Boy Builds "Mental Defence" Against Dead Carry On Star.
"Aye, it's pure mental alright," confirmed Tam Bowery, 16, from Springburn, Glasgow, "it's aw broken Buckfast bottles an' that aw along the top, wi' aw fucked up shopping trolleys an' shit like that at the bottom. Bricks.Traffic cones an' that." he added proudly.
The huge structure, that can been seen for miles around, and confirmed by http://www.google.earth/ as the largest of it's kind in the area, took truanting schoolboy Bowery one whole tonic-wine fuelled night to construct. And all, astonishingly, from locally obtained debris.
It's necessity became obvious, Bowery says, after he received a spooky message from beyond the grave.
"Aye," Bowery shivered when interviewed on the subject yesterday, "the wee cunt sent me a message aw right," the schoolboy suddenly lost it and raged at this reporter,"an' av goat wan fur him too - fuck right aff Hawtrey ya wee deid cunt!"
Bowery soon calmed down after a couple of deep swallows of his medication, an ever present can of Super Lager, and feels able to now elucidate.
"Ah wiz oot ma tits wan night oan the bevy an' that, might huv hud some jellies too an' aw. Who knows?" he adds somewhat enigmatically."Ah hud watched that Carry On Cowboy the night before," another uncontrollable shiver shakes Bowery's body as he slowly retells what happened, "Fucked it was. Ah mean, Ah thought it was funny at the time, but who knew it would lead to this?" Tam swept his hand in emphasis towards the monstrous structure that loomed behind him.
"Well, it wiz that night when Ah wiz just drapping aff in ma scratcher that Ah first heard that voice." The boy had squeezed his eyes tightly shut at the memory and lobbed his now drained can towards the top of the towering barrier.
"It wiz like nothing Ah hud ever heard before, like, fuck knows...." Tam looks confused, lost for just the right words, takes a quick gulp from the newly opened can of super strength medication then finds inspiration, "some kinda fucked up specy space poof mad cripple skeleton in an old tramp's pissy suit that wanted to... you know, " Tam looks somewhat sheepish and then adds in a whisper, "bum me an' that."
According to Bowery the apparition mocked him throughout the remainder of the night, but he is unable even a day later to recount the full extent of the terrible promises the ghost of dead Carry On star Charles "Ooh Hello!" Hawtrey promised.
"He went on and on and on, Ah just couldn't stop him" was all Bowery would add. But one thing the boy now realised; he needed a defence.
And only a fucked up barricade would do.
"It's fucked up for sure." A local police source confirmed this morning, whilst at the same time the massive installation was drawing attention from somewhat different quarters.
"We love it and think it has a real chance of winning," confirmed George Frederick Joffre Hartree, of the Turner Prize committee who, along with several of his colleagues inspected the "art work" earlier today.
"Nothing else we have seen so far this year truly symbolises the pent up frustration inherent in modern society quite like Mr.Bowery's artwork does." Mr.Hartree gushed.
"And you know how much we lap that shit up." Added a colleague with a saucy wink and a chain smokers chortle.
"Aye well," the artist shivered once more, "just as long as it keeps that wee ghostly cunt away fae me."
The huge structure, that can been seen for miles around, and confirmed by http://www.google.earth/ as the largest of it's kind in the area, took truanting schoolboy Bowery one whole tonic-wine fuelled night to construct. And all, astonishingly, from locally obtained debris.
It's necessity became obvious, Bowery says, after he received a spooky message from beyond the grave.
"Aye," Bowery shivered when interviewed on the subject yesterday, "the wee cunt sent me a message aw right," the schoolboy suddenly lost it and raged at this reporter,"an' av goat wan fur him too - fuck right aff Hawtrey ya wee deid cunt!"
Bowery soon calmed down after a couple of deep swallows of his medication, an ever present can of Super Lager, and feels able to now elucidate.
"Ah wiz oot ma tits wan night oan the bevy an' that, might huv hud some jellies too an' aw. Who knows?" he adds somewhat enigmatically."Ah hud watched that Carry On Cowboy the night before," another uncontrollable shiver shakes Bowery's body as he slowly retells what happened, "Fucked it was. Ah mean, Ah thought it was funny at the time, but who knew it would lead to this?" Tam swept his hand in emphasis towards the monstrous structure that loomed behind him.
"Well, it wiz that night when Ah wiz just drapping aff in ma scratcher that Ah first heard that voice." The boy had squeezed his eyes tightly shut at the memory and lobbed his now drained can towards the top of the towering barrier.
"It wiz like nothing Ah hud ever heard before, like, fuck knows...." Tam looks confused, lost for just the right words, takes a quick gulp from the newly opened can of super strength medication then finds inspiration, "some kinda fucked up specy space poof mad cripple skeleton in an old tramp's pissy suit that wanted to... you know, " Tam looks somewhat sheepish and then adds in a whisper, "bum me an' that."
According to Bowery the apparition mocked him throughout the remainder of the night, but he is unable even a day later to recount the full extent of the terrible promises the ghost of dead Carry On star Charles "Ooh Hello!" Hawtrey promised.
"He went on and on and on, Ah just couldn't stop him" was all Bowery would add. But one thing the boy now realised; he needed a defence.
And only a fucked up barricade would do.
"It's fucked up for sure." A local police source confirmed this morning, whilst at the same time the massive installation was drawing attention from somewhat different quarters.
"We love it and think it has a real chance of winning," confirmed George Frederick Joffre Hartree, of the Turner Prize committee who, along with several of his colleagues inspected the "art work" earlier today.
"Nothing else we have seen so far this year truly symbolises the pent up frustration inherent in modern society quite like Mr.Bowery's artwork does." Mr.Hartree gushed.
"And you know how much we lap that shit up." Added a colleague with a saucy wink and a chain smokers chortle.
"Aye well," the artist shivered once more, "just as long as it keeps that wee ghostly cunt away fae me."
posted by Alias at 3:15 PM
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