The End Fanzine Bumper (late) Easter Edition! Ins& Outs. Poetry, Bobble hat rants and book reviews

End Fanzine Bumper Easter Edition

INS..

Having a thumb like a sausage roll

Finding a cat under your foreskin

Not reacting to stimuli

Cows lick’s

The Lovely Eggs

Not liking positive feedback..

Preferring Genesis to Floyd...

Still being the drunk on the bus..

Having a pasty face but not being on the brown...

Mapping out your future...

Being despised...

Living in an asylum voluntarily..

Following the postman..

Having a goatee beard when your eight....

Updating things all the fookin time...

Cursing curses

Pretending you’re a brief...

Being truthful to the priest...

Weird welsh sheep staring you out ...

Medication time...

Being a lying bastard...

The gentrification look.. ...

Tango grannies...

Rhino thighs..

Conversations about carrots...

Space cakin MARY BERRY....

Borstal Tattoos...

Being a sly fucker..

Inviting Mormons to have a line..

Not being up for it ?..

Arguing with all bran..

Enjoying hiding in the bog...

Going alone....

Grinding your teeth in the boot of a car..

Sympathy for rats..

Saying wot the fuck much too early...

Never seeing the bigger picture..

Having a degree in foot fetishism..

Babbling like a loon..

Living naked on the banks of the Mersey..

Banjo nites in Kirkby..

Exchange homes in Dovecote..

Not giving a duffle coat a chance..

Eerie sounds ..

Being sure your a cunt..

Being stitched up like a kipper.and quite enjoying it....

Dying your balding barnet...

Asking wots the time scale in an annoying media accent..

Switching switches...

Blow backs with the pet guinea pig...

Tapping the table to give credence to the bullshit coming out your gob...

Big cracks...

Owning a villa in Birkenhead..

Massive glasses....

Being a third generation cokehead..

Setting your alarm off and watching no one giving a fuck...

Appreciating mountains from the car park then going on the  piss....

Agreeing for perverted reasons...

Donald Trump rinses !!!!!

Still doin’ Gary's when your 60!!

Drug cheats.

Normal chippies..

Wembley anything

Confiding to tramps ?..

Rat trap diplomacy..

Panicking seagulls

OUTS...

New shiny friends..

High standards..

Mingebag, broosted, relatives....

Becoming bezzies with someone u met in the back of a bizzie van ....

Sincerity..

Not knowing or caring wot the fuck word structure is...

Chattin....

40 plus gell eads....

Being under the radar for years n years...

Willing victims..

Planning Ladies day from a secure unit..

Having a big red whisky kipper when u don,t touch a drop...

Looking at your phone when someones boring the arse off you..

Saying Bizzies much to often...

Being a treasurer...

Worrying about fuck knows wot...

Tit-heads on the line at the kids footie..

Admiring a lying window cleaner..

Saying innit for no apparent reason..

Still talking about fictitious mobs involved in fictitious battles in the 80,s...

Rescuing yourself......

Having a guardian goat...

Commenting on issues you know fook all about...

The T.J Hughes revival in BOOTLE....

Looking for Whales in the LEEDS LIVERPOOL canal...

Being intimate with cheesecloth...

Grinning like a knob ead...

Honest haircuts..

Preferring Thelma to Daphne in Scooby Doo...

Messaging aliens...

Squat thrusts in the chippy.

Rejecting helpful advice

Being mildly psychotic.

Dog Turd eyes

Keeping your favourite carrot warm (in your special place)

Colouring your nipples

Eating cold curry for breakfast

Using cold curry for sex games

Dreaming of curry flavoured edible panties

Asking your boss to film you taking a shit

Overzealous zealots

Oversized sigh’s

Shoplifting in poundbake

Gobshites

Taking 2 viagra an hour before your job interview

Shaving your dogs head

Pissing in you nans slippers

Presenting your bulge with pride

Explaining ins and outs to an American

Scary flaps

Thinking that being Gay excuses you for acting like a prick

That gorgeous boss..who is the biggest twat in the world

Getting pissed with your neighbours daughter

Donald Trump’s miniscule testicles

Sock breath

Covering yer dick in batter

Cardboard socks

Waterproof jackets for goldfish

Blaming immigration for soggy fish fingers

Using a condom to smuggle an affordable hot dog into the match

Old Swan

Staring at your dogs anus until you can see Jesus’s face

Launching scotch eggs at your 7 yr old daughter, using a catapult;

