So I'm just driving along in my Dodge semi-auto, minding my own business, watching the suspension collapse, when WHAM, this Weevil's "Chill You RIGHT Out" Ice Cream truck barrels into the side of the car, and I'm thrown clear as the seatbelt snaps like the back of a recliner rocker full of Ball Bearings. I look up from the garden I'm laying in, up through the daze of blood and dirt and flowers and gardening implements that you buy on someone else's VISA card and get delivered late at night when they're fast asleep so they can't hear the courier, OR YOU, with the Matt-Black ute, lights off, idling gently at the end of the street, waiting, waiting; and I see all these penguins trying to panel- beat the dents out of the truck's wheel arch so they can get moving, but before anything can happen, a fat guy a pair of engraved silver collar-studs comes out of nowhere and blows two of the penguins away with a tyre vulcanizer.
Apparently the penguins had convinced the Weevils Man to let them hijack the van at the zoo and were making their way to the nearest intercontinental ice shelf. I didn't have the heart to tell them they'd never make it because 1. the truck probably didn't have antifreeze in the radiator, and 2. the left front tyre was pretty bald, and would probably only make another 4000 miles before it gave out on a hairpin bend or something, careering you into the oncoming traffic... - not that it mattered, because the last two penguins were obviously upset by the demise of their co-conspiritors and were giving up. The Weevils Man was shouting "NOT THE VANILLA, NOT THE VANILLA" at the top of his voice whilst simultaneously picking his nose and eating it. A passing lorry took him to meet his maker as the fat guy starts lining up one of the two remaining penguins for the big good-bye. Bounty-Hunter. Then I thought to myself "WHAT THE HELL, I may as well do something for the penguins, I never gave anything to Mother Theresa, the Father Hector Society for Crab Cocktails or the Steroid-Committee-for-Acne-Control; I'm an ecologically aware person with potential, it's time I put something meaningful back into the world! - so I grabbed the nearest thing, a long handled, fully varnished, five foot, anodised, genuine square mouthed, environmentally over-friendly, "HOW-MUCH-WOULD-YOU-EXPECT-TO-PAY-FOR-THIS-SHOVEL,NOT-ONE-HUNDRED,NOT-FIFTY" shovel, and smacked him over the back of the head so hard his teeth popped out like the runner-up in the "hoik-your-teeth-for-Nicaragua" competition.
- realisation -
Then I knew that what they said about my grandfather must be true, that he really could see into the future, and all those mornings in the garden doing shovel practice WERE for a reason - so maybe I shouldn't have chucked his shaver in the bath with him, or if I should've, maybe I should have charged the batteries first or something, I don't know, all I know is that these penguins are depending on me, so I swing the shovel again and smashed the dent in the van out, run round the front and gunned the engine. I can hear the sirens, the cops weren't far behind me, and all I'm carrying is VANILLA, tons and tons of the stuff, all white and snowy, (the penguins must have felt right at home), so I shout to the penguins to hurry it up, and reverse to where they are, only they weren't any more - the sirens scared them and I hear the pathetic squeal as they both encounter the down side of a truck of Vanilla Icecream; shit, if only I'd had Raspberry ripple or something - but the cops are coming, and I've got to get out of here and ditch this vehicle, but before I can move the Cops scream around the corner and some other words that I didn't catch, so I have to abandon the vehicle and make for it on foot. I shout "If you make it, I'll meet you at the Ice Skating rink, leave a message with the fat kid by the peanut machine" to the last surviving penguin, who's only partially crushed by the truck and might make it with some fancy vetwork, and sprint off.
- on the run -
I run through this alleyway, looking as fast as I can for somewhere to hide because the place is going to be crawling with cops soon and I've just realised that in the front seat of my car is the bag full of vacuum cleaner hoses, at least 20, well in excess of the legal limit, all different colours too. Maybe if I could hide somewhere near I can go back and get them in all the confusion..
- bugger -
Before I can find a spot, I hear a shout behind me "HALT or I sing the soprano from Bee Gees "Tragedy"!". I freeze. He could be bluffing, but his voice has that high-whine about it so I don't take any chances. He yells again "Just turn round slowly and keep your hands where I can see them, no tricks now, 'cos I'm hummin' the chorus and could break into verse quicker'n you could blink!" He's a southern boy, I can tell, so maybe there's a way out of this after all! I turn, and in the half-light I see a glint of light flicker off his Clint Eastwood Souvineer Tiepin and know I'm Ok. He spots my tie pin at the same time and stops humming and walks over "Sorry about that Good Buddy" he says, clapping me on the shoulder, and we greet each other with the achy Eastwood shuffle.
- saved -
"You'd better get out of here" he warns, "..we found the hoses"
Shit! From the other end of the alley I can hear the shouts as more cops pour in; there's only one way out and that's the green door - the one with the old piano playing loud behind it. I run in and there's this guy standing there with the same cowboy collar things as the guy who shot the penguins except he's saying "It's ok, It's ok" and then I SPOT IT, the CAMCORDER BATTERY, then I know it's a setup for one of those "funny home video" shows where you run your kid's arm thru a bandsaw or axe someone in the leg to get a years supply of low-grade Taiwanese VHS Video cassettes, the kind that go all fuzzy when you pirate X-rated movies onto them so you have to tape boring dull shows like General Hospital, 'cos then you don't feel so bad that they don't come out very clearly.
The guy's still saying "IT'S OK, IT'S OK!" but louder now, but I remember the battery and penguins and it's a setup so I stab him in the eyeball with my 3-colour pen, only it's on red, not blue, which is the sharpest colour, so it only sinks in up to the pocket clip, so I change to blue and he starts jumping around like a verticle breakdancer on heat, then I see the battery is smoking, and so is he! I realise - HE'S A BLOODY ANDROID! I thought I'd got rid of them years ago!
- there's a camaro in the next paragraph -
The cops are getting pretty close so I pull my pen out, (Sure enough, it's covered in oxidised copper) point the breakdancer at the green door and rush over to a blue Camaro with ski rack and combination barbecue grill that the android must have arrived in. It's full of camera gear and a couple of travel brochures with "Discover antartica" and "Freeze your balls off waiting for an emergency recovery team in Sunny Antartica" and the penny drops. Out of my pocket, onto the seat, then onto the floor of the Camaro. I bend down to get it just as the windscreen explodes under the impact of a hail of bullets. I start the Camaro and floor it without looking, hoping: 1. that the car will go fast enough to get away 2. that there's nothing in the way, and 3. that I've got an extra set of pants in the mobile home...
- mobile home coming up -
It's too dangerous to go home, the cops will be waiting for me, so I cruise to
the Mobile Home I keep in the heart of a wreckers yard. No-one knows it's there
except me, my Russian contact, and Batman, who uses it for holidays when him
and Robin are feeling a bit tuckered out.
I entered thru the back entrance (as Batman would say), kick aside the Bat-
Bonker and slide into the velvteen arms of my genuine chippendale plastic
lounge suite. It's time I was armed, and, like every normal good guy, I have a
big suitcase full of the sort of armaments that make terrorists wet their levis.
I reach into the closet for my suitcase, never opened since I got back from 'Nam
except that it's cram packed with state-of-the-art-arms and anti-personnell
equipment, and then like a flash I remember "THE BAG".
- violence coming up soon -
OF COURSE, "THE BAG"!!!
I'd almost forgotten about it. "THE BAG" had been with me for years. Just thinking about "THE BAG" almost extruded a bowel motion from my nether regions. The suitcase was forgotten as my manicured fingers caressed the knurled knob of the 14 tumbler, Armageddon-Proof, Seriously Black Safe. 14 right, 28 left, twice past zero right to 51, back left to 17, right to 17, left to 1, right to 99, back to 57, right to 85, left to 0 again, right to 46, left to 78, right to 12, left to 14 and turn the handle. The stale air smelt of well used odour- eaters (tm) and Curry Powder and crept up my nostrils like a crippled rat up a sewer pipe. My 100% Polyester trousers seemed to grab at my crotch as my groin quivvvvered in anticipation. Saliva drooled down my chin as my probing fingers scraped cross the cracked leather of "THE BAG" As I withdrew it from the safe, I could almost swear the world became silent. My fingers fumbled clumsily with the buckle & my sphincter spasmed in memory of the last time I'd held "THE BAG" in my hands. My eyes scanned the almost forgotten legend "SimonT, Room 1" which brought back a cachophony of memories of my childhood. There, beside my reading primer, "Dick and Jane go Shoplifting" was the ultimate weapon, MY LUNCHBOX.
