Dotti and Lotti were twinnies. They looked the same. They dressed the same. They sometimes spoke the same. But mostly they were very, very different.
Dotti enjoyed playing rummicub and Lotti liked playing boys. Dotti saw the souls of people and Lotti liked the look of them. Dotti consumed tubs of rum and raisin icecream and Lotti ate vanilla soft serve with great frequency, particularly the McDonalds variety.
Dotti was looser when drunk and Lotti was a bit of a loser.
Neither girl knew there was a difference in spelling the words ‘loser’ and ‘looser.’
Dotti and Lotti’s lives were about to change.
Mrs. Potty, the twins mother, was reading Women’s Day magazine one Friday afternoon when she spotted an advertisement for a competition in which one could win the position of girlfriend to a very wealthy elderly gentleman.
“Hmmm…” Thought Mrs. Potty. “I couldn’t possibly pick just one of my daughters to submit in this competition… and I couldn’t possibly enter them seperately lest I am subconsciously biased towards one. I must enter them both, as a pair. Two for one. What sane 80 year old man would not see the beauty of that?”
Well, Dotti and Lotti made it to the first round of in-person interviews without too much trouble. They were a little surprised to discover they had been entered in this competition but, nevertheless, they quickly became excited at the idea of beating other girls- plus Mrs. Potty told them there was a very good chance the old man would have rum and raisin icecream and vanilla soft serve at his mansion.
As they sat and waited by the pool for their 5 minute interview with the old geezer, Dotti and Lotti sipped on virgin mojitos, the mojitos were alcohol free because the girls were not yet 18.
Dotti poked at a slice of lime with her straw. “Lotti,” She said, turning to her sister. “You know how they say ‘money doesn’t grow on trees?’”
“Yeah, Dot?”
“Well, limes grow on trees don’t they?”
“Yeah, Dot.”
“So, why do limes cost so much money?”
“Oh…” Lotti thought for a while. “It’s probably because they’re green, which is what colour money is in some countries. They’re very valuable because they’re green. Besides, I think there are money trees, I saw one on an ad’- that’s just an expressionism.”
“Oooooh.” Dotti said, understanding.
“Hey Dotti,” Lotti had a thought now. “You know how this man is a millionaire because he has many millions of money?”
“Yeah, Lot.”
“Does that mean I’m a tenionaire? Coz I’ve got thirty dollars, and that’s quite a lot of tens.”
“Yeah, I think that is what it means…” Dotti was pretty sure. “I hope millionaires like rummicub.”
“Hmm. I hope he likes icecream. Did you see any icecream?”
Now, the girls weren’t really just waiting for their 5 minutes with the geezer. They were being filmed on hidden camera and watched by the old man and his team of advisors. The old man’s advisors thought the twins were remarkably marketable. The geezer, whose name was Bert, really enjoyed the look of Dotti and Lotti, and he quite liked the sound of them too. He thought they were naïve and cute, vibrant and amusing- they reminded him of his daughters, when they were younger. In truth, Bert had already made up his mind based on the picture their mother had submitted of the two girls giggling in the spa. He thought it a little odd for a mother to send, but arousing just the same. At his age he couldn’t take any source of natural arousal for granted.
“Philip,” Bert said now, not taking his eyes off the monitor screen. “When did you say these girls would turn 18?”
“I do believe they have a birthday approaching next Tuesday, sir.”
“I see.” Bert was tired from all the excitement. “Tell them to come back then- with their bags packed. Tell them they shall have anything their sweet hearts desire, and tell them I shall give them each a freezer full of icecream in their bedrooms. But also, tell them they have full access to the estate pool and gymnasium… And I do hope they enjoy the use of it equally as often, if not more often, than they enjoy their freezer full of icecream. In fact, make that a stipulation of their contract.”
And so, Dotti and Lotti moved in with Bert. And they lived well.
They both adopted small, strange looking animals to live in their giant bedrooms with them, and their mother came to visit on Sundays.
There were many sexy parties hosted at Bert’s mansion so the girls were kept very busy dressing up, dancing, eating icecream, thinking up new themes for sexy parties, swimming at the pool, and chit-chatting with celebrities. Sometimes, Dotti and Lotti became exhausted due to their full-on lifestyle so they went on holiday to places like Las Vegas and New York to relax a little.
They were never gone too long. Partly due to a contractual obligation which stated that they weren’t to leave the mansion for more than 42 consecutive hours, and partly because they missed Bert when they were away from him.
Both Dotti and Lotti had grown to love their old geezer like a perverted father in-law. Bert’s love for each of the girls was so strong and so passionate that they never felt the need to be jealous of each other. Plus, they were quite isolated, despite the many sexy parties, so they had not much choice but to enjoy each other’s company. Lotti learned to enjoy rummicub and Dotti sometimes went to Lotti’s room just to share in the enjoyment of her sister’s vanilla soft serve machine.
Though this story has been written in the past tense, it still continues today. Despite the rosy appeal of their current lives, Dotti and Lotti are like twin Juliet’s in that their love is fated to end in tragedy. There can be no other way.