Finding inspiration in Farmfoods

Using butter in a myriad of ways

Sliced coffee

That burning sensation you get when you take a piss

Piles

Grocks

Leaving a jack-in-the box inside the toilet

Pouring vegetable oil into the hood of the man sitting in front of you on the bus

Finding Derek Nemo

Having a party in the lining of your coat

Setting fire to perms

Steamed budgie

Being hasty

Being tasty

Being Nasty

buying yer kids scrambler bikes ...

posh gifts from the Dingle ...

logic..

acid house revivalists ...

Roby with Huyton..

lard Arse bikers in need of a scrub sneering at scooters...

talking about Latino drug barons....

becoming a decent person..

the Danny Devito look...

hoarding hoards..

joining a gang when aged 43...

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Easter Time folks Poetry n Prose (if you have the dough bub bum) 

POEM NUMBER 9 DREAM ......

Like a must see film I know  I’ll never see  . 

Score in a brothel surely not me 

A visit to the dose clinic it closes at three

Facebook and friends is not for me.

A school re-union, it’s looking fine

but most of my classmates are doing time

or saving for BENIDORM deary me ,

Facebook n Friends is not for me.

You Like things you don’t like, prattle on like a tool 

Too many wines turn this tool to a fool

see I luvv everybody its plain to see

Facebook n Friends is not for me.

Me? her ? or is it her n me?

two glasses MOET, You can’t beat

Originality, a couple of strawberries, cozy T.V

Facebook n Friends is not for me.

So here I sit in computerised gloom

Me’n the cat we’ve got plenty of room

The screen breaths new life  sacre bleau, can it be?!

some sad lonely fucker has accepted me !

It’s alright that FACEBOOK

POEM...A RETROSPECTIVE

What did we do before cookery shows?

Go out drinking, come to blows.

What did we do before cookery shows? 

Tubby trendies being amazed

Is it unhealthy salary or cherries to glaze?

This tastes really pukka or did he say puke

The food banks are growing no need for rebuke,

See we’re all chums together ‘pass me the heather

Goes nice in this weather.

With Peruvian mushrooms and clotted ‘cream

Nip down to SAINSBURYS, Nigellas a dream.

Absolutely... the buzz word in unreality land

These pat on the back cretins I can’t fuckin stand...

POEM ...THE RANT. PART 5...

I REALLY DON’T DESERVE THIS, I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M HERE  

IF I BLUB A LITTLE MORE WILL I LOOK SINCERE.

SPENT 10 GRAND DESIGNER DRESS, DESIGNED BY SOME MAD TWAT

WHO FLEECES DEAD ‘EAD ALLEDGED CELEBS, HE’S NOT AS MAD AS THAT….

WHO THE FUCK IS OSCAR? I THINK WE SHOULD BE TOLD

IS HE THE PERV WE ALL SWERVE UNLESS THE FILM AINT SOLD?

I’VE GOT THE HANKIES READY, I DON’T EXPECT THE CALL

THE PAPARAZZIS READY, CUE SPONTANEOUS BAWL.

OH, MY GOSH DEARRRR DARLINGS ITS FAB SIMPLY DEVINE

WIPE THE POWDER OFF YOUR NOSE SNORTING’s STILL A CRIME.  

TO MUCH DOUGH IS RIDING CANT LEAVE THINGS TO CHANCE

ART FOR ARTS SAKE KISS MY ARSE YOU HAVEN’T GOT A CHANCE.

HEY AM NO CYNIC, HONEST GUV AM REALLY NOT THAT TYPE,

BUT WHEN YOUR COSIED ON YOUR COUCH JUST DON’T BELEIVE THE HYPE.

