ugly with self pity and scowling resentment and he quickly makes his excuses because he’s not that desperate and this happens a few times…

So you end up paying them. The word gets round that some bloke’s paying men to fuck his wife and suddenly there’s a steady stream of smug men in your house, and your things start going down to the Record and Tape Exchange to keep this going and then finally you have nothing left to sell.

You get home one day, the locks are changed and you see your clothes sticking out of the bin, and they stink of piss.

Thanks for reading. My ‘Go look at THIS!’ is the amazing Stephen Bissette, who really doesn’t need my help, but is worth checking out of only for his ongoing work ‘Forgotten Comic Wars’ Check it out HERE: :


One response

  1. Andrew

    This is exactly what my fortune teller told me.

    March 17, 2010 at 13:37

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