The Ballad of Bonkers Johnson

They didn’t call him ‘Bonkers’ because he was mad, it was due to his sexual promiscuity; and it wasn’t just the skirt either. Bonkers would shag the coos in the field given half a glimpse of prime meaty buttock and some suspected he already had. He didn’t call his dug ‘Wifey’ for nothing. Poor thing eyed him more warily than wearily and kept his arse to the fire. Many was the time his drunken master mistook his dug for an absent wife and made the very act eponymous leaving poor Wifey with ought but the rictus grin of forbearance.

And here he sat in an old paddle-pool in his back-yard splashing at the water and singing ‘Fields of Athenry’ loud enough to infuriate his Rangers-loving neighbour. The previous incumbent of the Bugs Bunny Baby Pool had long been snatched away by its ill-abused mother and was now living somewhere in the wilds of Niddrie, address unknown. At least, unknown to Bonkers, not that he was that arsed to find out. Children were an unnecessary expense unless you could claim on some fictitious childhood disability and get yourself some pocket-money DLA.

Neighbours (especially the hun one) had complained about his baby pool nudity but he continued the pursuit regardless. At least he wasn’t as bad as that felly in Falkirk that had been caught on camera having a wank while bouncing on his kiddies trampoline. He’d qualify almost anything in his own favour. He’d have made a great advocate if the defendant was always himself.

Bonkers Johnson was one of those types that didn’t see themselves as hideous individuals one little bit, while everyone that knew him saw quite clearly that he most definitely was.  God’s gift to womankind he thought himself and was oblivious to womankind making puking motions within a ten-mile radius. 

An uglier cratur you couldn’t imagine. Massive big globe of a Scotsman’s belly, crammed tight with chips and lager. A big-moon face the size of a monkey’s arse and jist aboot as rid, Johnson indulged in the F.A.T. diet – Farmfood’s, Aldi’s and Tennant's. He had as much idea of nutrition as he did about Quantum Physics. His philosophy, if he even had one, was ‘they widnae sell it in the shoaps if it wis bad fur ye, wid they?’ This went for cigarettes too, though he was currently trying to fiddle ‘wan ae they e-fags’ from the NHS and was down at the local Advice Shop to get them to help with his newest harassment.