Either they will turn thirty and be tossed out on their tuchus, like Fran Fine, or Bert, their elderly Romeo, will die of old age.
I'm not sure yet which will come first.
The Bicycle Helmet
fer audio readin
Bubbles was 19 years old and she was in love with a bicycle helmet.
It started when she fell off her bike in the fifth grade. She’d needed seven skull staples and the doctor said she should have been wearing a helmet. So, Bubbles’ mum took her shopping at the bicycle helmet shop and there it was- pink, gleaming, beautiful.
As soon as she laid eyes on him she knew it was the end for her and the blanket.
This… This was forever. Love, at first sight.
Breaking up with Billy Blanket was hard. With his soft, fake cashmere-style warmth and his gentle frills she knew he would always hold a special place in her heart, but she couldn’t live a lie and she had to tell him… There was no easy way to do it.
Bubbles had been in love with three different objects since she was eight. It was difficult because not many people really understood it. But it was love, real love.
Bubbles and Benny, the bicycle helmet, could talk for hours, without saying a word. Benny was a great listener, a kind, and compassionate protector. Bubbles and her bicycle helmet were very happy and completely in love.
The others called her an objectum sexual, which she didn’t really mind. But it was difficult when she answered online quizzes or filled out doctor’s forms in waiting rooms because there was never a box to tick for objectum sexuals or for “things” as a sexual preference.
Bubbles didn’t really have too many friends because she was quite shy and she had known troubled times which taught her to be wary of people. But there was one girl, a girl on the bus who Bubbles liked because she smelled like freshly mowed lawns. The girl was very friendly and she didn’t think it odd when Bubbles boarded with her bicycle helmet. She even stood up for Bubbles when Bubbles and Benny couldn’t find a seat, not literally, she didn’t literally stand up for them (you only stand up for old people on the bus,) just verbally- 'cause the other kids teased the couple as they wobbled around the moving vehicle.
The nice girl said “Oi! Lay off! You lot quieten down before I force my fist down your froat and make you quieten down!”
Bubbles felt pretty good when she was around. But not as good as she felt when Benny the bicycle helmet was close by. Bubbles really enjoyed the way Benny made her feel so safe, just by being there. It wasn’t something that could be described too easily. Love is just one of those unquantifiable things.
Lately, Benny and Bubbles had been considering moving into their own place together- even though they only had the income of Bubbles’ full time job at Macca’s. It was time. They needed their space and their freedom to live as an adult couple.
Fortunately, and quite by chance, the pair were able to find, not too far away, a fine home to rent for a very fair price. You see, the home was half of another objectum sexual partnership and nobody else wanted to live inside. Other house hunters remarked that they were uncomfortable with its girlfriend spending so much time at the front gate. Bubbles and Benny were entirely unfazed.
Life was good for the lovestruck pair, they lived simply but comfortably.
Given that she was now catching the bus an extra five stops to her new home every afternoon, Bubbles became quite good friends with the aggressive friendly girl from the bus and she was happy to have a companion. She invited the bus girl over to her house to hang out and at times it was quite awkward because neither knew the other’s name and the moment to ask had most certainly passed. But, they enjoyed themselves and each silently gave thanks to God for inventing the word, “Mate.” One balmy day, the girl from the bus came over for a barbie and, through the course of the evening she, Bubbles and Benny got to talking about marijuana. The legalisation of it and such. Bubbles didn’t really mind about marijuana policy either way but Benny and the girl from the bus were adamant that its legalisation would be a positive thing in diminishing the recreational use of the drug. “Take something away from the people and they want it with all their strengf.” The girl from the bus said. “Make it okay and nobody wants nufink to do with it. Ruddy need tah make broccoli illegal, ay!” She laughed. And then she politely moved to the other side of the room and began to roll paper filled with medical marijuana which she needed to lessen the pain of her chronic back injury.
Later in the night, after the bus girl had left, Bubbles emptied the bus girls ash tray into the bin, stacked their dirty plates in the dishwasher and retired to bed with Benny. Unfortunately, one of the paper butts from bus girls doobie was not entirely burned out and, in the bin, it began a fire. The fire spread through the house and as siren sounds grew close and the entire house became engulfed in flame, Bubbles and Benny emerged, as if in a dramatic movie, with Benny wrapped protectively around Bubbles’ head, keeping her safe. The pair suffered minor external injuries and mild symptoms of smoke inhallation but their pain was nothing compared to that of the house’s romantic partner.
She was absolutely gutted.
As was the house, a few days later.
It started when she fell off her bike in the fifth grade. She’d needed seven skull staples and the doctor said she should have been wearing a helmet. So, Bubbles’ mum took her shopping at the bicycle helmet shop and there it was- pink, gleaming, beautiful.
As soon as she laid eyes on him she knew it was the end for her and the blanket.
This… This was forever. Love, at first sight.
Breaking up with Billy Blanket was hard. With his soft, fake cashmere-style warmth and his gentle frills she knew he would always hold a special place in her heart, but she couldn’t live a lie and she had to tell him… There was no easy way to do it.
Bubbles had been in love with three different objects since she was eight. It was difficult because not many people really understood it. But it was love, real love.