Not a Poem

Oh this is not a poem sorry to disappoint you sherry sippin’ dreamers! More a piece of socio something history. An item of clothing I spotted at Wembley on a recent cold and as it turns out dismal visit.

IT concerns head wear and I’m not referring to the 100% misnamed jesters hat, (strangely popular with Man City fans ) or the alleged cockney baker boy hat, mocked by fashion victims in North Face baseball hats, blag Hugo Boss polo shirts and Matalan sneakers.,

Step forward the bobble/ ski hat. Popularised in the early 80,s as documented in the glorious pages of  The End magazine (we always called it magazine for that is what it was…. fan of no one) The bobble hat is back !! . The craze in the Mersey region for Bobbble hats in the early to mid-80s quickly spread further afield… Mancunian land the ever receptive county of Yorkshire and even bonny Scotland. Too soon the loathsome sectarian half n half hat appeared, to the delight of bigots. It was a sure fire success. Liverpool / Rangers, Liverpool / Celtic,  Everton / Celtic, Rangers / Everton  hats (maybe linked to the ongoing troubles in Ireland ) reached saturation point. .Hair also started getting longer, loose curly perms starting to peak out, coupled with the not too fondly reminisced "Muzzie"..

At a rally in the as then mining town of Leigh during the 80s Miners strike I witnessed an obviously confused young chap resplendent in a Liverpool / Man Utd / Rangers bobble hat!? Yes a thirds hat (for I can think of no other thing to call it). Hopefully the Mental Health Act was applied in its fullest and most vigorous fashion!.... this fella needed help..I never did see a Christo centric Everton / Celtic / Rangers hat . Political Correctness was not big at the time. Even a tambourine bashing Harry Krishna would have threw up at that one!. The more enlightened folks would say a Tranmere / Ross County hat provoke  or have any menace attached? Judging by the fashion gurus who police away games the empathetic answer is watch yer back.

The latest item to irk the Gok Wan Jihadists  clad in black, travelling up down dale in support of THEIR team is the dreaded half n half scarf! The symbol of globe trotting , smiling product placed clones who descend on Anfield, Highbury, Old Trafford, Celtic Park et al.  A selfie beamed back to Kuala Lumpar in less time than it took for the hot dog man outside the Kop to suffocate your tasty evening meal with steaming . addictive aromatic onions, in days of yore. (These days jumbo shite anything outside the ground will set you back at least a tenner, the working class game is slipping some say being dragged out of our grasp).. Like a red rag to a bull this selfie will have the holy grail of hate held aloft, the half n half scarf. The End staff have thought long and hard over this one. Soul searching tears walks the usual fare similar to when a door hinge becomes entangled in a row.

The verdict is.? Total indifference get over it it's only a fookin’ scarf!

So… err….. anyway. Bobble Hats are back! Retro friendly people company “Hat Scarf n badge”, purveyors of all things L.F.C and soul bruvvers of End Incorporated are probably behind this plot for Barnet domination. The thirst for 80s regalia shows no sign of wavering. Holiday tubbies spilling out of Tachini mini shorts (some  might even say speedos).   This summer will shortly be off piste, iconic bobble hat neatly squeezed onto bulbous head. Zooming down The Alps, Parka zipped up tight.

Parka? No not the gaudy green one favoured by lamb chop faced weekend Mods. No,the sleek blue nylon variety which pre dates the Lazio Ultras circa 2001 ? That as we say is a story for another day.  Good bye suckers

---------------------

Poem....Top Of The World Mar.?....

How many arses have been kissed how many knives in the back?

To tell the truth I couldn’t care less, no point in looking back.

More faces than a town hall clock in a world where the snide is king,

For Ghandi’s flip-flops see my tongue, speciality the ring.

Professional patter on the back no stone I wouldn't squeeze under

The belly of a snake is as high as I’d make morality is booty to plunder.

Selling your Grandma depends on the price

The paedophile  Vicar has soothing advice,

"Pray for all sinners” let's hope thick grease can stop

Those cunts on the pole as they squirm to the top.

