"Evens" Book Extract #2

[Second of a series of extracts from Leon Blackwell’s shocking autobiography “Evens”. The diary of Old Lynn’s most revered psychopath.]

Pages 100-102...


1.45pm. July 13th 2005.

Walking out of the newsagents this lunchtime, I was confronted by an acned-riddled slack-jaw in a hooded tracksuit. Since when did the ‘80’s never happen? For fuck’s sake. He was mumbling something about buying a pack of cigars for him. Cigars? He looked like a Menthol Twat to me.

In his neanderthalic way of expressing himself, I could very easily ascertain that he was dead on arrival. He stuttered and bleeped, gazing off into the middle distance for some pathetic reason or other, and jittered around the square of pavement he was gelled to like a fly in bubblegum. I fleetingly thought about removing his fucking larynx with my Mother’s butter knife, but barged past him regardless.

“Hooo cunt twat. Wha ya fookin’ fink ya ar? Only asked ya fer sum ciggies. Twat. Fookin’ mummies boy, ya fookin’ queer. I know where ya fookin’ live yer kiddy-fiddlin’ twat.”

Even ignoring his repeated usage of the word ‘twat’ in quick succession, I could tell that no-one was going to rush up and ask him to step in for their Best Man speech anytime in the near future. Walking away from this creature, I could feel his eyes boring into me.

10.00pm. The same day.

Finding my hands slipped inside the warm envelope of his stomach, his innards yet to be punctured, I felt as if I knew him more “intimately” than anyone could possibly know another. Or, at the very least, more than anyone could know a person ‘external of the body’. If you get my drift?

Purely out of boredom, I swear, I kept a large tract of his intestines for 8 days. No other reason in the slightest. Just boredom. No clichéd cannibalism or “trophy taking”, or any of that True Crime Weekly banality. It’s just that real life is so dull, it is just something to do. I tend to piss about with the bodies more and more these days. I once made contact with an old school bully and ended up [1 word censored] in his mouth, post-decapitation. Just because I had the opportunity to, really. No Freudian leanings, Your Honour, I fucking swear.

Besides, he was a chav. I doubt the pathologist even noticed the [1 word censored] in the bastard’s throat.

I once spent some considerable time looking up some [1 word censored] action/[2 words censored] on the net. I kind of liked a series of clips I found that had a plumpish Swede lass eating fish n’ chips before proceeding to [8 words censored] an eager maiden. Even [1 word censored] to it a couple of times – until I read about a rumour in a [1 word censored] forum that the actresses in these films fake it by [7 words censored] prior to filming. I lost heart after that – what’s so hot about Eastern Block Helgas sliding melted curly-wurlies [6 words censored]?

Anyway, I digress once again. He was still fairly conscious by the time I had my hands around his lungs, only actually dying soon after I pulled them out into the open. His insides made that familiar trumping sound as I pulled them out of his steaming chest cavity.

After fly-tipping most of his remains the next day, I felt a definite wave of peace and contentment wash over me. I slept like a baby for 13 hours straight that night, making me late for work again - and in the doghouse with Angie.

She’s such a moody bitch anyway, but with added ammunition against you she’s simply unbearable. I once dumped a whole shed-load of unsellable paperbacks that came into the shop and Angie went ballistic, informing me in no uncertain terms that I disrespected people’s donations, blah blah blah. I didn’t even bother trying to reason with her that the books were mostly Yank wank pulp trash (Catcher… American Psycho, etc.). There was more chance of the present day Swaffham Cagework populace winning a regional “Most Intelligent Result of Inbreeding” contest than of anyone buying any of those books. Still, she had none of it...

Leon Blackwell

The uncensored version of “Evens” is available from all good bookshops now.
ISBN 1010 2020 1010 0102
£6.99 paperback.