Bubbles and Benny, the bicycle helmet, could talk for hours, without saying a word. Benny was a great listener, a kind, and compassionate protector. Bubbles and her bicycle helmet were very happy and completely in love.
The others called her an objectum sexual, which she didn’t really mind. But it was difficult when she answered online quizzes or filled out doctor’s forms in waiting rooms because there was never a box to tick for objectum sexuals or for “things” as a sexual preference.
Bubbles didn’t really have too many friends because she was quite shy and she had known troubled times which taught her to be wary of people. But there was one girl, a girl on the bus who Bubbles liked because she smelled like freshly mowed lawns. The girl was very friendly and she didn’t think it odd when Bubbles boarded with her bicycle helmet. She even stood up for Bubbles when Bubbles and Benny couldn’t find a seat, not literally, she didn’t literally stand up for them (you only stand up for old people on the bus,) just verbally- 'cause the other kids teased the couple as they wobbled around the moving vehicle.
The nice girl said “Oi! Lay off! You lot quieten down before I force my fist down your froat and make you quieten down!”
Bubbles felt pretty good when she was around. But not as good as she felt when Benny the bicycle helmet was close by. Bubbles really enjoyed the way Benny made her feel so safe, just by being there. It wasn’t something that could be described too easily. Love is just one of those unquantifiable things.
Lately, Benny and Bubbles had been considering moving into their own place together- even though they only had the income of Bubbles’ full time job at Macca’s. It was time. They needed their space and their freedom to live as an adult couple.
Fortunately, and quite by chance, the pair were able to find, not too far away, a fine home to rent for a very fair price. You see, the home was half of another objectum sexual partnership and nobody else wanted to live inside. Other house hunters remarked that they were uncomfortable with its girlfriend spending so much time at the front gate. Bubbles and Benny were entirely unfazed.
Life was good for the lovestruck pair, they lived simply but comfortably.
Given that she was now catching the bus an extra five stops to her new home every afternoon, Bubbles became quite good friends with the aggressive friendly girl from the bus and she was happy to have a companion. She invited the bus girl over to her house to hang out and at times it was quite awkward because neither knew the other’s name and the moment to ask had most certainly passed. But, they enjoyed themselves and each silently gave thanks to God for inventing the word, “Mate.” One balmy day, the girl from the bus came over for a barbie and, through the course of the evening she, Bubbles and Benny got to talking about marijuana. The legalisation of it and such. Bubbles didn’t really mind about marijuana policy either way but Benny and the girl from the bus were adamant that its legalisation would be a positive thing in diminishing the recreational use of the drug. “Take something away from the people and they want it with all their strengf.” The girl from the bus said. “Make it okay and nobody wants nufink to do with it. Ruddy need tah make broccoli illegal, ay!” She laughed. And then she politely moved to the other side of the room and began to roll paper filled with medical marijuana which she needed to lessen the pain of her chronic back injury.
Later in the night, after the bus girl had left, Bubbles emptied the bus girls ash tray into the bin, stacked their dirty plates in the dishwasher and retired to bed with Benny. Unfortunately, one of the paper butts from bus girls doobie was not entirely burned out and, in the bin, it began a fire. The fire spread through the house and as siren sounds grew close and the entire house became engulfed in flame, Bubbles and Benny emerged, as if in a dramatic movie, with Benny wrapped protectively around Bubbles’ head, keeping her safe. The pair suffered minor external injuries and mild symptoms of smoke inhallation but their pain was nothing compared to that of the house’s romantic partner.
She was absolutely gutted.
As was the house, a few days later.
Debby the Drunkard
Debby was drunk every weekend.
With her, it was all or nothing, all the time. When she exercised, which was infrequently, she ran for hours at a time. When she worked, which was as little as possible, she worked with the effort of two employees. And when Debby partied, it was purposeful. Debby enjoyed her beer and she enjoyed her Bundy- her friends said she was a good time.
Every Friday night Debby experienced “time travel.” Time travel happened deep inside a drunken stupor where even her memory deserted her. Sometimes Debby considered that her memory was being kind, selectively skipping out when things occurred that she may not wish to remember. Sometimes, on Saturday mornings, Debby woke up with stamps on her wrist that she didn’t remember being stamped with and Debby said “Thank you, memory, for allowing me to forget.” And then she would call her friends and say, “Sooo… what happened last night? I time travelled.” And they would tell her the main facts about the good times that she forgot. If there was something Debby didn’t enjoy the sounds of, she would simply shrug, sigh and read her tattoo. It was on the inside of her left wrist, and it read, in beautiful Comic Sans script: “If I don’t remember, it didn’t happen.”
On one particular Friday night something went awry in an unusual way. Debby went out a little bit later than expected because she had to wait for a Triple Berry Cheesecake to cool on her Café World Facebook application. Debby finally met up with her girlfriends at Buckeye, a honkytonk karaoke bar where they all knew the bartender. The bartender was a little old and not very attractive but he was incredibly good at mixing Bundy with Coke and his ladies-only happy hour lasted all night long. Tonight, because she was playing catch-ups, Debby ordered her favourite green beverage, the Mind Eraser.
