Westside story, bud

January 10, 2007 at 11:14 am | Posted in dance off, ghost writer, west side story, westside story | 18 Comments


Growing up in Galway was tough. Coming from an east side ghetto, running with a gang was not an option, it was mandatory if you wanted to stay alive. I had no choice: to protect myself, I joined the Jets at the age of twelve. The Jets were the baddest motherfuckers east of the river Corrib. For my initiation I had to dance to the death against a contingent of our sworn enemies, the Sharks. After six years of ballet and two of tap, my feet were as nimble as a cobbler’s fingers, my thighs could crack walnuts, and my lad was like a long thick piece of lead pipe that could crack your backbone with a single thrust. I mortally killed three Sharks fatally to death that very day. I was welcomed into the Jet gang with open, waving arms, and spent the next several years raising hell on the streets of Galway, challenging both Sharks and innocent pedestrians alike to dance-offs, the likes of which had never been seen outside of a Michael Jackson video.

Trouble arose when, in my late teens, I fell in love with the sister of the leader of the Sharks, Mariah. Mariah was a blow-in from Cavan, and was better known by the rather unlikely name “Skullfuck”. Mariah, or Skullfuck as she liked to be called, lost an eye as a child (unfortunate) but turned it to her advantage in her teens by giving a very special kind of head to select gentlemen. I was one of those gentlemen.

We met at a challenge dance attack between the Sharks and the Jets. We were thrown together, everyone around us expecting us to dance one another to death (I had my razor-heeled tap-boots with the Cuban soles on). Audible gasps, shocked sighs and hefty drawn breaths emanated from the stunned crowd as they watched us, not killing one other by booglejive, but instead falling in love.

Skullfuck, though, was already engaged to be married to Beano, a right vicious Shark cunt from the west side. Couple this with the fact that Skullfuck, or Mariah, as she preferred to be called, was the sister of Bernie O’Toole, the leader of my arch-enemies, the feckin Sharks, and you can see the difficulties Skullfuck and I had to overcome.

Bernie and meself decided to sort our shite out once and for all, so we met in the GPO one night, for a dance on neutral territory. I brought along Jif, my best friend and the soundest cunt you could hope to meet. Feet like the wind, he had. His speciality was the hucklebuck.

The whole evening, Jif and Bernie were at each other’s throats, feet tapping menacingly. Just as we were getting up to leave, Bernie leapt at Jif, his right leg extended. Too late, I watched the diamond-honed spur of Bernie’s gold-plated dance-boot slice through Jif’s gomey gangly neck, instantly severing jugular and carotid. I grabbed for Jif’s head, but it came off in my hands. In a fit of rage and grief, I bashed Bernie to death with Jif’s head, then did a legger.

Skullfuck, or Mariah as I’m now ashamed to admit I liked to call her, hadn’t a clue what had happened, but Beano found out about Bernie quick smart. The snake went and told her that I’d killed Bernie using Jif’s head, but luckily she believed me when I said it was an accident. That was a turning point in the musical our lives together. We decided there and then that we were going to get the fuck out of Galway and move to the Gaza Strip, where it was safer.

Little did I know that Beano was after me, and he had sharpened his rhinestone dance glove in preparation for murdering me stone dead. I told Skullfuck I’d meet her down at Ceannt Station, and we’d get out of this dog-forsaken hep-hole that very day. First I had to go and take care of a little bidness.

Waltzing myself down Shop Street, I came face to face with Rita McGrath, Skullfuck’s best friend. Oh Kav! she cried, it’s Mariah! They’ve killed her!

Destroyed by grief and despondency, I skipped jauntily to Beano’s house. I had no reason to live now my beloved Skullfucker was gone. Visions of my jism dripping from her hollowed-out eye socket flashed before me, and completely overcome with despair, I flung myself at the mercy of Beano. My last memory is of the moonlight glinting off Beano’s rhinestone glove as he raised his arm aloft, swinging down and dealing me my death-dance.

That’s right, I was killed. I’m a ghost-writer. Woooooooooooooo!

