The Lollipop Man

Fuck, my crotch gets itchy. I narrowed my eyes and watched as the children in the distance tried to burn each other with cigarette ends. They’d argue about the fathers of their babies and generally be little shits. As they began to approach me, I stopped scratching my crotch incase they reported me to the authorities, like they did that time when they found me asleep in the middle of the road, and then I’d safely stop the traffic to let them cross without getting their legs broken or their faces smashed in. The people in the cars would always stare at my large ginger beard and what I assumed must have been my very attractive arsehole, the perverts. The gentlemen were envious and the ladies were repelled, you know, that sort of rot. After my display of intense masculine supremacy, I’d stand back over the road and lean on the wall and scratch my crotch some more. I’d been up since six fucking fifteen, and I was in the mood to scratch my fucking goddamn crotch if I pissing wanted to.

Crazy Jean down the road would sing to the kids as they’d cross over on her turf, and she’d have a chat with the parents aswell. Her attitude generally appalled me, I thought it was much more appropriate to mumble obscenities as the parents led their kids across the road- you know, to show them that I was some sort of human too, with hatred towards the kiddies, just like the rest of humanity. Plus I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself- I’d had a spot of bother down at the last job where I’d put my beer inside a bottle labelled ‘apple juice’ and then some fucking kid came over and downed the whole lot of it, and ended up pissing up the wall of the supermarket pharmacy. It was fucking hilarious, though I thought it was better after that to just keep it in the beer can and keep it in my pocket, and swig it occasionally to let the kids know whats-what. The government seemed to agree.

Following my morning shift I’d go sit in the chippy for about 6 hours to get myself smelling like a greasy whore, like Dad used to before he took Mum up the stairs for some of the old in and out. Soon though it was time to get back to work, to get the kids to cross back over the road to go safely home. Jean would be back down the road singing, and some kids would bring her cake and stuff, I believe in an attempt to get her to shut her fucking arse-face. They’d never bring me anything, but I instead commanded their respect by terrorising small dogs and whacking their siblings accidentally in the face with my stop sign. The kids were silent out of admiration and the Mums held very tightly onto their kid’s hands, trying to use them as some kind of bait to entice me in and make me pull them into my delicious man-cavity, also known as my mouth. I’d never take much interest though, I was married to the job more than anything, and whenever there was an interval where there were no children to cross for a few minutes, I’d lean on the wall and scratch my fucking crotch. Fuck, my crotch gets itchy.


26 thoughts on “The Lollipop Man

  1. No posts today, huh? Oh well, I’ll just drink instead. Why haven’t I commented on this insanely fabulous fucking post till now, or even “liked” it yet? Maybe it’s the alternating between jaded boredom as to anything in this blah adult life and total ennui and depression and alcoholism on the one hand, and big-time good clean fun with my kid on the other, maybe that’s why I haven’t commented. I imagine you’ve had great sadness yourself, wondering if I’d ever comment, sadness only alleviated by your relationship.
    So many great things about this post, Anna. I think the self-awareness of his greatness is the most wonderful thing about this one.
    Deep-fried chocolate–I can’t imagine much of anything better than that.


    1. I did wonder where you’d been, though I just assumed you’d been having a picnic with the whales on the moon :D Thanks for taking the time to stop by inbetween sealion volleyball and the suchlike.


  2. Ladles and jellyspoons, as it’s mine and Terry’s anniversary today I shan’t be posting a story as I anticipate I will be too full of steak and cocktails to move my fat fingers over the keyboard. I will however be posting a few photo posts over at Bunny Waffles over the next few weeks which I hope you will all enjoy :) Until next week my friends, I bid you adieu as I drown in White Russian goodness :D


  3. You my Friend, need to Change Neighborhoods, Lol

    You must see some Crazy #@!@! I grew up in a remote little Canyon, Lol… I don’t see #$@! other than the occasional Crossing Coyote, Lol

    And I do believe there was a “Meteor Shower” last night… Which I missed, cuz I was too damn tired, Lol… Though I have been going to sleep on the floor by the balcony door, which I leave open, as it’s been like 100 degrees daily here… We have A/C though, so don’t feel too bad, Lol… But I’ve been going asleep their, so I can see the Stars… Which is basically the best part of Camping, which I haven’t done in years… But Alas, I fell asleep before I saw a Meteor, Lol

    My Mom’s Boyfriend says they’re Pieces of Ice that go by every year, or something like that… Pretty damn cool.

    On with your Story… Very Disturbing, and Written Very Well… That guy is one Crazy Crotch Scratchen Son of a #$#@$!

    Well done Anna



    1. Thanks DarkJade! The place you live in sounds amazing. We did drive past this scary lollipop man as we were driving through Derby… luckily I haven’t seen any round the place I live, at least not yet anyway.


    2. Lol, I was just playen, I’ve seen some interesting fellows and she-fellows uhh plenty, just not so much right where I live… What is a Lollipop man? A guy who sells Lollipops? Lol I have no idea… All I could think about was your Lollipop obsession… No, wait… It was an Ice Pop obsession huh? Lol



    3. Oh! I do always forget that these whimsical things don’t often make a whole lot of sense to people in other countries :D A lollipop man/lady/person is someone who wears a high-vis coat, holds a ‘stop’ sign and helps children cross the road. I don’t even know if there is an American equivalent… Wikipedia says a crossing guard? They only operate when schools open or close for the day and generally are far too friendly for their own good.


    4. Ha, that explains it, I thought he sounded like a “Crossing Guard”, and you’re right, that’s what we call them. So the Lollipop is the Bright Red Stop Sign? I take it, Lol Hilarious.

      Thanks for clearing that up, I wasn’t sure if he was just a homeless dude, or something else… Something else it is, Lol Yeah, they can be trippy people, Lol

      That just makes this Story all the Cooler though, Lol



  4. Cake to shut her arse-face. Now, there is a new version of Rousseau’s famous quote! No wonder the world hates kiddies. I had to look up chippy, but then that’s just hilarious! This guy was a non-stop adventure in revolting. Awesome job!

    I wrote about an itchy crotch very differently once.


    1. A chippy is a colloquial term for a fish and chip shop over ‘ere in Blighty :D Thank you Anne! And I will have to read your itchy crotch story when I get back home from work later… I look forward to it!


    2. Ah, good ol’ Wikipedia :D Did you know some chip shops will deep-fry chocolate bars for you? I’ve never tried it myself, but I do get a heart attack whenever I even think about it.


    3. I guess you can deep-fry anything if you dip it in batter first. We have stands that sell deep-fried Twinkies. I haven’t tried one yet.


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