- shit -
With shaking hands I took it from "THE BAG" and walked carefully to the window and scanned out. Sure enough, it was quiet outside; too damn quiet. I turned the radio on. That was better. It was the news. The police were surrounding a mobile home in...
"THIS IS THE POLICE. WE KNOW Y-ALL'RE IN THERE. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"
Shit. They'd found me already. Batman must have talked. That's the problem with superheros, too honest for their own damn good.
"Why should I come out?" I shouted, stalling while I gingerly pried the lead lining off the outside of the lunchbox. "Thank's Ginger" I said. (She was such a good teacher)
"SO WE CAN GET A GOOD SHOT AT Y-ALL" a cop yelled
"What about my rights?" I said, peeling the insulation from around the edges. My knees almost buckled under me as a tiny gasp of "air" escaped from the lunchbox.
"CHILL OUT MAN, THIS IS THE NINETIES. JUST STICK YOUR HEAD UP FROM UNDER THE WINDOW"
"NO WAY!" I cried indignantly. "I wanna make a deal!"
"SHORE, WE'LL MAKE A DEAL" the cop on the loud hailer called.
I checked in the mirror just in case "I'm a fuckhead" was tatooed on my forehead. Nope. This was the sort of situation that demanded diplomacy.
"Get Fucked Copper, you'll never take me or Elvis alive!"
"ELVIS?!" the cop cried "CAN WE GETTIS AUTO-GRAPH AFORE WE SHOOT Y-ALL?"
"Sure thing! I'll send him out and then I'll follow him. Remember what you said about not shooting me till after he signs the autographs"
"SHORE THING!"
Right, the plan was coming together. I jumped into my white rhinestone Elvis-number. Now to fill it up to Elvis Size. In with the Suitcase full of Weapons, 2 pillows, a rubber turkey, 2 pairs of crotchless fishnets and an Inflatable liferaft.
"I'm sending Elvis out now" I yelled, as I opened the door.
The weapons fell from their hands in amazement as I lolloped over to the cops.
"IF YORE THE REAL ELVIS, SING THEN!" on of the cops yelled. (The pus-sucking, arse-grabbing, dick-teasing pullthrough!)
"WELL YOU KNOW I CAN'T BE FOUND; A-SITTING HOME ALL ALONE" I chirped
"YORE NOT ELVIS, HE SINGS LIKE SHIT!"
I dived to the ground and threw the lunchbox. As it cracked open, I felt the searing heat and heard the screams. The 15-year old Egg and Pickled Cabbage sandwhiches reacted with the atmospere - the mushroom cloud spread and a horrific silence followed
I could now.. OH NO! I'D FORGOTTEN. The last time I'd used the box was a friday. Mum always packed a peice of Blue Vein cheese as well. By now it it'd be Blue throbbing artery!
I had to get out. I hit the ejector button. 500 sentences out of the plot, I landed on my feet, crushing the poor meter maid who'd been hurredly been written into the story as a bit part. Or maybe several bit parts, as she now appeared to be.
<--> I stepped away from the latest footpath tragedy, scraping the remains of the one-time meter maid from my steel-capped Koala Slippers and moving as quickly as possible in the direction of the new plot. It looked quite green from this angle. But before that, time for a quick snack.
I entered the spacious rooms of Fungus McFerguson's Turkey palace ("All you can kill for $17.50") and strode to the counter. A few seconds later the plot caught up with me and took a seat in the corner. I wondered what was going to happen.
"Waddya wan?" I looked up. It was either Fungus McFerguson or the results of 11 generations of energetic inbreeding. (Another southern boy!)
I decided to have the house special. "Turkey" I replied, picking at my teeth with my #2 stainless steel toothpick.
"Sure Mister" he said. Instant respect. The toothpick does it every time. Or maybe it was the .73 calibre Magnum Magnum that I was pointing at his head. People don't just GIVE you respect, you have to earn it.
"...on a dirty plate" i added, reinforcing my new persona.
I looked over to the mirror. Yep, I was now the hero-type person that movies were written about. The plot was still sitting in the corner, only now it appeared to be trying to get my attention. I looked around the room to check it for potential barroom brawls. Nothing. I sidled on over to where the plot was sitting and joined it.
"What's the story?" I asked, getting straight down to business
"The story's fading" the plot answered, scanning the room, and adding to it as it went "We need some action. I had to pull you from the last scene because it was getting tedious. This one is much better, you get to kill someone on average about once every 2 sentences, plus a bonus of about 35 in the last sentence, where you die."
"I die?!"
"Yep, sorry about that, but what the hell, we'll reincarnate you in another story real soon, I'm just about to start in a story about 4 nuns who are reading in a library for 17 years continuously, you'll be Sister Mary Bible Browser, and will be reading the bible for the whole 783 pages."
I shot the plot in the head. No-one toys with this persona and gets away with it. I shot someone else too, just to keep up the sentence average.
"Wow, that was more awesome than watching the bus on a 386 laptop during it's power-up self tests" a computer geek at table 5 exclaimed.
I shot him too.
"Wow, that was more awesome than Amiga's high resolution graphics, even taking into account interlace mode" the second computer geek at table 5 exclaimed.
Him as well
"Wow, that was more awesome than fitting a 80 meg hard-drive to a Mac-128K, typing in blonde jokes and pretending that I'm worldly" the third computer geek chimed in just before I timed him out.
"Wow, that was more.." the deceased smoking corpse number 4 at table 5 sighed.
- DAMBO More Blood, Part II -
The white hot Magnum Magnum slid back into the greased asbestos holster as I surveyed the plot's pre-death changes. 17 Motorcycle gang members with auto- matic weapons, 2 arabs carrying Malay Kris' between their teeth, 12 axe-wielding Jasons, Fungus McFerguson with a strap-on dildo and Mrs Lime MacCaskill from Room 1 at my primary school all faced me with death on their minds.
I was always one for a challenge. I take the toughest on first - Mrs Lime The trick was to get her in a good mood.
"Still taking it up the arse for cash?" I enquired in my most pleasant manner
- It can't be the end -
- cornered -
Mrs Lime MacCaskill came at me with her steel-edged ruler, but I was waiting; firstly, because she wasn't close enough yet, but secondly, because the plot's averages said that I was going to kill someone every second sentence. I shot her. I was feeling pretty good by this time, my plate of trukey had arrived and Fungus McFerguson was faking sex with the strap-on. I shot him as quick as I could, then took my gun out of my holder. Hopefully there was no contin- uity people involved in the script somewhere.
The arabs were next to go, but I wasn't involved, apparently they said something about oil prices to the bikies. The Jasons and the remaining gang members were duking it out behind the counter, so I decided it was time to eat.
- interlude -
I switched on the tv - it was Dr Ruth.
"Eet is perfectly noramel for dee man to wan to do thees to a jar of cheeken mcnoogits" she expostulated "een fact eet ees far healthier than eating thee theengs"
I decided to call her up. Fungus McFerguson was at the "You're the best" stage, so I had a spare couple of minutes...
It rings three times, and a guy answers:
"Channel four-hundred-and-seventy-seventy" he says, in a voice carefully modulated to drive away normal people
"I need to talk to Ruth" I say, trying to sound worried
"I'm sorry, but this isn't telephone ti."
I cut in "But I gotta talk to her, you don't know what it's like, I've got a overlarge penis and the only time I'm sexually satisfied is when I'm covered in faeces and whistling "My old Man's a dustman" at 78 speed.."
"I'll put you thru" he says, backing down
"Heeeloo, dees ees Dr Rude, how can I heelp you?" she says.
"Doctor Ruth, you're the only one who can help me, I think I'm really sick"
"Go on..." (She was hooked)
"It's my mother"
"yes" (I could see her bending over the phone, almost drooling over this one)
"Well, I kinda don't know whether I should talk about it over the TV and everything, because I've never told anyone about..."
"Eet ees eemportant that you tell mee thees theengs, no matter how embarrasing eet ees to people - yourself or others" (She was getting really hot for teacher)
"It's her buns" I blubbered "I can't get enough of them"
"What's your first name please?" She asks, wanting the personal approach
"Hernado Richardo Nixono" I say, in my best protugese immigrant voice
"Well Hernando, eets perfectly alright for you to have a fixation for your mothers gluteus maximus; tell me, have you ever thought of penetration"
"OHmigod, how did you know?!" I sniffled, blowing my nose on Fungus's shirt as he passed
"Yes, anal sex, the forbeeden froot of zee loins, eet ees very co..."