When she “woke up” from her alcohol-induced blackout, or, arrived at the time travel destination as it were, Debby found herself standing, dressed in bra and trackpants, in the toilet inside of her apartment.
Now, Debby’s toilet was in a room connected to her bathroom. On the toilet door all week there had been stuck a hot pink sticky note which read “DO NOT CLOSE!” Because the door was broken.
It seemed that now the door was closed and Debby was on the inside of it. “Hmm.” She thought, trying the handle which turned… and turned and turned, not appearing to affect the doors function in the slightest.
“No matter,” Debby said to herself, still quite drunk and cheery. “I’ll just knock for Sally to come and save me.” Sally was Debby’s housemate and her bedroom was directly beside the bathroom.
“Tap tap tap.” Went Debby’s finger tips on the hollow wooden door. “Tap tap” again. No answer. Not a peep. So, “bang bang bang!” went her fist on the door. “Bang bang” again. No answer. Not a peep.
Becoming just a little frustrated now and searching inside for her inner-Macguyver, Debby looked to the window which was covered in flyscreen and which opened no wider than a ruler length. Well, feeling her inner Macguyver shy away just a little bit, Debby opened the window and peered down in the darkness to the rose bushes which grew from the ground two storeys below. She closed the window with a shudder.
“Well, I wonder what to do now…” Debby pottered around in the 45cm by 45cm space between wall, door, toilet, and toilet cupboard wondering, quite actively, what to do. During her wondering, and her wandering, Debby’s elbow hit the door handle of the cupboard. Curious, she turned that handle and found the hot water cylinder behind the cupboard door. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” She mused, good naturedly. “That’s why the hot water runs out so quickly- that little guy is teeny tiny!” And just above the small water cylinder, on a cheap wooden shelf, Debby found a spare shower curtain. “Perfect.” She decided. “That should do nicely.” And she wrapped it around herself and settled in to sleep on the toilet floor until she could be found. As she nodded off, Debby continued banging on the toilet door steadily, loudly: “Bang, bang bang!” But she did not cry out lest she wake everybody up. She found this logic to be questionable later.
Who knows how long later Debby woke to the sounds of the morning birds singing and the first hint of light in the sky. “That does it.” She huffed. “That. Does it. I am not going to be locked in the toilet while the sun comes up.” And she slid open that tiny little toilet window and she punched through the fly screen. She climbed on top of the porcelain throne and flung one leg out into the cool, morning air. Debby stood precariously on top of the air conditioning unit outside, trying not to look down. She noticed that her left foot was perched directly on top of a “no standing” sign on the air conditioning unit. She guessed that was not too good so she really dug her fingernails into the red brick wall and looked around for a good next place to step.
She couldn’t climb down, it was too far and she’d only find herself locked out of a greater area. Then she saw it, just an extended stride away was the windowsill of the bathroom. So she strode. And when she got there, clinging to the red brick and willing away any violent gusts of wind that might push her off, she found she could slide the window open… ten centimeters- There was a security stick wedged inside the window and she couldn’t possibly dislodge it. “God damn security!” She cursed. And so she straddled the partially-opened window, pushing one leg through until she was sitting uncomfortably between inside and outside, and she carefully, painfully, oozed herself the rest of the way in.
Panting, Debby tumbled over the sink and inside her bathroom. She smiled to herself and adjusted her bra strap, proud of her almost gymnast-like prowess.
And then the door next to the bathroom opened and Sally walked out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, Deb,” She yawned. “What are you doing up?”
Debby groaned and stumbled into her bedroom, every limb craving her very comfortable and cozy doona.
But before she could dive beneath its warmth Debby looked down and saw what must have driven her to the bathroom in the first place.
Debby’s bed was covered in yellow throw-up and speckled with orange and green bits.
Debby the Drunkard was not a happy traveller.
With her, it was all or nothing, all the time. When she exercised, which was infrequently, she ran for hours at a time. When she worked, which was as little as possible, she worked with the effort of two employees. And when Debby partied, it was purposeful. Debby enjoyed her beer and she enjoyed her Bundy- her friends said she was a good time.
Every Friday night Debby experienced “time travel.” Time travel happened deep inside a drunken stupor where even her memory deserted her. Sometimes Debby considered that her memory was being kind, selectively skipping out when things occurred that she may not wish to remember. Sometimes, on Saturday mornings, Debby woke up with stamps on her wrist that she didn’t remember being stamped with and Debby said “Thank you, memory, for allowing me to forget.” And then she would call her friends and say, “Sooo… what happened last night? I time travelled.” And they would tell her the main facts about the good times that she forgot. If there was something Debby didn’t enjoy the sounds of, she would simply shrug, sigh and read her tattoo. It was on the inside of her left wrist, and it read, in beautiful Comic Sans script: “If I don’t remember, it didn’t happen.”
On one particular Friday night something went awry in an unusual way. Debby went out a little bit later than expected because she had to wait for a Triple Berry Cheesecake to cool on her Café World Facebook application. Debby finally met up with her girlfriends at Buckeye, a honkytonk karaoke bar where they all knew the bartender. The bartender was a little old and not very attractive but he was incredibly good at mixing Bundy with Coke and his ladies-only happy hour lasted all night long. Tonight, because she was playing catch-ups, Debby ordered her favourite green beverage, the Mind Eraser.
