| When it comes to natural peers Da Cunningham had no equals. He defined the pinnacle of natural elegance, when he would walk into a room all heads would turn. He would have to take on a part time secretary for Valentines day. His presence would reduce women to quivering balls of sparkling orgasm and men would fall to his feet in shocking gay adoration. He would have women phoning him declaring their love. He was a natural love machine, he would entertain his ladies for weeks on end and literally blow their minds. His pheromones were so powerful that he demanded that all off his friends had their noses surgically welded so as to avoid their insane sexual lusts. He had it all, and he was so happy as a baby in its own shite. One day Da Cunningham decided that he was ready for a holiday, he wanted to escape from the world for a while and have a few days away from the world. He found out about an inhabited island in the sea and though that a period of self containment and contemplation would be just the tonic he required. So he left on a fishing boat, and began his relaxing rest. The only problem was that to protect himself he told no one where he was going and forgot to request the boat to return. He soon realised that he was abandoned on his island, alone with no escape. He was as fucked as Robinson Crusoe. His supply of Chicken burgers and crispy pancakes would only last him so long, and he was quickly running out of rollies. He couldn�t occupy his time sufficiently, and with the lack of daytime television he soon began to go insane. He started to re-enact his favourite programmes, and pretended his collection of washed up condoms on the beach was a feature on Collectors Lot, or that his toilet area was a regal garden on Great Estates. His long time fear of water meant that swimming of the island was impossible, but the lack of personal hygiene was far easier to deal with. He began to stink like a week long dead rat, but Da Cunningham thought he smelt nice and tried to wash at least once a week. He began to hear voices in his head that told him to do things, but he couldn�t understand them because they spoke to him in the language of a pigeon. When it got dark Da Cunningham would cover himself in his own excrement and pretend he was invisible and attack trees. He simply felt the urge to mark his body, and found come red and black berries and tattooed an image of Arthur Scargill on his back. The days began to melt into one whole, Da Cunningham thought that he would surly die on this forgotten island of hell. But then one day he spotted a man walking on the beach. Was this another illusion or his saviour? He ran ten steps towards him but had to stop to catch his breath, he felt exhausted, and he fainted. To his surprise he awoke in a hospital, and then he found out the truth about his exile. He had in fact been on the Isle of Wight, had come over on a ferry. He�d only been away for a week, but the mental scars refused to go away. He went home but he was changed, he refused to wash, the women no longer fell to his feet and the voices still remained. He was as fucked as an Arabian Jew. That was until he met Da Faulkiner, who forgave his obvious imperfections and took him to meet Da gang. |
