|Posted by ryanbracha on April 30, 2015 at 2:20 PM|
The following is a prime example of what you can expect The Switched to offer you. It really is the finest work that I can physically create at the minute. I hope you agree. You can pre-order The Switched on Amazon now, and it's released on June 15th. For UK readers it's here and for US readers it's here.
I'm awake and I'm me again. I'm on the sales floor and they're shouting out numbers. Prices. Martin McKeown is yammering like a cunt down the phone to whoever, and he's saying that they need to sell now or it's pointless owning the things. I'm trying to focus on shifting my own stuff, but I'm fucking frozen. My hand reaches for the buttons on the phone but it's like there's a force field deflecting it. I reach again but the phone's on Martin's desk now. He's saying how the punter on the phone has got shares in Jake Francis. He says they're expensive, but the market predicts a slump. He says Francis fucked a pensioner. His stock is gonna drop. He did a shit on a Soho slut, and not in any kinky way. He just shit the bed. He says any minute now shares in Jake Francis are going to be worthless. I'm shouting to him to shut the fuck up, or at least I think I am. My mouth doesn't move but I hear it, so I must have said something. Martin winks at me. Holds a hand over his receiver. He says relax mate, they don't know about the blow job from the fat cunt. He says there's time for them to boom again. I pull at the phone in his hand but he's not holding a phone. He's holding a fucking dildo. He's talking into the rubber cock. He says fuck Jake Francis. Fuck Jake fucking Francis. He says he knows I fucked his wife. Oh fuck. Darlin’s here. The Soho slut. She's covered from head to toe in shit. Only her face is clean of the green brown sludge. Martin McKeown takes the dildo and pushes Darlin onto her back on my desk. He talks into the dildo as he pulls what must be his cock from his trousers. I don't see it though. It's a blur. He's saying you need to sell. Jake Francis shares are going to drop in the next few minutes. I try to look away but I can't, and Martin fucks Darlin on my desk, and the shit falls from her with stinking splats to the floor, and she's not Darlin. She's me. She's Jake. Martin isn't Martin. He's fat cunt, and Jake's laughing at looking right at me as he lets fat cunt's hands paw at his chest. Every time I turn my head it's there. The dildo. The end of it starts to bleed, and the room gets smaller and the bleeding dildo gets bigger and there's only me and Jake getting bummed by that fat cunt Charlie and the blood fills the room. And. I'm not there. I'm in the lift, and old Maureen pulls out her tits. She's flicking her tongue at me from her whiskered mouth. Her tits roll out like a fireman's hose onto the floor of the lift, and she's playing the dildo like a horn. Her tits start to move on the floor, and it's like she's charming them, like two wrinkled snakes, each with one thick nipple for an eye. The sound that comes from the horn isn't any Indian shit though. It's a man's voice. Yellep, it says. Yellep. Yellep. Yellen. Yellen. Helen. It's saying Helen. Fucking Helen. I could go the rest of my life without hearing that name again. Old Maureen’s tits are up in my face, like leathery cobras. The nipples dance before my eyes and still the horn says Helen. Helen. Helen. Then it's nothing. Blackness. The blackness peels away and there's the fat cunt looking down at me. He holds a bowl, and he's telling me I need to eat. He's pouring some liquid onto my lips, and I choke. I say fuck off, cunt. He says no, he says I need to get my strength up or it's curtains for me. I give in to it because I'm feeling weak as fuck. I don't know where I am. Where am I? I try to ask the fat cunt but he says shush. Eat, he says. I eat.