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18 Comments »

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  1. When you’re a Skullfucker, you’re a Skullfucker.

    I love Rita Morena, especially in that musical, but very nicely done. Ha!

    Kav doing tap. Like the idea of that.

  2. “…my feet were as nimble as a cobbler’s fingers, my thighs could crack walnuts, and my lad was like a long thick piece of lead pipe that could crack your backbone with a single thrust.”

    Funniest line ever.

  3. Tat would have been so much better a film that the video for Thriller. Great!

  4. Best thing you’ve written so far. I’ll be frank.

    Hahaha, see what I did there?

    But really. That’s the best thing so far.

  5. Jeez, that eye thing was just deeeeesgusting, Kav, and not very erotic / sexciting either I imagine??? A bit shallow?
    However, my 2007 vow is not to be judged or be judgemental, so well done and I must try that some day…….
    (Sorry, but this is me after saying that – face:aghast; fingers:crossed; bottom:squirming; eye:terrified……)

  6. When you’re a Kav, you’re a Kav all the way from you’re first cigarette to your last dyin day.

    When you’re a Kav let em do what they can, you’ve got bloggers around, you’re a family man.

    Skull fucker!
    I just met a girl named Skull Fucker! And suddenly I’ve found
    How wonderful a sound
    can beeee
    Skull Fuckeeerrrrr!

    I feel gassy!
    Oh so gassy!
    See the gassy girl in that mirror there?
    (What mirror where?)
    Who could that gassy girl bee?
    (which what where whom)
    Such a gassy face, such a gassy dress, such a gassy meeeee!
    (such a gassy me, such a gassy me)
    Where is Beano?
    I need beano.
    It’s indeedo
    The Beano
    I neeed!

    Somebody stop me.

    No.

    Seriously. Please. This needs to stop. Immediately.

    Oh me.

  7. A couple of “Beano” pills will cure anyones problems with gas. 🙂

    Steve~

  8. I’m glad you could use that story from the west side. When I wrote it I thought it was shite so I sent it to you and posted about the island paradise instead. Shows what i know.

  9. Visions of my jism dripping from her hollowed-out eye socket flashed before me

    its doesn’t get much better than this, except wiping yer lad on the curtains, when you die I’m doing a best moments post of yer stuff. Don’t thank me now lad.

  10. My OCD told me to do three comments, oh and to kill the hoors.

  11. hahhhaa
    I’ve been making fun of the fight scenes for west side story all WEEK

    we are like, soooo connected.

  12. sassy: I have no idea who Rita Morena is…Skullfuck is a real person, though. I’ve never met her.

    debbie: cobblers make me laugh.

    looby: Actually it was the video for Bad I was thinking of, where he has a dance-off against (I believe) Wesley Snipes. But to say that that would be better than Thriller, I thank you.

    sweary: I’ll be frank too, seeing as I am. I wish you hadn’t said that. Now I will look back and think “this plagiarised pile of cack is the best thing I’ve ever done”. Nah, thanks though.

    mairéad: Tis far from erotica I was raised, let me tell you. I sincerely hope that there was nothing sexual in that post at all…anyone getting turned on by that (except maybe Foot Eater or Old Knudsen) should be locked up.

    plimco: How many times have you played Maria?

    steve: Surely that would make it worse?

    old knudsen: You love the sick shit mang. That’s what gives us such a deep spiritual connection.

    taihae: See, even in absence, it happens. It’s magical.

  13. Would you really fuck an eye socket?

  14. best fucking post EVER. I was laughing my ass off.

    Thanks (your still a bloody wanker ya are)

  15. cindy: Do I even need to answer that? Fucking hell, don’t be disgusting.

    ducker: Thanks. You’re still a stingy bastard. Where’s my iPod?

  16. My body popping gang would have danced the shite out of you on cardboard.

  17. eddie: Welcome to you sir. I have no doubt you’d have won the dance-off. In reality, I’m a rhythmless bastard, heh.

  18. Kav, I have tears running down my cheeks after reading that moving piece of prose….hilarious!You do realise you’ve ruined WSS for me now though?


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