"ANAL SEX?!!" I scream "ANAL SEX! What the hell do you mean, anal sex? I'm talking about her baking!!!!"
"I zee, eet ees stell quite common for a man to wish to have intercourse weeth zee pastry that is hees mothers work" she says to me
"Sex with pastry, what kinda cooking show is this?!" I scream, horrified!
"Thees ees doctor ruth, tell me your sexual problem" she says, composing her- self.
"DOCTOR RUTH!" I scream "Is this the same doctor Ruth that said I needed a penis tranplant when I was 5?!?!?!"
"I'm sorry?" she asks, momentarily running out of "normal" assurances
"You, you two bit hooker, you told my mother I needed a penis transplant when I started school!" I scream, starting to ramble "two hours a day for 7 weeks on the vacuum enlarger doc, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO A MAN?!!"
"Give me a clue" she say, hunching over again
I hang up, fun's fun and I've had enough.
The paramedics are here working on the plot with life-support machines, and there's only two Jasons and one Motorcycle dude left. I leave.
- a new scene -
My koala slippers are dirty.
"Hi there big boy" a woman says as she walks up behind me "come here often"
"No", I say "usually at home in bed with the inflatable lady of my choice.."
- going somewhere else -
- the woman -
The woman looks at me strangely from behind he Reebok-Oakley-Adidas outfit.
"What's a body like you doing on a street like this?" she asks
"It's my street.." I reply, meeting her gaze. One-nil.
"Do you know what would look great under your bed?" she tries again
"A twelve-pack of Elephant beer and the complete works of 'edward the fingerpainter on old canvas?" I parry. 2 nil.
She spots me with "I'm a virgin". 2-1
"So am I, this is just a very old pair of pants" 3-1. I'm breaking clean, 2 more points and I've got the match ("my arse your face")
"Do you live around here?" She goes for a staunch line, not worth much.
"You call this living?" I counter. 4-1 and I'm on a roll. (Egg)
"If you guess what I've got in my pants you can have it" she says
"'Eric Clapton's greatest Hits' on Vinyl" I say, winning - the crowds cheer, BUT I CAN'T STOP!!!
- the torso -
"A free-floating, full-torso apparition? A spelling Mistake? A 386 laptop with Lotus 1-2-3 in ROM? The place next door to the Gettysburg Address? A complete home fitness kit minus the barbells? Sister Mary Mary Mary?.."
The silence is devastating.
- the uh-oh -
"Excuse me mister" a mean looking guy says "Did you say Sister Mary Mary Mary?"
"Yup!" I say, Gomer Pyling it for charity
"Not just Sister Mary or Sister Mary Mary?" another guy, who's stopped asked.
"Sure did!"
By now a crowd's gathered and the police are cordoning off the street...
An ugly guy with a knife gets in my face "Not Sister Mary Mary, quite contrary?"
"The one with the garden? Nope. Sister Mary Mary Mary!"
"He said it again!" the first guy says "should we kill him?"
"Kill him!? SHIT, WE SHOULD LYNCH HIM!!!"
"Lynching's too good for him!" the ugly guy shouts "Lets burn him!!"
"You can't; it's a friday, and Sister Mary Mary Mary wouldn't like it" I say
A good point. The crowd disperses slightly as I pull out my Bowie knife with the St Christopher Medal and Holy Communion Rememberance plaque on the side. I show them the legend. "Simon, you were a nasty little shit - I hope St Chritopher guides you well, into the nearest articulated vehicle. Your never-loving Nun, Sister Mary Mary Mary"
The crowd moves back.
"THIS IS A SIGN!" I shout, holding up the blade. "A SIGN FROM ABOVE!"
"Bullshit!" says the ugly one. The blade drops for an instant.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" I scream, as ugly falls to the ground "HOLY RETRIBUTION!"
Now they're really scared.
"I WAS ON MOUNT SAINIA!" I shout, now that I've got their attention
"It's not spelt that way" the mean dude says
Once more the blade dips...
"DON'T LISTEN TO THE DISBELIEVER!" I call - "I WAS THERE! I SAW IT ALL. THERE WERE 14 COMMANDMENTS, BUT MOSES HAD A BACK STRAIN! I HAVE THE "FORGOTTEN FOUR" - LOST TO MANKIND AND NOW RETURNED, AND YOURS FOR JUST ELEVEN NINETY FIVE!!!"
- get in while you can -
They're queueing up to buy, and it looks like I'm in the money. A woman with a hairlip fronts me with $12.00.
"Keep the change - What are they"
I look at her for a second.
"11. THOU CANST COMMIT ADULTERY, BUT ONLY WITH PEOPLE WHOS NAMES ARE CLUFFORD"
"Clufford?" she says "Don't you mean clifford"
"12. THOU SHALT NOT CORRECT PEOPLE WHO HAVE MADE TYPOS"
"13. THOU SHALT NOT EAT BEAN AND ONION FILLED TACOS AND GO AND VISIT THY FRIENDS AND BREAK WIND ON THEIR NEW SOFA"
"14. THOU SHALT SHAVE THY FACE"
The woman starts sobbing into her big mac packet, she's been living a life of sin and only now she realises it.
- the father -
Father Theodore Maggotpack is next in line.
"Here's the 11.95, Tell me so I can wow the pope out" he whispers
"Before we do that father, can you here my confession?" I ask
"Certainly my son, E nominus patre..." he rambles on
"FORGIVE ME FATHER, I'M A REAL BASTARD" I shout
"IT'S BEEN 4 YEARS, 2 MONTHS, 11 DAYS AND 4 TRIPS TO THE URINAL SINCE MY LAST CONFESSION"
"This isn't the pee joke is it?" he asks in a manner unbecoming a man of the cross and black lapels.
"No father it's not" I say humbly
"Continue then..."
"Father, I've done some terrible things since my last confession"
"Tell me about them my son, and rest assured in the knowledge that the good lord has forgiven you all your sins"
"Well what am I here for then?" I ask
"Looks. Now continue. What have you done since you last confession"
"It's terrible father, terrible. Firstly, I didn't do my penance from the last time I went to confession.."
"I see. What was the penance?"
"Say 4 Hail Marys, Attend 2 stations of the cross, and put my hand in a blender"
"Hmmmm. You realise that you are not forgiven until you have completed your penance?"
"But father, it's inhuman and unjustified. How can a forgiving god justify me doing TWO stations of the cross...?"
- the not end -
- the confessional -
The confession when well, Father Maggotpack's sin calculator burned out a chip after I told him about when I doctored Sister Mary Halitosis's Bible by blacking out all the NOTs in her 10 commandments. I missed out the bit about when she was shot at dawn for adultering the neighbours false Witness (in fact a Jehovahs False Witness)
He started adding up by hand. Four pages and two pencils later we had the bottom line.
"Simon; you've been a naughty boy" he said
"You're not slow are you father?" I say, voice oozing humble sarcasm
He knees me in the groin and I go down.
"For your penance my son, you will say three hail marys and watch 2 B-Grade movies with Gene Hackman in them"
"Which are they father?" I sob from the floor
"Anything except Mississippii Burning" he says
"Can't I just get the chair? Anyway, that's not how you spell Mis.."
He stomps me in the face.
- the afterlife -
Everything goes black.
It's like I'm in another world, all dark, and ahead of me is a bright white light, and I can hear voices, and I'm warm and... and.. I think I'm in the afterlife.... It's so beautiful and peaceful here, I don't want to go back
"HEY COMMANDMENT DUDE!"
..A voice seems to overpower the peace and..
"COMMANDMENT DUDE! WAKE UP MAN!"
I open my eyes and I'm back in the world again, and there's a dope-smoking long-hairer, ne'er-do-well, benefit-hogging peice of white trash staring in the general direction of me. "What?" I ask
"COMMANDMENT DUDE, I JUST SOLD MY CROP, AND I'LL BUY YOUR COMMANDMENTS FROM YOU FOR 47,053 DOLLARS"
Straight away I realise I was mistaken about this guy. He's just a lonely, healthy, good-time person, just like me. Except he's got body lice.
