A RIVETERS TALE
Beauregard Poohleaker was a semi retired riveter with an overactive sphincter and terrible stutter.
Born in to an idealistic and nihilist working class family, he was hampered in his schooling due to his anal deficiencies and the need to wear battle grade nappies.
Soon gaining the nickname "Shitpants", his self esteem was low from a very early age, and he was unable to make any friends at school or in his local neighbourhood. As a chronically lonely child he was soon creating imaginary friends and enemy's as his mind imploded with self doubt and fear.
This invariably led to visits to the local ale house's for liquid refreshment and this also soon became a habit, with copious amounts of stout, mild, heavy and best Bitter consumed on a daily basis.
Indeed, by the time he was ten, he was spitting phlegm and coughing up black and brown tar on a regular basis, which only increased his need to imbibe.
Drinking a pint of warm bitter and nibbling on a packet of stale potato crisps, he sighed as he pulled his crumpled note book from his jacket pocket and folded the cover back to reveal a multitude of his wild scribblings.
Beauregard had considered his childhood an exciting time as he pondered on his current pitiful position at the but hole of society.
He had outgrown his father by the time he was seven, and regularly beat him to a pulp if he did not receive his gruel in a satisfactory manor. His mother was otherwise engaged in her affairs working at the penitentiary, although she did pass a smattering of Turdoxian reflexology on to her sponge brained offspring.
He soon mastered this art, and became a black belt purveyor of rhythmic and sympathetic action to the underbelly of society. It was at this moment he decided to be a riveter.
To be continued.......