When she “woke up” from her alcohol-induced blackout, or, arrived at the time travel destination as it were, Debby found herself standing, dressed in bra and trackpants, in the toilet inside of her apartment.
Now, Debby’s toilet was in a room connected to her bathroom. On the toilet door all week there had been stuck a hot pink sticky note which read “DO NOT CLOSE!” Because the door was broken.
It seemed that now the door was closed and Debby was on the inside of it. “Hmm.” She thought, trying the handle which turned… and turned and turned, not appearing to affect the doors function in the slightest.
“No matter,” Debby said to herself, still quite drunk and cheery. “I’ll just knock for Sally to come and save me.” Sally was Debby’s housemate and her bedroom was directly beside the bathroom.
“Tap tap tap.” Went Debby’s finger tips on the hollow wooden door. “Tap tap” again. No answer. Not a peep. So, “bang bang bang!” went her fist on the door. “Bang bang” again. No answer. Not a peep.
Becoming just a little frustrated now and searching inside for her inner-Macguyver, Debby looked to the window which was covered in flyscreen and which opened no wider than a ruler length. Well, feeling her inner Macguyver shy away just a little bit, Debby opened the window and peered down in the darkness to the rose bushes which grew from the ground two storeys below. She closed the window with a shudder.
“Well, I wonder what to do now…” Debby pottered around in the 45cm by 45cm space between wall, door, toilet, and toilet cupboard wondering, quite actively, what to do. During her wondering, and her wandering, Debby’s elbow hit the door handle of the cupboard. Curious, she turned that handle and found the hot water cylinder behind the cupboard door. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” She mused, good naturedly. “That’s why the hot water runs out so quickly- that little guy is teeny tiny!” And just above the small water cylinder, on a cheap wooden shelf, Debby found a spare shower curtain. “Perfect.” She decided. “That should do nicely.” And she wrapped it around herself and settled in to sleep on the toilet floor until she could be found. As she nodded off, Debby continued banging on the toilet door steadily, loudly: “Bang, bang bang!” But she did not cry out lest she wake everybody up. She found this logic to be questionable later.
Who knows how long later Debby woke to the sounds of the morning birds singing and the first hint of light in the sky. “That does it.” She huffed. “That. Does it. I am not going to be locked in the toilet while the sun comes up.” And she slid open that tiny little toilet window and she punched through the fly screen. She climbed on top of the porcelain throne and flung one leg out into the cool, morning air. Debby stood precariously on top of the air conditioning unit outside, trying not to look down. She noticed that her left foot was perched directly on top of a “no standing” sign on the air conditioning unit. She guessed that was not too good so she really dug her fingernails into the red brick wall and looked around for a good next place to step.
She couldn’t climb down, it was too far and she’d only find herself locked out of a greater area. Then she saw it, just an extended stride away was the windowsill of the bathroom. So she strode. And when she got there, clinging to the red brick and willing away any violent gusts of wind that might push her off, she found she could slide the window open… ten centimeters- There was a security stick wedged inside the window and she couldn’t possibly dislodge it. “God damn security!” She cursed. And so she straddled the partially-opened window, pushing one leg through until she was sitting uncomfortably between inside and outside, and she carefully, painfully, oozed herself the rest of the way in.
Panting, Debby tumbled over the sink and inside her bathroom. She smiled to herself and adjusted her bra strap, proud of her almost gymnast-like prowess.
And then the door next to the bathroom opened and Sally walked out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, Deb,” She yawned. “What are you doing up?”
Debby groaned and stumbled into her bedroom, every limb craving her very comfortable and cozy doona.
But before she could dive beneath its warmth Debby looked down and saw what must have driven her to the bathroom in the first place.
Debby’s bed was covered in yellow throw-up and speckled with orange and green bits.
Debby the Drunkard was not a happy traveller.
1STCAR
"Oi, oi, check out the personalised plates I got 'er."
And they all looked- '1STCAR'
"One shit car?" They said.
"Nah, mate. First car, it's her first car, oright? Cheezus. You blokes... Shit, you think she'll think it means one shit- Ah, you blokes. Shut your holes 'fore I rip you a fresh one."
And Dog probably could. He was a pretty big unit on account of the hours per week he'd spent tending to his physique for the past few years. Luckily, for his mates, Dog wasn't feeling too violent today- he was just excited. Really, really excited.
Last week was Solid Item Disposal day in the small municipality of RooChat and Dog had gone rummaging for second hand used goods. This was the one week of the year that the people of the neighbourhood were allowed to leave anything- no matter how big, old, dirty, and bulky- out for garbage collection and disposal. Which meant it was the one week of the year when it was worth raiding wheely bins and driving around in the chilly air in the back of a trailor. You never knew what people could be discarding.
This year on Solid Item Disposal day, Dog had gathered a fine collection of goods. He'd nabbed a large, rolled up piece of carpeting for his carport, some new old Nike Pumps (which definitely had at least 6 months more wear in the sole,) and a new king-sized bed head and base (his mattress was a queen but he had figured this ambitious frame left room for a future upgrade.)
