Sludge and his brother, Bongo

[Organ Morgan.]

Whenever I see Sludge or hear his name the same three words immediately spring to mind. They are: what a kent.

Last Thursday when I visited his hovel he managed to be a great deal more annoying than usual. His brother Bongo (real name's Asquith) was also there. Bongo's fine 90% of the time because that's when he's off his face on Christ knows what. For the remainder he's almost as irritating as his sibling because of their shared right-wing Tory views and mutual admiration for Duran Duran's music. Bongo's a few years younger than Sludge. His hair began to recede in primary school and by aged 12 and ever since he's resembled the Roswell Alien. Poor dab.

I handed Sludge some shopping he'd asked me to collect (pizzas, Haribo sweets, Magnum ice cream lollies, packet of frozen cod balls and assorted other junk). There was no "ta" when I handed him the carrier bag. "Receipt?" he asked brusquely. I gave it to him. He studied that more intently than most would a buried treasure map. With an almost pained sigh he reached under his vest to access his money belt. When we were discussing the virus as we sat in different chairs, Sludge said he felt he had a fever coming on. Bongo and I glanced at one another, then again when Sludge's nose began to twitch like a rabbit's. In that instant we realised he was about to sneeze. We screamed in unison to bolt for the open kitchen door which in our panic and terror we managed to jam ourselves in the frame of. On turning, Sludge's grin was wider than someone whose five-team accumulator came up on a weekend football coupon. We'd been had.

Talk turned to politics. Both will readily admit they were drawn to the Conservative Party because their policies have always promoted personal greed and selfishness. "All for yourself, feck everyone else" is the motto they coined and often repeat. I asked Bongo how he'd solve the homelessness crisis. I knew with certainty his solution would be extreme but didn't expect him to advocate those huddled in shop doorways be shot or gassed. Neither did Sludge who became quite angry by his remarks. He described him as a "bald sausage" during his lengthy rant. He had no legal or moral objections to their summary executions but wanted them to be hurled from tall buildings instead as it would be more cost-effective. "Just get someone on a zero-hour contract to shovel them off the pavement into a wheelbarrow then transfer to a skip. Splendid." he exclaimed.

After 40 minutes or so Sludge used a remote control to play something on the CD. I knew the ghastly sounds of Duran Duran would soon be heard as he always uses that trick. It's his way of conveying I should be preparing to do one. I usually complain within two minutes with the volume that high. Both watched me with the instensity of Bombay shite hawks waiting for me to crack. I somehow lasted more than five minutes until the torment became too much. "How can you listen to this crap?!" I demanded to know. They jumped to their feet like excitable kids to laugh and exchange fist pumps. Worse was to come. Sludge did his Jagger rushing across a stage routine while doing circles round the chair I was sat at. "They tried to break us," he shouted into an imaginary mic, "looks like they'll try again. Wild Boys!"

In less than an hour there those three familiar words came to mind on several occasions.

[tell it like it is]

I'm sure that sounded funnier in your head.

[SLUDGE FACTORY]

Whenever I see Sludge or hear his name the same three words immediately spring to mind. They are: what a kent.

Last Thursday when I visited his hovel he managed to be a great deal more annoying than usual. His brother Bongo (real name's Asquith) was also there. Bongo's fine 90% of the time because that's when he's off his face on Christ knows what. For the remainder he's almost as irritating as his sibling because of their shared right-wing Tory views and mutual admiration for Duran Duran's music. Bongo's a few years younger than Sludge. His hair began to recede in primary school and by aged 12 and ever since he's resembled the Roswell Alien. Poor dab.

I handed Sludge some shopping he'd asked me to collect (pizzas, Haribo sweets, Magnum ice cream lollies, packet of frozen cod balls and assorted other junk). There was no "ta" when I handed him the carrier bag. "Receipt?" he asked brusquely. I gave it to him. He studied that more intently than most would a buried treasure map. With an almost pained sigh he reached under his vest to access his money belt. When we were discussing the virus as we sat in different chairs, Sludge said he felt he had a fever coming on. Bongo and I glanced at one another, then again when Sludge's nose began to twitch like a rabbit's. In that instant we realised he was about to sneeze. We screamed in unison to bolt for the open kitchen door which in our panic and terror we managed to jam ourselves in the frame of. On turning, Sludge's grin was wider than someone whose five-team accumulator came up on a weekend football coupon. We'd been had.