Book Reviews

Paladins (Various writers)

Paladin noun historical – a warrior that is fully devoted to kindness and ridding the universe of evil Paladins is an apt description for the contributors to this charity anthology. This publication has been put together by a whole community of writers who have each written a story especially for this title. The stories all feature a person, or persons in distress and with someone, the knight-errant coming to their aid. Sounds cosy doesn’t it? Nothing of the sort! …Expect pain. Expect violence. Expect…the unexpected. But most of all, expect great stories, written with heart. This anthology was inspired by a very special lady called Henrietta Furchtenicht who was given six months to live when she was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma over four years ago – Henri’s battle continues. All proceeds from this book will be going to the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (Paladins publicity blurb)

Well as the intro above explains, this book was put together after it became known that Henri Furchtenicht, (wife of Craig, one of the many brilliant contributors to this book) was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.

I won’t pretend to be an expert of the illness, but most of us have been touched by knowing someone who has one form of cancer and we know the heartache and distress it causes to friends and family as well as the illness and pain inflicted on the sufferer. I follow Henri on facebook and she is indeed an inspiring person, Brutally honest and funny as hell..go become friends and wish her well.

The thing I want to say about this book is that I have tried many times to get into the short stories genre and it has never held my interest. I read books to become immersed in another world so I’m not dwelling on the crappy one I dwell in. I find that short stories don’t in general, help me escape as I read before I drop off to sleep. I also want to make it clear that this review isn’t influenced by the fact it was inspired by Henri or that the proceeds go to the multiple myeloma foundation. Nope.. I just read it and bleedin’ loved it.

There are many writers featured, but if I mention every one and review every story this review itself would become a short story in its own right, so forgive me if I miss out your favourite story or author (a list of the contributors feature at the bottom of the review)

The book features some of the indie writers that I have been banging on about for the last 2 years..Ryan Bracha, Kieth Nixon and Robert Cowan to name but a few (and not forgetting that the artwork was done by one of my tips for writer stardom, Mark Wilson).

As I would expect all writers not only matched their previous work but actually exceeded expectations.  Each story is very loosely linked to a theme and while they are vastly different in style and accent (English, Scottish and American writers contribute) We even have a scouse contributor in the form of Linda Angel with, surely, one of the sweariest stories you will ever read, hilarious and poignant..I will be searching for more from Linda in the very near future.

Other highlights were Bracha’s description of his character’s descent into old age and dementia. This was more terrifying (and pertinent) than any horror story this humble narrator has ever read. Best of all though was reading contributions from those writers I have never read anything by, Bill Baber, Jason Beech, Christopher Davis, Craig Douglas, Craig Furchtenicht, David Jaggers, Cal Marcius, Matt Mattila, , Gareth Spark, Aidan Thorn, Gabriel Valjan, Graham Wynd and the afore mentioned Linda Angel..all of whom surpassed and delighted my reading senses.

Dark tales of Death, destruction, duplicity abound..and the grizzly comeuppance for at least 3 paedophiles make this book compelling and wonderfully entertaining.

Go out and buy this book now, Buy it on its own merit, I guarantee you will love these stories

Or

If you are that way inclined go and buy it to contribute to a very worthy cause and help put a smile on Henri and Craig’s faces.

Just buy it for yer bleedin’ m*ngebags!!! (Linda will know that phrase!)

Some words from Henrietta Furchtenicht

It is so overwhelming that these people put this together in honor of me and the people that have been affected by cancer. Some that have experienced it themselves. It is a beautiful thing from some beautiful people. They have put a lot of work into this to donate it to MM. From the heart's of compassionate people that have given me hope.

“I have come to realize that heroes often grace our lives when we least expect them, sometimes in the form of complete strangers. The authors of the stories you are about to read are a perfect example of that. Social media has the amazing ability to bring our worlds closer, to offer us the chance to meet those people we would have otherwise never known. We share our shining moments with them along with our darkest days. Eventually the world in which we all live in seems a little less foreign and a whole lot more inviting. We find that no one is truly a stranger and that the heroes have been there all along.