Well, the future didn't have to wait long. Today, after he presented Shirley with her first car, Dog was going to pick up his new Sleep Number king sized mattress.
"Choice!" He had exclaimed when he saw the rolled up carpeting. "That's what I need for my carport- bit of cushion for my V8 and a bit of in-shur-la-tion for me when I'm working in my workshop. Yeah... Choice." And he rapped two times on the back of the slowly rolling ute which told Ham there was something worth stopping for here. Together, Ham and Dog had loaded the heavy roll of navy blue shagpile into the trailor and set off on their merry way.
Later, when Dog unrolled the thick blue stuff in his carport he was spitting chips.
"I'm spittin' chips!" He said on the phone to Ham. "Them bloody, cheating pricks! Leavin' out sumfink so feral! I oughta go kick their door in and give them a piece of my mind I oughta!" And Dog was so angry, so very angry that he threw down his phone and started swinging his huge fists into the grey cinder block walls of his carport. He threw tools around his workshop area and even kicked at his timber plank stocks. Luckily, Dog lived in a neighbourhood with a very conscientious Neighbourhood Watch scheme and so it wasn't long before someone called in a report of a domestic disturbance and it wasn't much longer than that before the coppers arrived.
"Hey, mate," A tall policeman said, climbing off his bicycle. "What seems to be the problem?"
"You tell me, mate!" Dog, blood bulging through the huge vein that pumped in his shiny forehead pointed, furiously, at his new carpeting. "You tell me what seems to be the effing problem here!"
And the copper whistled as he surveyed the shagpile. For it was a sight to whistle at.
The holey, mouldy, mushroom infested, stinking square of navy blue looked like a petri dish experiment of deliberately created filth. It was, quite actively, disgusting.
Then the copper's partner walked in. A girl. A youngish girl with brown, curly hair pulled back into her copper cap. "Jesus, Stew'" She breathed in wonderment. "Does this guy know what he's got here? Jesus..." And she looked up at Dog where he stood rubbing his raw knuckles angrily. "You're a lucky bloke, you are," She breathed.
"You being funny are ya?"
"No!" She wrinkled her nose up at him. "This," She pointed reverently at the carpeting. "This is an infestation of rare black truffles! Don't you know? I thought they needed a tree... They're worth- phwoar, they're worth, like $6000 a kilo! Saw 'em on Master Chef last week. Jesus mate, you've got yourself some sort of fungi mine right here. Looks like they're lovin' that shagpile, hey? That's a lot of kilo's I'd say..."
Later, when the copper's had officially issued their warning and left, Dog made some calls. In the morning the master chef's entourage flew in. Three of them, from the swankiest restaurants in Australia, armed with little red and blue eski's, on a mission for their master's. One came from Perth, one from Melbourne and one from Sydney harbour. They left Dog with wads of cash and just enough bacteria for a fresh batch of fungi in one years time, if he was very lucky.
Ham was waiting outside with Shirley when Dog pulled up in the new second hand VW mini featuring personalised plates. He tooted the horn gently to announce his arrival then hopped out and grabbed his god daughter from his best mate's arms. "See that Shirl?" He pointed so her little baby eyes might see. "That right there's gonna be your first car! I'll teach you to drive it when you're all growed up."
And they all looked- '1STCAR'
"One shit car?" They said.
"Nah, mate. First car, it's her first car, oright? Cheezus. You blokes... Shit, you think she'll think it means one shit- Ah, you blokes. Shut your holes 'fore I rip you a fresh one."
And Dog probably could. He was a pretty big unit on account of the hours per week he'd spent tending to his physique for the past few years. Luckily, for his mates, Dog wasn't feeling too violent today- he was just excited. Really, really excited.
Last week was Solid Item Disposal day in the small municipality of RooChat and Dog had gone rummaging for second hand used goods. This was the one week of the year that the people of the neighbourhood were allowed to leave anything- no matter how big, old, dirty, and bulky- out for garbage collection and disposal. Which meant it was the one week of the year when it was worth raiding wheely bins and driving around in the chilly air in the back of a trailor. You never knew what people could be discarding.
This year on Solid Item Disposal day, Dog had gathered a fine collection of goods. He'd nabbed a large, rolled up piece of carpeting for his carport, some new old Nike Pumps (which definitely had at least 6 months more wear in the sole,) and a new king-sized bed head and base (his mattress was a queen but he had figured this ambitious frame left room for a future upgrade.)
Well, the future didn't have to wait long. Today, after he presented Shirley with her first car, Dog was going to pick up his new Sleep Number king sized mattress.
"Choice!" He had exclaimed when he saw the rolled up carpeting. "That's what I need for my carport- bit of cushion for my V8 and a bit of in-shur-la-tion for me when I'm working in my workshop. Yeah... Choice." And he rapped two times on the back of the slowly rolling ute which told Ham there was something worth stopping for here. Together, Ham and Dog had loaded the heavy roll of navy blue shagpile into the trailor and set off on their merry way.
Later, when Dog unrolled the thick blue stuff in his carport he was spitting chips.