Talk turned to politics. Both will readily admit they were drawn to the Conservative Party because their policies have always promoted personal greed and selfishness. "All for yourself, feck everyone else" is the motto they coined and often repeat. I asked Bongo how he'd solve the homelessness crisis. I knew with certainty his solution would be extreme but didn't expect him to advocate those huddled in shop doorways be shot or gassed. Neither did Sludge who became quite angry by his remarks. He described him as a "bald sausage" during his lengthy rant. He had no legal or moral objections to their summary executions but wanted them to be hurled from tall buildings instead as it would be more cost-effective. "Just get someone on a zero-hour contract to shovel them off the pavement into a wheelbarrow then transfer to a skip. Splendid." he exclaimed.

After 40 minutes or so Sludge used a remote control to play something on the CD. I knew the ghastly sounds of Duran Duran would soon be heard as he always uses that trick. It's his way of conveying I should be preparing to do one. I usually complain within two minutes with the volume that high. Both watched me with the instensity of Bombay shite hawks waiting for me to crack. I somehow lasted more than five minutes until the torment became too much. "How can you listen to this crap?!" I demanded to know. They jumped to their feet like excitable kids to laugh and exchange fist pumps. Worse was to come. Sludge did his Jagger rushing across a stage routine while doing circles round the chair I was sat at. "They tried to break us," he shouted into an imaginary mic, "looks like they'll try again. Wild Boys!"

In less than an hour there those three familiar words came to mind on several occasions.

My brother lives in the cellar

[life on mars]

Whenever I see Sludge or hear his name the same three words immediately spring to mind. They are: what a kent.

Last Thursday when I visited his hovel he managed to be a great deal more annoying than usual. His brother Bongo (real name's Asquith) was also there. Bongo's fine 90% of the time because that's when he's off his face on Christ knows what. For the remainder he's almost as irritating as his sibling because of their shared right-wing Tory views and mutual admiration for Duran Duran's music. Bongo's a few years younger than Sludge. His hair began to recede in primary school and by aged 12 and ever since he's resembled the Roswell Alien. Poor dab.

I handed Sludge some shopping he'd asked me to collect (pizzas, Haribo sweets, Magnum ice cream lollies, packet of frozen cod balls and assorted other junk). There was no "ta" when I handed him the carrier bag. "Receipt?" he asked brusquely. I gave it to him. He studied that more intently than most would a buried treasure map. With an almost pained sigh he reached under his vest to access his money belt. When we were discussing the virus as we sat in different chairs, Sludge said he felt he had a fever coming on. Bongo and I glanced at one another, then again when Sludge's nose began to twitch like a rabbit's. In that instant we realised he was about to sneeze. We screamed in unison to bolt for the open kitchen door which in our panic and terror we managed to jam ourselves in the frame of. On turning, Sludge's grin was wider than someone whose five-team accumulator came up on a weekend football coupon. We'd been had.

Talk turned to politics. Both will readily admit they were drawn to the Conservative Party because their policies have always promoted personal greed and selfishness. "All for yourself, feck everyone else" is the motto they coined and often repeat. I asked Bongo how he'd solve the homelessness crisis. I knew with certainty his solution would be extreme but didn't expect him to advocate those huddled in shop doorways be shot or gassed. Neither did Sludge who became quite angry by his remarks. He described him as a "bald sausage" during his lengthy rant. He had no legal or moral objections to their summary executions but wanted them to be hurled from tall buildings instead as it would be more cost-effective. "Just get someone on a zero-hour contract to shovel them off the pavement into a wheelbarrow then transfer to a skip. Splendid." he exclaimed.

After 40 minutes or so Sludge used a remote control to play something on the CD. I knew the ghastly sounds of Duran Duran would soon be heard as he always uses that trick. It's his way of conveying I should be preparing to do one. I usually complain within two minutes with the volume that high. Both watched me with the instensity of Bombay shite hawks waiting for me to crack. I somehow lasted more than five minutes until the torment became too much. "How can you listen to this crap?!" I demanded to know. They jumped to their feet like excitable kids to laugh and exchange fist pumps. Worse was to come. Sludge did his Jagger rushing across a stage routine while doing circles round the chair I was sat at. "They tried to break us," he shouted into an imaginary mic, "looks like they'll try again. Wild Boys!"

In less than an hour there those three familiar words came to mind on several occasions.

Pity it cant be videoed and uploaded to U Tube called the Sludge Basement Tapes

[Eric the Half a Bee]

Pity it cant be videoed and uploaded to U Tube called the Sludge Basement Tapes

Sludge once hired a porn video and complained that all he could see in the screen was a man masturbating. He then realised the TV hadn't been switched on.