"It's a deal!" I say, pumping his hand like a gallon tube of K-Y
He hands me over the money in a big plastic deal-bag.
"WOW! " He turns to the crowd "I JUST BOUGHT THE 4 LOST COMMANDMENTS"
"AND I'M GUNNA GIVE THEM ALL TO YOU FOR FREE!!"
The crowd swells up to the guy just as I leave and he realises I haven't told him them.
"UH. ELEVEN. THOU SHALT EAT LOTS OF FOOD AFTER A JOINT"
"UM. SEVENTEEN. THOU SHALT NOT DRIVE BIG CARS TO THE CINEMAS WHEN POOR DUDES ARE WALKING TO THE SHOPPING MALL TO.."
- I'm rich -
I've got heaps of time, it's 7pm, I might try and catch an early show. "ANDY CLAY" the sign reads. What the hell, how bad can it be??
There's no-one there, so I go stage-side.
"DICE-BABY!" I shout. He turns. "How are you, you sexually retarded mysoginist?"
"PLEASE PLEASE!" he replies "Mysoginist is such a negative word; I prefer to be called a socially inept person with so little charisma that my mother wanted money up front before she'd breastfeed me, with so little appeal that the only lasting relationship I've ever had with a woman was when I had lots of money, a fact which has left me with a permanent distaste for the opposite sex"
"Oh, I stand corrected! I'M DOING A SURVEY" I say
"What about?" he asks. Straight away I know he's hooked. Everyone likes doing surveys, except the ones where they ask your personal "measurements"
"Penis size" I say
"Sorry, no deal" he says hurriedly "my penis is not on the table"
"No" I smile "nothing pencil sized in view at all. Well, how about women?"
"Sure, I'll do that survey!" he says, brightening up considerably
"What do you look for in a woman?" I ask
"Intelligence"
This comes as a surprise to me. "Intelligence. How intelligent?"
"Well, enough to make conversation, but not enough to be threatening"
"How much is threatening to you?" I ask
"Well, If she remembers my name twice in a row" he mumbles.
"Andy, wouldn't it be better if you just bought yourself a mattress with a hole in it and talked to yourself?" I ask
"OH! YOU'VE SEEN MY ACT?" he chirps excitedly
It's times like this I just wish my Magnum Magnum was still in it's holster.
But I don't. It's away getting cleaned near some people who are contesting the Warren Report.
- something else I haven't written yet -
I leave. My house is out of bounds, the cops are probably still waiting for me with the vacuum cleaner forensic team. Luckily I remembered to file off all the serial numbers on the hoses, so they're virtually untracable. There's only one place I can turn for sustinance and help - My Ex-Wife Claire.
She's not home. Things are looking up!
I check round the back where "KILL" the Doberman should be and it's not there. Which means it's somewhere else. I feel my crotch - nope, it's not here yet. Around about now I'm really sorry I used to tease it as a puppy with a long handled cattle prod set to 'kill'. It's quiet - Too quiet. I don't like it. The dog's up to something. I knew I should have had it put down as parting gift.
I think maybe it's time to cut my losses. I can see the Chevrolada she bought with the divorce settlement (just to piss me off). I remember the difference between a Lada and 2 Jehovahs Witnesses - one's a car and the other is two people who try and spread the word of their god. I smash the drivers window and get in.
Ah, that's where "KILL" was.
- now that's suspense -
- what a shitty start -
Inasmuch as a cute 400-pound oversized, overfed, mangy, shit-on-the-carpet dog can, "KILL" smiled at me. In it's eyes I could see that it shared the fond memories of me and forgave me my stinginess in saving $17.50 by home- nuetering him with a soldering and G-clamp back in `88. Like hell. Every quivvering muscle of canine hate remembered me. And the games we played. Games like "Bite the Chainsaw", "Dodge Daddy's car whilst tied to the Middle of the Driveway" and "Overnight Swim in the Septic Tank". Yep. I was history waiting to be made.
- saved again -
Mental agility had not departed with my bowel contents however; my mind was ticking over like Libyan Airplane Luggage. It was a one in a million shot but I had to take it. "Good K.." I said, before realising the possible negative outcome of saying his name. "Good Doggie!"
KILL's deep throut growl came as no surprise, but it didn't matter to me, my hand was on the cassette player and it was almost all over. It was important however, to not show fear. Dogs can smell fear. It occured to me that they can also smell excretion and put 2 and 2 together, but that was of little importance to me now, I was saved. The Cassette clicked into place, and quicker than you can say "Not the Carpenters!, Not the Carpenters!" the Carpenters blared from the 40 watt Surround. It was one of Karens last works, "How can I love you when I'm stuffing food down my throat and rushing to the toilet?"
- Mmmmm mmm mm -
KILL was whining in the back seat, having lost control of most his voluntary muscular network as the next song started. I'd just barfed in sympathy with Karen
"Just Gimme one more Pot-Roast Cat biscuits on Toast Then lay with me on the toilet floor Puke a bit then Puke some more Doing the Bulimia Blues..........
Kill spoke: "That's not how you spell Bu.." I turned up the volume, switched the player to Auto Reverse and ran for cover.
- Ok -
The house was safe now so I raced up the steps and grabbed the key from it's hiding place in the anus of a Garden Gnome. (That was my idea - who'd risk being arrested for molesting a plaster figurine just to break into a house?) I was on limited time - For a divorced couple Claire and I had a unique relationship, based on Mutual Trust, Tradition, Sentimentality and the Under- standing that if Claire caught me here, she'd have Vinnie (her new man) shoot me. As luck would have it she still hadn't gotten into the 47 tumbler - Hell & Damnation Proof, Really-Seriously Black Safe that I'd installed when I used to live here. I'll skip the combination, as Claire might be reading this. (It drives her nuts to know there's something out of her reach in her own home) The safe opened, and as I thought, the contents were untouched. A brand-new, Seriously Black, recoiless, .87 calibre Magnum Magnum with Laser Sighting was the first to be withdrawn. I strapped it on. It was a bit heavier than the last Magnum Magnum, but as Rambo taught me, if you want to keep the audience, you've got to get better and better hardware. I looked deeper into the safe, grabbed my "Dirty-Diary" then relocked it. I wouldn't be needing anything else.
- you guessed it. smartass -
"Well, if it isn't the puss-sucking goob-ball himself" Vinnie exclaimed, from behind the sights of his favourite hunting sawn-off shotgun.
SHOW NO FEAR. DEFUSE THE SITUATION.
"Hey Vinnie, still giving it to your vacuum enlarger on a twice-nightly basis?" I enquire. Oh well, I've still got SHOW NO FEAR.
"How did you.."
"The cameras Vinnie, all over the place, recording everything for release in cheap-peep shows.." I ad-lib like crazy
"WHY YOU PIECE OF.." he braces himself against the butt, so I reach out and stick my #5 stainless steel toothpick up the barrel. A smooth fit.
"Go on Vinnie, pull the trigger" I say, smooth as oiled silk across an upturned thigh. As he moves to do so I interject "Pine or Oak?"
"Hunh?" Vinnie asks, confirming my suspicions about a premarital family relationship between his parents. Probably Brothers.
"The coffin Vinnie, Pine or Oak?"
"I doan.." He extrudes I explain like he's a five year old. Mentally, I'm probably not far from the mark. "When you pull the trigger, the bullet rushes down the barrel till it hits the toothpick. The toothpick shifts the bullet in the barrel slightly, the gun backfires, turning your cute tatooed chest to mush"
He's a scorpio, I can tell; he loves his tatoo. He won't shoot.
Vinnie pulls the trigger.
- Number 1 with the bullet -
The bullet rushes down the barrel of the gun, hit's the toothpick, gets a little deflection in the barrel, the gun explodes. Vinnie falls to the floor sobbing as his "MOM" is miraculously changes to "I hate MOM" under the impact of bits of barrel. I kick the gun from his hands and go get some salt.
"Rub this in" I say "It'll save the artwork." I'm such a heel.
I leave. Vinnie has most thoughtfully provided me with a vehicle; a 4 cylinder "sports" car with an exhaust that's supposed to somehow represent the penis size of the owner. Vinnie must be a big boy. I start it and head towards the interstate; My Dirty Diary has provided me with the information I need to start a newish life. "Helga Princess" it reads "1453 West Knob Street, Arsebandit, Illinois." Underneath there are three stars and a scribble that looks like a poorly drawn industrial vacuum cleaner.