"I'm spittin' chips!" He said on the phone to Ham. "Them bloody, cheating pricks! Leavin' out sumfink so feral! I oughta go kick their door in and give them a piece of my mind I oughta!" And Dog was so angry, so very angry that he threw down his phone and started swinging his huge fists into the grey cinder block walls of his carport. He threw tools around his workshop area and even kicked at his timber plank stocks. Luckily, Dog lived in a neighbourhood with a very conscientious Neighbourhood Watch scheme and so it wasn't long before someone called in a report of a domestic disturbance and it wasn't much longer than that before the coppers arrived.
"Hey, mate," A tall policeman said, climbing off his bicycle. "What seems to be the problem?"
"You tell me, mate!" Dog, blood bulging through the huge vein that pumped in his shiny forehead pointed, furiously, at his new carpeting. "You tell me what seems to be the effing problem here!"
And the copper whistled as he surveyed the shagpile. For it was a sight to whistle at.
The holey, mouldy, mushroom infested, stinking square of navy blue looked like a petri dish experiment of deliberately created filth. It was, quite actively, disgusting.
Then the copper's partner walked in. A girl. A youngish girl with brown, curly hair pulled back into her copper cap. "Jesus, Stew'" She breathed in wonderment. "Does this guy know what he's got here? Jesus..." And she looked up at Dog where he stood rubbing his raw knuckles angrily. "You're a lucky bloke, you are," She breathed.
"You being funny are ya?"
"No!" She wrinkled her nose up at him. "This," She pointed reverently at the carpeting. "This is an infestation of rare black truffles! Don't you know? I thought they needed a tree... They're worth- phwoar, they're worth, like $6000 a kilo! Saw 'em on Master Chef last week. Jesus mate, you've got yourself some sort of fungi mine right here. Looks like they're lovin' that shagpile, hey? That's a lot of kilo's I'd say..."
Later, when the copper's had officially issued their warning and left, Dog made some calls. In the morning the master chef's entourage flew in. Three of them, from the swankiest restaurants in Australia, armed with little red and blue eski's, on a mission for their master's. One came from Perth, one from Melbourne and one from Sydney harbour. They left Dog with wads of cash and just enough bacteria for a fresh batch of fungi in one years time, if he was very lucky.
Ham was waiting outside with Shirley when Dog pulled up in the new second hand VW mini featuring personalised plates. He tooted the horn gently to announce his arrival then hopped out and grabbed his god daughter from his best mate's arms. "See that Shirl?" He pointed so her little baby eyes might see. "That right there's gonna be your first car! I'll teach you to drive it when you're all growed up."
DoDo Deca
And on Mike’s whistle Linda and Sammy blew. They blew hard and fast and before long Sammy’s face started to turn blue itself! So she stopped blowing and her bubble deflated onto her nose. Linda, not one to give up on any competition- even after winning- continued to blow into her purple wad of hubba bubba until it popped and sprung away from itself, becoming a sticky mask on her face.
“Mwinnerrrr!” Linda cheered herself on through the gummy mess.
“Oright, onto the next competition,” Mike was good at keeping things moving. “Chug a glass of bubbly while hanging upside down on the back of the couch. Preparation time begins Now!”
“Mikey, where’d you put my champers?” Sammy asked, peeling apple flavoured bubble gum off her chin.
“Ay- I can’t help, I’m the referee,” Mike was very professional. “Bee- It’s Passion Pop- that’s $4 bubbly wine, not champagne. Champagne is from Germany.”
“Mike, how’d you get to be so intelli-hanté my big hunk-a spunk?” Linda was constantly impressed by Mike. That’s why they’d been getting on regularly since Christmas.
At this point the girls were in the fourth round of a special eight event decatholon of overall-everyday prowess which they competed in every Saturday afternoon. This competition “Deca to the Death” always kept them guessing, they never had any idea whatsoever what Mike would have them doing next. Last week it was mud wrestling, the week before they had gone gnoming in the eighth round. It was always a very exciting competition which came down to the wire.
Strangely enough, in this story, “wire” is a pertinent word to be using at many intervals. If the story order was reversed, in fact, it might have been written: “which came down to the wire- no pun intended.”
In the 7th round the girls had to run around the block with their underwire bras on the outside of their shirts. Linda fell over in the final downhill sprint and Sammy got through in a prancing blaze of glory, setting herself up with 4 wins against 3 heading into the final round.
Now, this is where Mike liked to make things interesting:
“Bonus points round ladies! Listen up- this’ll test you. You must both enter the skate park across the road from the corner shop, where you will have purchased a large bag of Barbecue Samboy’s. Find a boy in the park with braces. Full, wire-to-wire metal gear. You must tell him you’re competing in a competition for a lot of money and you need him to eat a handful of chips and whistle the full Home and Away theme song. The winner, ladies, will be the individual who returns to me with the most flecks of chip on her face. Double points for older food particles. Look alive ladies. There is glory on the line.”
With stoic determination inspired by afore mentioned-and-chugged Passion Pop, the ladies thought of nothing but that blaze of glory as they took their position at the starting line, clutching coin for chips.
