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Nude Hose

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  1. Hi, I'm Nude Hose, War Correspondent. I'm going to be sick, my mouth is packed to the brim, if mouths have brims, brimmed of vomit, sweetcorn, carrots, but also, little moist bits of FACT BLEEEOOOUURRRGGGHHHH I'm spewing up the news! Alas we must adapt a far more serious tone for this paragraph as I bring bad news. My good friend was killed here only moments ago. He was a noble man, probably a man, a man with a great many flaws and fundamental, monumental failings, but he did his best, an awful staggering, shambling best, and now he is dead, and we are all full of sorrow. Amongst this terrible conflict, between these two sides, he saw hope, hope in the form of a stray badger, wandering amongst guts, and he tried to save it, a hopelessly futile fumbling gesture, and one which ended in tragedy. The badger today is an antonym for peace, a metaphor for pain and hate, because when he got there, it was nothing but a prop, and he found himself exposed, caught out, a vulnerable target on a wasteland of death. Seeing that he might well be killed at any moment, I drew my pistol and I shot him myself, hoping only that this cruel and relentless episode might be over as quickly as it could. The sides battle on but at least one man is saved; a bittersweet salvation in death itself, but he need no longer contend with the savageries of war, this epic, glorious war. Also, hi.
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