- knocking on a door -
I get there. I knock on the door. Helga answers.
"Hello" she says smiling.
"Helga Princess?" I ask
"No, Helga Queen, Princess was my maiden name.." She smiles again
"SimonT. I've come about the job"
"What job?" Her smile dissappears, she's confused
"The one where I earn 100 grand a year plus car" I smile.
"I think you've got the wrong.." she says closing the door.
"I'm sorry Helga.." I say sadly "...or... was it HELMUT?"
The door freezes mid-slam. Her eye appears in the crack of the door.
"Vot?" she asks, all pretences dropped
"A surgery in Brazil; secret payments to an Swedish Naval Holiday Home Trust, Strategic changes in the strength of the Yen; I think you know what I mean. I know everything - it's no use pretending."
"But how?" (s)he asks, folding worse than a $2 Ironing board
"The Surgeon, Dr Heidel Diddly High. He kept a diary, you talked under the anesthetic, he wrote it all down. You killed him. I found the tapes and the diary. I know everything. Even the plastic gerbil called FrankReich..."
- bingo -
Her face gave her away, she broke down.
"Yes yes, it's true" she bawled "I was trapped in the body of a man, I had to get out, all the crimes, the violence, it was a pathetic charade, disguising my true feelings!"
"You tranvesticsm? Your Eventual Sex Change?" I prompted
"No no, the tranvesticsm and Sex Change was just a stage."
"Yes" I said "Just like all the world.."
- I watched "Field of Dreams" last night. A really good movie -
She ignored me, wrapped up in the horrors of her past and continued.
"..I knew some day someone would come for me, it might be you, it might be the man at the Post Office, even the lady who comes in once a week to eat the ash-trays - I never knew; I've been living in Hell" she cried
"What's the temperature like down there?" I asked, making small-talk.
- Babe Ruth -
She seemed to notice me for the first time.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you a premature ejaculator?" she asked.
"Both," I replied "and I have inverted nipples"
"Somehow I'm not afraid of you" she said
"Why" I asked, "is it my aquiline good looks - My charismatically kindly nature, My skilfully applied Lady Grecian 2102 or just that I shave my legs like a state trooper?"
She laughed quietly to herself
"No no" she said "it's because my bodyguards going to bash you over the head with a softball bat until your head is pulp and then beat the location of the Diary out of you"
SHOW NO FEAR. DEFUSE THE SITUATION
I laugh casually, the rippling of my chest muscles popping the dome on the Magnum Magnum holster. "Hadn't you better beat the location of the diary out of me before you cave my head in?" I ask
She gets up in my face, full of confidence now "Don't need to" she whispers
"I know the plot personally..."
- the plot II -
"It won't work Babe" I say "He's dead, I popped him off a couple of episodes ago with my Magnum Magnum. He's history..."
"Hello Simon", a tight nasally voice says from behind me, and I know I'm in big trouble.
I turn, and sure enough, it's the plot, full torso cast and all.
"I thought you were dead" I said pleasantly
SHOW NO FEAR. DEFUSE THE SITUATION
"No, just coming apart" the plot said "... and just about to pull myself to- gether... No room for you tho, you were supposed to be written out about 4 episodes ago.."
I can see a big bruiser with a softball bat approaching out of the corner of my eye, which comes as a surprise, as I didn't know there was that much room in there. The magnum magnum slides out of it's holster like turds out of an anus after a homebrew party. The bruiser raises his bat as I pop the plot one in the chest, and I notice as he goes down, he presses a button. I...
- who turned out the lights? -
- after the button -
I'm queasy. The plot's pulled one over on me, I'm sure of it. It's still alive too, otherwise I'd be somewhere else. I put the Magnum Magnum back in it's holster; if it was of any use, I wouldn't be here.
I'm standing on a long long road in the middle of nowhere. Sod this!
I get out the Dirty Diary. I look to the last page. It's at todays date as it always is. I read the last entry. "Shot the Plot, winged it"
Things are much better. Nothing like a hole in the plot to make things easier.
- wrong -
I start walking down the road. Sure enough a town is coming up. I'm just about there when a police cruiser pulls up beside me.
"Rambo?" the fat cop asks me
"Nope, wrong story" I say "Try a different book, M for Morrell"
"Thanks" he says and drives off.
Two seconds later another police cruiser pulls up. The plot's a real bastard. I'm in the Andy Williams show! Shit I hate that. And "My 3 Sons" too! I'll kill Frank McMurray on sight! That goes for Chip too!
I've got two wishes left from when I was on "I dream of Jeannie" I waste one of them wishing my flatmate won't eat the Ham and chips that I bought at lunch time. I wish that I wasn't here.
>Pow!<
I look round, and I'm in prison. My clothes have changed and I'm dressed in the garb of someone with matching IQ and Waist-Size. In front of me there's some paper and a pencil. I'm obviously in someone else's body because there's an hours work of their writing in front of me. The paper says:
"DEAR" in scrawly writing. I figure I've got nothing to lose, I may as well play along with this for a while. I continue in a vein similar to that which would appeal to the previous occupant of this body.
"FORUM. I NEVA THORT I'D BE RITING TO YOU TODAY BUT I DUN SOMETHING THAT REALLY CHANGED MY MIND BOUT WHAT PEOPLE SAY IN THESE LETTAS. I WAS JUST TAKING A SHOWER WITH MY BROTHER JED WHEN HE DROPPED THE SOAP ON THE FLOOR...."
That should do for this week. By the time the previous occupant of this body got back, I'd be long gone and he'd be able to finish off from his own past.
I hoped.
- but no -
Around about then the "little woman" got back. Judging by her looks, her name was Bubba, Dumptruck or BrickWall. I was in biiiiiigg trouble. I look to the "bookshelf" of the other occupant. 3 "Bustling Muscles" magazines and a leather hood.
"Hi cutie" my bride said as he entered the cell.
"Hi Simon" the plot said as it rolled past in it's wheelchair. I did what any self-respecting human being in a similar situation, I dropped to my knees and begged.
The "Mrs" misunderstood my intentions completely, but I realised that the plot had been saving this scene for a really special occasion....
- gigadee gig -
I was at home.
For those readers who can't figure out what happened: I grabbed one of the little womans steel-caps and threw it at the plot's scene change box, but I couldn't mention it before it happened otherwise it would have been part of the plot, and it would have known.
So I'm at home. Time to check the calls. I push the button of my answering machine. "International STD Research Laboratories" my voice chirps out of the box "Please leave your name and disease after the beep, and we'll get back to you once we've released your name and medical records to the Media" For some reason I never get obscene calls...
"Hi Simon, it's Laura here"
Laura.
I thought she was dead. The androids had got her.
- laura -
Hearing Laura again did weird things to me. My Magnum Magnum and clothes fell from my body (ok, well, Maybe I did tear them off) I was a new man! I could go on TV Game shows, scratch my privates in public and things like that.
It occurred to me that the police were still after me and that life was probably still a little complicated. Sure enough, the street was littered with unmarked squad cars.
I decide to lay low, and read all the mail that's built up since I've been away. The first letter immediately grabs my attention
"CONGRATULATIONS! YOU MAY ALREADY HAVE WON 4 DAYS OF THYROID SURGERY AT THE HOSPITAL OF ST MARGARET OF THE SAWN OFF SHOTGUN!"
I threw it away without opening it. They won't catch me out twice
The second one's a postcard from my Uncle Rob. It's a picture of some cell bars with "Wish you were here" emblazoned across them. He tells me pick him up outside the penitentiary at Flyshit, Arizona, (named after a spot on a prospector's map) on the 14th. That's two days away, so I've got heaps of time.
The next letter is one from Laura >sigh<, the abosolute love of my life. They named a new strain of herpes after us you know...
- recr -
I put that aside for my recreational hour and get down to the brown envelopes. Bills, Bills, Regular Price, Bills. Hmmm. There was a white envelope with a TV insignia on it. I ripped it open, and sure enough, I'd been invited to partake in Death Date 100. TODAY!!! Now that's what I call LUCK!
