[ Damien H. Arse came by about an hour ago with some more paintings, finally he has those from our ill fated visit to the Cambridge Beer festival, along with his account of the event, far more lucid than my recollection thats for sure. ]
So. I decided to go to the Cambridge Beer Festival with my agent Mr Hall. We started off at 6 pm on some fucking green part of Cambridge that I have no idea where. Something to do with religion. Satan's Green? Hmm. we already dropped two Bries a few hours before and they were beginning to notice.
Anyway, 6.15pm we were suddenly in a tent with a whole bunch of lizardly looking gentlemen with their manky facial hair, slabbering on about real ales and Unix.
'They want to kill us all! And piss on our corpses!'
Did I just say that aloud. no . no. calm down. One reptile is ahead of us trying to get his head topped up. The bar creature is being polite but I can hear what he's really saying: 'I've served bearded wankers with t-shirts that say 127.0.0.1 for 10 years! Now the joke's on you arsehoooooooole!'
Finally after a split second infinity we were at the head of the queue. We were handed a pint of 'Cat food monthly' from the 'O & B' brewery: Tasted of monkey jism.
Bad vibrations are beginning to emanate from the tent/cathedral. Someone's throwing grapefruits at my head. Splintered mammaries welling up from the time fog. the monkey's were closing in.
7pm. finished the pint, had a crap on the lawn outside. no one noticed, I think? People are watching me.
Hall is shouting: 'STOP LOOKING.. NOTHING TO SEE HERE. see/hear. hear/see.. heresay? Monkay?'
Pulled my pants up.. No need for a wipe-down. The decision to flee back into the tent came suddenly. We found ourselves near the summer ale section. This time Hall chose a pint of 'Red faced blotchy' from the Cambourne Ale company.
One sip and the possibility of physical and mental collapse was nearly reached, as the smell of stale gorilla shit reached my nostrils. It did taste summery though. the summer wastelands of the deepest savannahs from hell. Mind recoiling in horror. must stay focused... must be in total control.
I yammered this mantra to myself for 2 hours while I slowly watched 2 women make out with a fluorescent baboon.
When I bought this to the attention of Hall he flipped and started telling people to watch out for the monkey-fuckers.
We glided into the next dimension, floating. falling until we entered the dark ale section with it's various cocktails of tarred-up beers. A hairless simian offered us a pint of 'nob cheese reserve' - necked it in one gulp and then retched as the stilton-esque and Camembert aroma tried to stifle the stale cheesy chunky cack.
I pulled out a chimp pube which was lodged between me teeth as I got naked and started producing some nob-cheese of my own.
'CAN DO A BETTER JOB YOU RANCOURS!!!' I could hear him/me screaming.
We were both bundled to the floor by the monkey-fuckers and found ourselves awake at a table. outside about 20 seconds-2 hours later. It seemed I had just eaten a battered fried Brie sandwich washed down with a pint of 'dog sex weekly' -, another classic from the 'O & B' brewery.
Hall was standing above me. jabbering on about how he couldn't take me anywhere. I didn't want to anywhere, did I?
Time for another dump I thought. Best to be discrete this time - didn't want to cause any more trouble. so I slowly eased the shite out. and hoped my pants could absorb it.
JESUS WEPT. I smelt of skanky rotten Red Leicester. no one was saying anything, but Hall was noticeably moving away. hmm.
After the smell died down (or we got used to it). we then made a stumbly exit to the Euro beer section, where a nice bit of skirt was serving up the bevvies. (I popped a silano popper just to get the blood rushing once more). While Hall got us a pint of 'Father's Special' from Daneland I believe. or something like that.
Had the smutty overtures of primate pubes. Made me want to fuck orang-utans. There was a trace of spunk on my pants. trying to get it off made me as stiff as a post.
I got the monkey horn bad, and the bargirl knew it. eye contact. she fell in love with me. just before I puked in her face.
We ran out in opposite directions, me heading towards the lights. Hall heading out towards the ground.
So there he went, too weird to live, to fucked to die.
I woke up the next afternoon outside 'reality checkpoint'; naked. bar a banana stuffed up my arse.
– Damien H. Arse.
