How I hate London, its swirling pea souper fogs, its decadent aristocracy exploiting the proletariat in such brutal ways, this country is ripe for revolution, for streets run red with the blood of the rich, only then can the foundation stones for a socialist utopia be laid, upon the crushed skulls of royalty, it’s stinking streets, it’s filth encrusted gutters, I miss Siberia its cold fresh air, strong and pure like vodka or Mother Russia, one day I shall return and reclaim my rightful place as Tsar of all the Russia’s, one day, when I drive a stake through the heart of that blood sucking vampire Nicholas and his vile puppet master Rasputin, and I hate Trotsky too, he never washes up, just sits in his squalid bedsit all day scribbling his nonsense and wanking himself into a half narcotic stupor, scribble, scribble, scribble, wank, wank, wank, last time I had a go at him he said he couldn’t wash up because it was some kind of Jewish holiday called Ramadan, he’s a lazy lying shitbag.
Revolutions do not grow or live in books, they belong on the streets with the heaving masses.
Went to the docs last night, got absolutely mullard, there has been a terrible atmosphere there since the Ripper has been doing those terrible things to those poor girls, I am confidant Sherlock Holmes will track the killer down in time, the crowds of London as always whip themselves up into an antiemetic fervour, I blame Trotsky, those poor girls, I often protect them, from those that would rob them of their hard earnt cash and they repay me in kind, (no money changes hands) it is a socialist relationship in its purest form (though I do seem to be getting a realy nasty rash) one day all of Russia will be run like this under my firm but kind and loving hand.
Mau caught up with me in an opium den at about 1 am, he loves his puff does our Mau, that and that strange oriental fighting art of which he is a master, Kung Fu, handy chap to have about in a scrap, trouble is I can never make head nor tail of what he’s saying, the other night after an altercation with some sailors I said
“Kick a man in the mouth with a good pair of boots and he will never find his teeth, funny huh?”
Then he comes over all deadpan and says
“Wise sage say, you wouldn’t punch a man in the foot, so why kick him in the head?”
I think, like all of his kind he is damned inscrutable. Nice chap though.
So anyway me and Mau get smoking and giggling as you do, some poor exploited ladies of the night turned up who clearly and understandably felt safe in our company, I still had some cash left over from my last bank job, so I decided to redistribute the wealth of the capitalist pigs and their running dog lackeys back to those less deserving via the medium of heroin and gin, woo hoo, game on!
Apparently Lenin found me later that night losing a heroic fight with a lamppost.
“Come and get some you one eyed bastard!”… I was apparently shouting.
He carried me home laid me on the sofa, wrapped me up in a blanket, woke me up with a nice cup of herbal tea, we drink nothing else, as proper tea is theft, bless him, if only I could do the same for him one day. Look after him and such like, he’s a little gent with his dinky little beard and cloth cap he could pass for a real person….
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