I had to fit out for this. I slipped into my closet and grabbed all my best white gear. The shirt, the polyester slacks, the shoes. I slipped them on. And, for the "peace of the resistance" io yanked out my outrageous red leather tie and my outrageous red leather belt. I left the other outrageous leather bondage accessories for later. I opened the trapdoor in the kitchen that lead to the tunnel the mexicans had built for me. It came out in the Statue of Liberty's Undergarments and had a ladder leading to another continent. I really should have fed those guys more, they deserved it. Maybe after they finish the underground football stadium...
- It's almost lunchtime -
I get to the studio, stare at the goober across the desk, and give him my "I've just machine-gunned a maternity ward and don't care" look. He shits himself. I put out the #2 toothpick and start making indecent gestures at the woman across the counter.
"Oh, you must be one of those low-lifes for Death Date 100" she cried, "I'm so PLEASED you turned up!!!"
Something about her manner made me wish I'd brought the Magnum Magnum with me.
"That's me chicky-boo" I call, really laying on the crap; I don't want to get bounced at this stage - I've got to appear like every other slime choked peice of human refuse that frequents this show. I blow her a french kiss to help things along a little. I can tell she likes me.
- the game -
A fat guy in a security guard's outfit leads me into the studio where we're going to play.
"I LOVE THIS PLACE!" I shout, waving my arms expansively, bumping into the gaurd as I do so. I recline on my couch as the guard leaves minus his gun. It's a .38 peashooter that probably hasn't been fired since Ted Kennedy last told the truth, but maybe I'll get a chance to clear that up real soon.
I look round at the other "contestants". High quality beings all of them. The first guy's wearing a "Sex Instructor - First Lesson Free" teeshirt, and buy the looks of him, he's priced right out of his market. Number #2 appears to have a wrist complaint involving his groin and handkercheif. The other two contestants are engaging each other in a conversation on who's got the largest physical size. The only thing that saved them was the dud safety catch. I start working on behind my table to get it loose. Loser #2 nods at me and smiles.
- the presenter -
The presenter walks in. Before he can speak I regret once more that I didn't bring the M squared. He speaks.
"Hi and welcome back to Death Date 100, the show where you, the audience, get to pick which lowlife we throw into our Giant, Piranha-filled Blender!"
Right about now I know why chicky-boo was so pleased to see me.
- cabbage rolls -
- the game -
"As you well know" the presenter bubbles "we ask every guest a question which they will attempt to answer in the tackiest way possible. You get to vote on who we kill at the end."
The .38's safety catch comes off with a snick and I decide to play to win...
"Okay, Shauna, read the first question!"
A skinny woman with a past involving horse-riding strides in and pulls a sheaf of papers from under her miniskirt. What a high-class move. I can tell I'm in a really wholesome community!
- does anyone read these lines? -
Shauna pouts for the audience and John, our presenter, makes some comments about what he would like to do in a dark room with Shauna. I must be psychic, as I was just thinking about what I'd like to do with John in a dark room, only my thought involved a Black and Decker Power Saw, three sharpened pencils and 1200 volt Arc welding kit.
The first question comes at us.
"What is the most exciting thing you have ever done?"
Number 2 goes first as it's in ascending order of penis size, as stated on our application form. Around about now I'm feeling really pleased that I used my bank account number.
- come to think of it, does anyone read the red bucket -
Number 2 wipes his hand on his shirt and mumbles "When I took out the whole cheerleading squad and had sex with every one of them."
John butts in: "Sorry number 2, we're after honest answers here. You'll notice that we have a lie detector on the wall, and you're past "absoulte bullshit", and in fact verging on "Nixon". WHAT DO WE DO WITH LIARS AUDIENCE?!?"
- this stuff doesn't write itself you know -
"THE BLENDER JOHN, THE BLENDER!" the crowd roars
Number 2 is dragged to the blender and put on a platform above the fish and whirring blades...
"And here's our guest executioner, Wee Granny Gobble-Gobble from Fingercrotch Florida!" John warbles, full of himself.
A sweet old lady walks in and stands beside him as he continues "Well Granny, remember, you control the speed and type of the blades AND the trapdoor. What do you want?"
"Superslow Blunt blades please" Granny asks smiling away in her private dreamland
"SHE'S GOING TO TAKE THE SUPERSLOW BLADES!!!!"
"Ok granny here's the switch, whenever you're ready...."
Granny pushes the switch and Number 2 becomes red herring milkshake. I turn back to the game and Players 1, 3 & 4 have left while everyone was destracted.
- I'm getting ECT to help me write this stuff you realise -
DON'T PANIC. LIE YOUR WAY OUT OF IT
"So," John continues "that leaves us with..... oh!.. YOU player 5. Actually, you would have been next anyway!"
Shit! I knew I should have added my social security number, birthdate and internation telephone number!
John continues: "So SimonT, what's your answer"
"When I took out the whole cheerleading squad and had sex with every one of them." I cheese, winking and fingering my Y-fronts simultaneously.
- what a load of crap. I'll get them to increase the volts -
He looks to the lie detector, it's way down at 0.
"Shit" John says "You lucky Bastard! WHAT DO WE DO WITH LUCKY BASTARDS AUDIENCE?!"
"THE BLENDER, JOHN, THE BLENDER" the audience chimes in as one.
Pricks. I didn't have the heart to tell John I rarely MEET cheerleaders, let alone get to date them. Grandad's Lie detector practice sure came in handy too... But for now, escape was on my mind.
"BUT WHAT DE WE DO TO JOHN AND SHAUNA BEFORE THAT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN?" I shout
"THE BLENDER, THE BLENDER" the audience screams
- Mind you, it's probably not the volts but the amps -
John and Shauna dissappear under Granny's trembling finger.
"WHAT DO WE DO WITH THE AUDIENCE NOW?" I scream
"BLENDA!" the audience howl, caught up in the feeling like an arm in a wringer
The audience is rapidly moolied.
I leave. I've got to get to Flyshit, and Uncle Rob will be waiting.
- What the hell, I'll ask them to turn up both -
- two days later -
Uncle Rob was waiting for me outside the gates of "That'll teach you" penitentiary. He had one more arm than when he went in. This place really went in for rehabilitation.
"Like the arm" I said "It's really you"
He smiled. He hadn't smiled like that since before he lost his old arm in a typing accident at Port Loud-Hailer in '73. He never talked about it, and I never asked...
"Yep, Sure is good." he replied
"So what do you want to do now that you're finally out, Go home? Play Pinball? Go to "Robbies"? Rob a Bank?" I ask
- is anyone reading these? -
I needn't have asked. In unison we shouted "BANK!"
We pulled up outside Rich-Person Anglo Saxon Internation Bank at 3:30pm, just before the armoured car was due. We didn't bother with the ski-masks, Rob Reckoned they'd know who we were anyway, we always came here just before he went to prison. As always, before we went in Uncle Rob turned to me and spoke "Ok, this time you really *have* sorted out the getaway?" My reply was standard "Of course"
We waltzed into the bank, cool as Refrigerated cucumbers, better than men. Uncle Rob and I waited patiently in line, posing occasionally for a profile to be shown later on the news. We get to the counter and Rob leans over the counter and asks about a bank loan. We have to see the manager.
The Manager's a large gentleman with burger stains on his shirt where he thinks the jacket covers. I can see Uncle Rob's hand shaking, he hates poor personal hygiene.
- the ECT blew a fuse, it wasn't getting enough feedback -
We get into one of those sectioned off booths where everyone can hear each other grovelling for money, making managers feel like some form of demi-god. Straight away I start sobbing into the desk and blubbering out loud to cover up what Uncle Rob's whispering into this guy's ear. We're as safe as Chernobyl here, no-one will dare look round, they'll just listen to every word we say so they can repeat it to their friends...