A few years ago I would have never imagined myself writing these words on the night before Christmas 2015. When my oncologist first diagnosed me with Multiple Myeloma in June of 2012 he only gave me 6 months to live. I was already in the last stage of this rare form of blood cancer that attacks the plasma cells found in the bone marrow. At the time of my diagnosis I had seven broken ribs on my left side. He told me that there was no cure for my type of cancer. We could only treat it to the point of remission with high doses of chemotherapy and stem cell transplants. This is when I was first introduced to Dr. Guido Tricot, the finest oncologist that Belgium has ever produced. He has kept me alive, though at times I thought he was trying to kill me in the process.

My husband Craig and I are so fortunate to live very close to the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics. In the first year we easily spent more time in that place than we did at home. I underwent two stem cell transplants each consisting of 3 ½ weeks of being quarantined in a hospital unit with nothing but Craig and a puke bucket. Neither of them left my side during the entire ordeal. During the hours that I was in a self-induced trance Craig wrote to keep his sanity. By the end of the second transplant he had finished his first novel. Months later I found it hidden away in a desk drawer. After a bit of wifely persuasion he reluctantly published it.

Because of that book, through one social media site or another, we have both become friends with each of the contributors of this anthology. Fighting cancer was not how I wanted to meet any of these amazing people, but whether they knew it or not they gave me encouragement I needed from a world away. They kept me going when it would have been so much easier to just give up. I saw Ryan and Rebecca Bracha bring their beautiful daughter Delilah into the world, went to Borneo with Robert Cowan and got to wish Aidan Thorn’s father a happy birthday. Darren Sant told me what an oatcake was. I saw Matt Mattila go to California, admired Katrina Tia Davies in her wedding dress and watched Keith Nixon move his family across country. I’ve seen a little girl paint her dad’s fingernails and his son holding a “Refugees Welcome” sign in his little red boots. Each one of these writers and so many others have given me the strength and hope that the cancer has tried to take away.

I have read many of the stories written by these authors, including my husband’s. Though they are dark and gritty and downright unwholesome, I must laugh when I get over the shock of reading them. I know for a fact that each of them truly has a heart of gold. When Aidan Thorn approached us with the idea of putting a book together to help support the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation, words could not begin to describe how blessed I felt. So much love for these people that I thought my heart would burst. So enjoy the book and take comfort in knowing that the proceeds will go towards finding a cure someday.

Thank you all for giving me a love for life. Much love to each of you:

Linda Angel, Bill Baber, Jason Beech, Ryan Bracha, Robert Cowan, Christopher Davis, Craig Douglas, Craig Furchtenicht, David Jaggers, Cal Marcius, Matt Mattila, Keith Nixon, Darren Sant, Gareth Spark, Aidan Thorn, Gabriel Valjan, Mark Wilson, Graham Wynd

The Man who sold his son. MarkWilson

brilliant. Mark Wilson continues to enthrall me with his writing. This book loosely follows on from Wilson's [book:Bobby's Boy|14743931] not in storyline, but in the linking of characters. Wilson's writing and story telling prowess has grown so much from the earlier book.This book is set 40yrs or so on from Bobby's boy during a time when 99% of every male in the world has been rendered infertile and the worlds population is reliant on synthetic sperm supplied exclusively by "synthi Co" headed by the mysterious muti billionaire Gavin Ennis.
The story centres around the Kinsella Family, (different generations of which are featured in Wilson's "Lanarkshire Strays" trilogy of books) . Alex Kinsella is one of the rare males able to conceive naturally and Alex and his wife, Sarah's offspring, Tommy, attracts the unwanted attention of Ennis just as Sarah is recovering from severe depression and drug dependency. Alex is whisked off to an island to save his family..whilst Sarah spends the next decade trying to find him.
Wilson's glimpse of the future and his fascinating descriptions of the science behind the synthetic fertility process aligned with a family's love and strength to stay together made for a beautiful and tense thriller, reminiscent of Iain M Banks forays into future life.
Another easy 5 stars for Mark Wilson. Highly recommended