The Moscow Evening Standard

Yesterday on the moors of bonny Scotland, Lachlan whispered a particularly delightful and somewhat enchanting nothing to the companion with whom he was travelling. She was a fair maiden indeed. A roving reporter from Moscow TV come wandering across Christendom to seek her fortune and a juicy story to boot. Ignacious the little Scottish terrier she owned had led her to this place and she was delighted that the first person she encountered should be such a handsome, esteemed and well groomed gentleman such as Sir Lachlan. At first he could not believe his eyes as this fair blonde maiden sparkled through the eerie quiet morning mist of the moors like a tram’s headlights in the fog. A beauty such as this did not come along every day out here. Lachlan led her along to his cabin and shyly bade her to sit down at the nearest chair he could find. He wasn’t disturbed when he found out she was a reporter, for he felt he had nothing to hide and wouldn’t have thought that the Moscowans as he affectionately called them would really give a tinkers cuss for his stories or indeed the stories of anyone he knew.

Her face was indeed beautiful yet devoid of any particularly distinguishing features.Those features that were distinguished, on anyone else may have indeed added up to an altogether rather unattractive person, yet somehow on this little face everything sat and radiated such a warmth that he scarcely needed the roaring fire that had suddenly engulfed his home and was beginning to spread over the countryside like sour sobs in a garden. And as he himself caught alight and shrieked in agony, Rosetta the reporter jotted everything down meticulously so that she may finally have the story she needed to make it big with the Moscow Evening Standard. She’d show that pesky Dimitry Rolkinov a thing or two about heart string pulling reporting even if she had to suture the string to the hearts herself. Of course Lachlan was perplexed as to why she did not even lift a finger to help him seeing as though she was holding a pale of water yet he listened calmly as she explained that his death would bring about a greater good and perhaps even a 5000 rouble a year raise for her. Thomas accepted this with a final gargling noise and collapsed in a smouldering heap. Rosetta kissed his charred corpse goodbye and made way for the train station. It was going to be a long ride back to Moscow but she had a story to write and a good journalist never sleeps.


Dingy nights, where dark pub lights burn bright eyes as red as sand
He held her down, his hopes he drowned, all as he held her hand
This news she said, flew through his head and he QUICK! He needed a double
His reply with a sigh, felt like denial, boy was he in for some trouble
This moment passed but the feelings they last, just for that little while longer
Its not all but fair with her whiskey blonde hair that he couldn’t feel any stronger


flying the time went by in my mind with a cheap bottle of wine this all seemed somehow familiar to the one and his daughter whose thirst quenched by water just thinking she oughta lead him to slaughter for his life must be shorter than hers and whats worse is the hurt that hurts worst that flowed through her girth like windless rain thunder missing whats right gone asunder to trap all entwined her fate became mine and I was left on my knees never heard myself say please before her with her ways stringing me through days of endless lust wonder how I wanted to plunder her for her mind and body but left not for dead the old images in his head shook off from the plains it was just such a strain to find himself more than she with her flaws but yet hope still remained and now the suns daze has led her to him she cant help but grin at him and his smile for it was worth all the miles of endless footprints in sand all but none sink from knee deep sun dried mud and hence filled with blood like grapes from a vine his love was divine not like gods and his sons but earthly warm and glum

A list for a lists sake

1. Joe is short for Joey which is in turn short for Joseph which is the masculine of Josephine who, if rumours are to be believed, is suffering from a bad case of the clap.

2.  Apples are not actually missing an app and the word would be missing an s anyways if that were true.

3. Mission Impossible movies always seem to end with the mission being completed…I don’t get it…

4. Peaches Mangoes Peaches like to hold flags in communist arenas.

5. Flags hold onto poles. Unless of course the pole in question was around in 1939 in which case he would have been shot.

6. Red and Yellow and Pink and Green. Purple and Orange and Blue. That’s all there is. That’s what your children are being taught to believe.Fight racism everywhere. Unless it’s positively enforced that is. That’s USA O.K.