Me Uncle Rob OH SHIT, YOU GOTTA HELP US, ALL WE NEED IS SEVENTY THOUSAND MORE BUCKS TO PAY OFF THE HOUSE, THE CAR, MY EXPLORATORY ANAL SURGERY AND A TRIP TO VEGAS; I'VE GOT A PLAN TO WIN AT BLACKJACK, IT CAN'T MISS. ALL I DO IS SIT ON TOTALS OF 10, 11 & 12!! IT'S FOOLPROOF! AND IF YOU JUST GIVE US THE MONEY, I MIGHT HAVE ENOUGH TO AFFORD TO GET RUSTY FIXED, WE'VE GOT 74 PUPPIES AND WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF SACKS FAST!! WE NEED FOOD, YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME, WE HATE EATING THE GODDAM ANIMALS, THEY'RE ALL SOFT AND SQUISHY AT THAT AGE, AND NONE OF THE NATIONAL FASTFOOD CHAINS WILL BUY THEM COS THEY'VE GOT RABIES. I MEAN TO SAY, IF YOU COULD JUST FRONT US WITH SOME CASH, ANYTHING, JUST ENOUGH TO GET US BY FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS, WE'RE A GOOD RISK, I ... Gimme money or I shoot you.Uncle Rob has a way with words
- neither am I -
- On the road again -
We leave the bank. The Manager's still crying in the cubicle where we left him - he didn't even notice Uncle Rob, he sort of glazed over when I told him I had to sell my mother to the glue factory to be rendered into wallpaper paste (after I'd whacked out her her gold teeth and sold them) to pay for my sister's testicle operation. He just handed over the money, bags and bags of it. In the end we called out for some sedation and left.
- Bar -
We go to a bar to celebrate Rob's release and our financial independance. It's a nice place, Imitation Veneer on all wooden surfaces, carpeted seats bolted into a floor with a big cement drain right in the middle of it. Straight away Rob starts looking for a fight. He asks some guys if they've seen one, but they haven't.
We go to the Bar.
"Bloody Mary" I say.
"She's not here today" the barman says grinning - I'm not sure if it's because he's finally mastered the art of speech or just that he's sexually fulfilled himself into the icebucket.
I don't ask.
- The drinks -
"2 Screaming Orgasms" Uncle Rob butts in.
"Regular, or Stud size?" the Barman chips back. Hey, maybe that protruding forehead's just a disguise and the doctor didn't grab the afterbirth by mistake
"2 MULTIPLES Please" Rob says, calmly. "In a dirty condom"
Straight away the bar looks at us. This is a real challenge. The barman starts mixing up the drinks in an imitation Caribbean way, and, when he thinks we're not looking, spits in the shaker.
Like we were born yesterday.
- drinkie -
He pours us our drinks and we turn back to the bar; Rob grabs the barman's head and I pour the drinks down his throat. I hadn't noticed the powdered glass till then..
The crowd of course, loyal to the drinks server, rushes us. We leap over the bar. Straight away things change. No we're best friends.
We spot a couple of nice looking transvestites across the bar. All we've got to do now is figure out what they are and what they're pretending to be before we go over.
"It could be a natural moustace.." I whisper to Rob, but he shakes his head
"Nope, it's a plant and no mistaking it. Hair transplant."
Before we can make a move on them, another couple of the same sex enter - now these are both definitely women. Rob tells the elite clientelle that drinks are on the house. Someone says that's not how you spell clien.. and Rob hits him.
- one brawl later -
Me and uncle Rob are sitting with the new two. I got out of the fight best off, I've only got 2 broken fingers and a repressed odeipus complex that someone hit from behind with. Rob looks like he's down a couple of ribs and that turkey dish that I left at Fungus McFerguson's place, but he's still holding in there.
"It's ESPECIALLY good to meet you" Uncle Rob says.
The two women are obviously thinking he's got the intellect of Dairy Products but "especially" is our keyword, meaning "Follow my lead"
"November the 22nd, '63" he adds.
One of the women looks slightly disturbed, but says nothing. The other's just dreamily
"Dallas, Texas"
Woman #1 is mesmerised by Rob at this stage, #2 is gazing off into the distance probably wondering what vanilla tastes like.
I help Rob along with the pickup. "Dealy Plaza" I say
#1 turns to me with wonder and adoration on her face Now it's a fight to the death with trivia. Me .vs. Rob. Winner takes all!
- rawhide -
"Wasn't that Blues Brothers?" #1 asks
Rob and I look at her in disgust.
"Well, if you're not going to take this seriously!" he says, offended
"But, but, JFK was the greatest! I take it very seriously"
Rob stares her down. "So do I, he says. "I shot him."
- nice brown buns -
Well, of course #1's all over Rob by now, the "Kennedy Fixation Pickup" rarely fails. I'd heard it so many times I could almost recite it backwards; Yet no matter how many times I heard it, I almost believed Rob when he said he shot him. (Which was crap; back then Rob used to work for a Book Repository)
I'm the real winner out of the situation, I've got #2, a freshman at V-NECK-SWEATER UNIVERSITY, with an IQ in the high teens. She's telling me about what she did in her summer vacation, looking for identical grains of sand in the Majabe. Yep, I'm a real winner.
"But that's enough about me, Simon, what do you do for a living?" She goes
I can't believe I'm here. She's obviously a hippy - It's time to play hard-ball!!!
- connection refused -
"Well, I used to torture household pets with a soldering iron, but there wasn't much demand for that so I went back into my old trade" I say.
She's going to say "What trade?", I can just feel it
"What trade was that?" she asks, slightly uncomfortable, but covering up by being uncharacteristically verbose
"Well, I used to drop live fish into a blender to make fish chips. Of course, that was after my drift net fishing went bust - what a bunch of bastards those greenies are, making all that fuss. Why, I never caught any more than 10 or 12 dolphins a day, there's plenty of them in the sea! Shit, I'm just pleased they never found that all those drums I was offloading in Florida for the Portugese Nuclear Research Coucil."
- ? Unknown host "cd.purdue.edu" -
By this time she's snuffling into her hanky whispering "Poor Flipper" and #1 has moved over to console her.
So right away I'm the bad guy! I don't believe it!
Rob's giving me the signals, left eye wink, shrug of the shoulders, finger on the left ear. I can't remember whether this is "She's mine, leave now" or
"The Mexican piano player wants to tango all night long with you and your sheep in fishneck stockings". I look around. There's no piano. I have to think of an excuse fast.
The old faithful.
"Sorry, got to go!" I shout "I've got baby seals to bludgeon!"
#2 starts bawling out loud, while #1 starts sniffling in sympathy
"I was just joking!" I say "I wouldn't bludgeon baby seals. Not when I've got a perfectly good Magnum Magnum in my pocket!"
They're both at it now, But I can't stop myself now, I've lost control.
"Do you know what this is?" I say quietly to #2, pulling out my keys
"This is my lucky rabbit's foot. There's not another one like it! And I'm sure of that cos I've killed thousands of them. With a claw hammer. And a screwdriver... Don't cry!"
- connect: %MULTINET-F-ECONNREFUSED, Connection refused -
So round about now, everyone in the bar is hoping I'll leave, which I do, setting up Rob as the "Protector" of these two nymphetes. Works every time apparently; I don't know, I never stay round long enough to find out.
I step onto the sidewalk, and what do I see? I'm getting a ticket for parking in front of a hydrant. So I go over and start talking to the guy, asking what the story is, because if there was a fire here they wouldn't try to put it out, they'd apply for the
He ignores me and keeps on writing out the ticket. I think what the hell, it's not my car, and jump on the patrolman's bike. I've still got the money we made from the bank job, so I've got money to burn and a party to start!
- yes- yes- yes! -
- sound box -
So if I'm going to have a party, I'm going to need some sounds. My place is out of bounds, so that's the quad down the tubes.
Hmmm. Then it comes to me like lost luggage in a rain storm, I can use the warehouse on the peir! No-one ever goes there any more, it's the ideal place!
Especially for a party
With this all sorted out I head to DOWNTOWNSOUNS, as tacky a place as you can imagine. A salesman greases up and asks if he can help me while I'm still in the carpark, so I know they're going to go that extra mile to make a deal.
- shopping -
I walk into the store, flash one of the bags of money and say I'm looking for a "Nice Record Player". Straight away the Salesman's image of me goes from
"Could know his stuff" to "Sitting Duck" whilst mentally counting all the commission he's going to get off me. He starts yammering on about CD players with 47 different features including built-in foreskin massager, as I "accidentally" step backwards and knock over a glass platter turntable.
- oopsy -
"I'm terribly sorry" I say "I'm a bit clumsy today, LSD reverberation from the first Hendrix Revival concert - you know the onein the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital.."
NOW the salesman's thinking how he can take my money, give me an empty box and still get all the commission and my money and retire to the Bahamas. I decide to tease him some more.
"I really think I should just pay for this mess and leave" I say, accidentally putting my hand through a 15 inch woofer. "Oh Gee, look, I'd better just pay for my accidents and go.."
Now this guy's shitting twinkies, because he wants me to stay, but he doesn't want me to ruin anything else. He waves aside a fistfull of cash and tells me it's ok, that sort of thing happens all the time.
