Reheated Cabbage Read Online Free PDF

Christian man, taken untimely from us. But, through our grief and loss, we should not fail to remember that God has a plan, no matter how obscure this may seem to we mortals. Joseph, who once served at the altar of this very house of the Lord, would have understood this divine truth more than most of us . . .
    I want to roar the truth at them all, to tell them what that dirty old cunt did tae me . . .
    WHOOSHHHH . . .
    Then I'm on auld Brannigan and he's screaming under my weight; his old skinny, smelly bones, crushed under my bulk. I'm giving it to the dirty old cunt; pummelling him right up his arse and he's screaming. I'm snarling in demented rage:— You cannae tell anybody, or God will punish you for being a sinner, and I'm fucking him and fucking him harder and harder. He's screeching beyond agony and bang! . . . his heart stops, I feel it stop as his last breath escapes him. Brannigan's body judders underneath me and his eyes roll towards heaven. I feel his essence rise up through his body and through mine, planting a thought into my psyche that says YOU CUNT as he floats away, a soundless cry coming from his spirit like a balloon farts out air as it flies into space.
    I'm sobbing and crying to myself, saying over and over again in my self-disgust, — When will it be over? When will this nightmare end?
    WHOOSH . . .
    And then I'm with my best mate Andy Sweeney; we grew up together, did almost everything together. He was always more popular than me – better looking, brighter, good job – but he was my best mate. As I said, we did everything together – well, almost everything. But now I'm on top of him and I'm shagging the arse off him . . . and it's horrible. — WHEN, I'm screaming, — WHEN WILL THIS FUCKIN NIGHTMARE END?
    And he's in the room with us, the auld St Peter boy from the funeral. He's just sitting in the armchair watching us in a studied, detached manner. — When you start to enjoy it, when you cease to feel the guilt, that's when it'll end, he tells me coldly.
    So there I am shagging my best mate up his arse. God, am I feeling disgusted and crippled with revulsion, loathing and guilt . . .
    . . . feeling sick and ugly, in constant torture as I am compelled to pump away like a rancid fuck machine from hell, feeling like my soul is being ripped apart . . .
    . . . going to a place beyond fear, humiliation and torture, and hating it, loathing it, detesting it so fuckin much . . . a pain so great and pervasive that I'll never, ever grow to feel anything other than this sheer horror . . .
    . . . or so I keep telling that daft cunt of an angel.

Elspeth's Boyfriend
    Thaire's some cunts thit ye hit it oaf wi, n some cunts thit ye dinnae. Take Elspeth's boyfriend fir example; a right fuckin case-in-point, that yin. Ah mean, ah'd nivir even met the cunt until Christmas Day, but aw wi'd goat fi the auld lady leadin up tae it wis 'Greg this' n 'Greg that' n 'eh's an awfay nice laddie'.
    So that gits ye thinkin tae yirself, right away: aw aye?
    Christmas, eh. Some cunts lap it but tae me it's a load ay shite. Too commercialised. It's usually just the faimlay for us. But ah've fuckin moved in wi ma burd Kate, oor first festive season thegither. We hud a big row aboot it n aw; mind you, ye eywis dae at Christmas. Wouldnae be a fuckin Christmas withoot every cunt gittin oan each other's nerves.
    As ye kin fuckin guess, she's moanin thit wir gaun tae muh ma's instead ay hers. The thing is thit ma brar Joe n ehs wife Sandra n thair two wee bairns n ma sister Elspeth wid be thaire. Tradition n that. That's what ah telt Kate, ah eywis go tae ma auld girl's at Christmas. That cow ah used tae be wi, that June, she's takin the bairns tae her auld lady's. No thit it bothers me, but it means thit muh ma'll no see thum at Christmas. That's June but; fill ay fuckin spite.
    Ye cannae fuckin win wi burds at Christmas. Aye, Kate wis aw humpty n aw. She goes, well, you go tae your ma's n ah'll go tae ma faimly's. Ah sais tae her,