"Is that the new Farlando 300 watt per channel Amp and speaker set with sub woofer, sub-sub-woofer and your wife who's also a woofer?" I say stumbling towards a rack of expensive gear.
"No no sir" he laughs nervously "That's the shop's DISPLAY Mega-Gamma-Alpha- Omega-Kill-Me-Quickly-But-Dont-Step-on-my-Blue-Suede-Velvet Eight Dimension Air Cooled, Turbo-Charged, total serenity sound system." He tries to guide me away, but I've got to have a go. I surrepticiously plug in my earplugs, tie down my clothes and put on my Oakley Nuclo-Thermier Protective Specs.
"Can I have a play?" I say
The guys teetering on the threshold of telling me no, but he's still got the bag of money in his mind. The ugly thought of redundancy clutches at his groin and he ducks off saying "Hang on, I'll just ask the boss.."
By this time another salesman's beside me.
"Nice manoever with the glass plattered turntable." he says "Sorry that you couldn't spell pier at the beginning of the chapter tho"
- refried beans -
"That's great coming from someone who can't spell man.." I stop. How did he know what was at the beginning of the chapter?
"Plot's Brother" he says to me.
"Relative?" I ask, warily
"So much so it's almost Einsteinien" he says
Something big's obviously going to go down, I'm sure of it. Plot's brother nods. Something to do with the big stereo perhaps. Nods again. I'll take it from here. Nods again.
- power up -
I move over to the machine, the power's still off and I can feel it begging me to turn it on. I reach to the button, and pause. Plot's brother is gone. I look at the volume knob. Typical, it's at "Stun". Kirk tells me to set it to "Kill". I do.
I push the button marked ON.
- click -
There's a humm in the air and several insects that had flown into the back of the unit are fried like southern tourists on a beach.
There's no turntable!
Salesman #1 runs back a 5 greases per second
"The General Manager says it's ok to.."
He sees me, the Oakleys, the Volume setting. He dives for cover.
Smart Move.
I click on the CD player, apparently the only peripheral of the whole unit and search through the shop's CD collection for Judas Priest. Ah! Turbo Lover!
- "knew can't see me" -
The CD slides out like 100s from a billfold and I slip the CD into it's almost velveteen interior. Velveteen makes my thoughts turn to my repressed Oedipal Shopping Complex and how good my mother looks in a full body cast. Reluctantly my mind turns back to the job at hand.
[1] [PLAY] I type, then take a seat behind the speakers.
The volume is awesome, this has got to be the largest display of public hysteria since Teddy Kennedy applied to fly Concordes. Suspicious brown trais lead out of the store as the few terrified clients who still have a nervous systems drag themselves from the shop.
- the damage -
Furniture and Fittings are falling everywhere as I pick at my teeth with the #2 stainless steel toothpick as the State Anti-Terrorist Squad and SWAT team rolls up outside.
As I planned, they send in the remote robot to fix the situation. The sound's so loud by this time the robot's wheels start melting as it enters the door. It gets to the unit and commits ritual suicide by falling against the power cord. There's a flash. The sound stops.
Salesman #1 is gibbering about insects, hiding where he'd jumped. I stroll up to him.
"I'll take it" I say. He says nothing, just shakes his head. Bowel control obviously was not one of his strong points.
Before the cops can rush in, I grab the atomic battery of the robot, about the only thing that withstood the damage. nyuk nyuk nyuk! All other plans were void now, my destiny stood clear ahead of me!
I sprint out the front way.
Bad move.
I was sure the cops would only be round the back, but there's a couple of SWAT members out front.
"It was hell in there!" I shout, trying as hard as I can to pass water and make myself fit in. I think of Rev Jim Baker and the Golden River flows. I can't help myself, I burst out laughing.
They think I'm hysterical and put me in an ambulance. I plug into the nitrous oxide, what the hell, I may as well enjoy the ride.
Halfway to the Hospital I turn to my attendant.
"You know, it's times like this when I'm on the bones of my arse, haven't got two bent pennies to rub together, I just wish I had medical insurance."
So I'm out on the sidewalk with extensive bruising to my chest and groin. If only I hadn't left my Magnum Magnum in the car - Now that would've been a quick and fair fight.
The atomic battery is intact. Like an automaton, I head to the one place in the world I know would be safe. The bunker.
I'd always planned to launch my last offensive against the NRA here, offering free bullets to card carrying members, and delivering them via my Magnum Magnum. Perhaps I still would. Who knows.
I start hitching, I've got to get out of town fast, especially now the cops will have discovered who set off the problems at DOWNTOWNSOUNS and linked me to the penguins etc.
Someone stops. Zsar Zsar Gabor no less.
"Heeeeeeloo Daaaaaaaaaaaaarling" she says.
"It's OK, I'd prefer to walk" I say, trying to be pleasant.
"NNo, NNo, I Inseest" she says.
"That probably explains it then" I say, attempting to be witty.
Straight over her head.
"Come on Daaaarling, Get eeen"
What the hell, I think, it can't be as bad as every single appearance she's ever made in public. I think Shit, just because every single overemphasised characteristic of what she calls her life is about as tasteful as an BLT ( Bacon, Lettuce and Turd) Sandwich, doesn't mean to say that she's a nauseous old over-rated toe rag. Certainly not!
- good on me -
I get in.
We drive a bit.
It's like Green Acres in there. All black and white and.. Plot's brother is in the back seat....
- he's right you know -
"I hear this is probably the second to last episode he says"
I say "Hey, you got the speech marks in the wrong place" He looks back. Sure enough. He gives me a sheepish grin.
I get out. I wish they'd stopped the car first.
I'm at the bunker, a seriously black creation proof case that I bought off a guy with a halo. It's a biggie. I twirl in the 57,342 number combination. Three days later I'm in. I close the door on the world.
- almost the end -
- Begin -
Before the door could close, my life flashes before my eyes.
"Did I really do that?" I wonder as pictures of me and Katy someone-or-the other flash by. The memory of the pain in my groin reminds me that I was.
Me sitting my third year philisophy exam -
The question: "In 25 words or less, describe the Universe; give two examples"
My Answer: "Everything. The one we live in, and the one Philisophy Lectures live in."
Me sitting my Biology Finals:
The Question: "Create Life using no utensils" My Answer: I hoiked up a great wag of plegm onto the petri dish...
As the images trickled by like shit out of a politician's mouth I started wondering exactly why I was seeing this without a life threatening situation...
- Mephistopheles -
The Images stopped as the bunker door sealed shut. I was in the bunker.
It was obviously the work of plot, so I'd better make plans and fast. He couldn't reach me in here, which accounted for the ceasing of the images. I got to work. I backed up my personality onto 5 1.2 gigabyte tapes and all my memories onto 7 others. I put all the dirty ones on a seperate tape and reminded myself to sell them if times got hard. Katy-someone-or-the-other would pay!
I dug out Andro-SimonT and plugged in the atomic battery and he and I walked into another room and came back. No-one in the reading audience could tell me apart, not even plot. Or you for that matter. I sat at my desk and started making preparations for a new story. Not one about nuns, that was for sure.
- big ploopy ones -
Well, maybe a cameo role, but that was only for Sister Mary Nice-Nun, who never tortured me with a ruler at a young age. They broke the mould when they made her - over my head. And just for lifting up whats-her-names-dress when I was ONLY BLOODY 8 YEARS OLD! Anyway, back on with the story. She was ugly too, so I didn't think I deserved it! Anyway.
Maybe it wasn't me at the table; maybe it was me practising rude signs in front of the mirror. I always said that rude signs don't make themselves. As an excuse for making a rude sign, the last sentence was an A-, I know, that's what I got in my first year rude signs exam.
Ok, so my android and I are in the bunker. We mix up again, just in case I gave something away, like the way I was standing. But I usually sell that.
- the decision -
Well, I could sit here all day and wait, but I'm not that sort of person, sooner or later, plot was going to catch up with me. I reached up to the weapons rack and pulled down my 1.0 calibre Magnum Magnum. My android did the same. Or maybe I was the android and I was doing the same.
One of us went to the door and pulled the release catch, while the other 2 of us hid behind the desk.
Three shots rang out. Me, my android, and my android's clone (with a 12v motorcycle battery) fell to the floor.
Dead.
- Sounds like The End to me -