As they ran into the small takeaway shop they heard nothing but the blare of the trumpets of victory and as their small, girly faces were washed in the rains of chip-speckled spittle they felt the warmth of hero worship.
But as they stood before Mike to have their collections collated there was something new washing over their senses. It was sense. And shame. It spiralled down upon both girls simultaneously and they turned to face each other with identical reflections.
Then they took Mike’s ears, one girl to each ear. And they twisted. And it hurt. And they declared themselves equal winners and they walked away. And that was their most clever day.
Wheel of Fortune
Brenda always spelled out words in her text messages as she intended them to sound. “Written speech is so ambiguous.” She would often say. In real life, the physical, real time form, Brenda spoke a lot with her hands. She used big gestures and large body movements to describe how things made her feel. “Unconscious body language is so ambiguous.” She would often declare.
Tonight was a big night for Maggie and Brenda. It was show week and tonight was the fireworks display. They were going together as two single girls and were hoping the night would result in more than one big bang.
Brenda had bought a new skirt for the night but now she was realising it might be a little bit scandalous if they went on rides. “Oh well,” she mused. “It could be worse.”
Then she rode her bike up the road to pick up Maggie.
When they got to the show Brenda and Maggie ate a dagwood dog. They’d been craving one since the show last year so they didn’t even stop eating when a random boy told them he’d seen the owners behind their caravan scraping mould off old hot dogs. They figured after they’d been dipped in batter and fried most of the germs must surely have been killed. People couldn’t sell food that would make you sick.
After their dagwood dogs, Brenda and Maggie decided to go on a ride. They went on the Alpine Express and Maggie threw up. Because of the G-force it splashed onto a kid behind her and he wasn’t terribly pleased.
After they had visited the port-a-loo’s to tidy up the girls saw a couple of hot guys heading up carnival alley, so they decided to take a stroll up carnival alley. At the very end of the game-riddled, dirt-carpeted lane they reached a giant, spinning game called The Chocolate Wheel. It seemed to be littered with things to win.
“Step right up! Step right up and buy your pretty little self a ticket!” The wheel owner beckoned to Maggie with a long, bendy finger, “Pick a ticket, lucky number- wheel hits number, lady wins a prize! It’s that easy!”
The boys had stopped at the game and were watching Maggie so she said, sexily, “Alright mate, give me 5 tickets.”
Brenda, not wanting to be outdone said, “Double it up. I’ll take ten.”
The boys bought two tickets each and the wheel began to spin.
“Round and round and round she goes,” The wheel owner said. “Where she stops, nobody knows!”
As she watched the wheel spin around Maggie began to feel sick again. But she gulped deeply, closed her eyes, and waited patiently for it to stop. One of the boys apparently thought she had closed her eyes because she couldn’t bear to watch.
“It aint bad, pretty girl.” He stepped up close behind her. “It’s just a number on a spinning wheel.”
Well, that wheel finally slowed its spin and it landed on a number which matched the number on one of Brenda’s tickets. In fact, the 10th ticket of the ten that she had previously purchased was the winner- number 34.
Brenda won a new microwave and in it she cooked two minute noodles late that night for herself and the whispering boy's friend whose name was Timmy.
Brenda’s new microwave caused a house fire that night, unfortunately her dog Poppet was trapped in the flame, but Brenda and Timmy escaped unharmed.
On her way to the chemist the next morning Maggie bought a lottery ticket and she won five million dollars.
“Luck.” Brenda muttered, staring at the charcoal heap that had been her home. “That word is so ambiguous.”
Carly Sparkles
Carly Sparkles was also a hottie. She wore shimmering boob tube tops and light blue booty shorts that would make Daisy Duke squirm. Carly Sparkles could make a buck or two.
She worked the crowd so hard many said Carly Sparkles put the jip in gypsy. But there wasn’t a soul who left the showground with regret, despite having been semi-forcibly seperated from their cash.
Carly Sparkles liked to have a demonstration of her game every half hour on the hour. She would pull back the bolt handle on her rifle with an infamous “chk-chk” take careful aim with her high, tight booty in the air, and “bam, bam, bam, bam, bam”- five little ducks fell all in a row.
Hundreds of cashed up bogans with six favourite showbags clutched tightly in hand queued to win a giant teddy bear at Carly Sparkles’ stall. In fact, the queue for her Duck Hunt woud sometimes stretch so far it twirled twice around the line up for the Gee-Whizzer.
Nobody ever really won but, when the stuffed bears got exceptionally dusty Carly Sparkles would offer a booby prize, straight from the heart which beat beneath her booby. And a joyous bogan would depart, bear under arm and incredibly joyous.
Carly Sparkles was really a very good business woman.
One day, after the GeeWhizzer had stopped whizzing and the fairy floss machine had stopped spinning sugar, Carly Sparkles sat back in her fold-out chair with her feet up on a large stack of her money and sighed. It was a happy and most contented sigh because she was both of those things.
But then a dark shadow stole away her sunshine and, as she opened her eyes, Carly Sparkles looked into the eyes of Donald Fosho- the northern representative for the National Council on the Fairness of Carnivals and Show Stalls. Well, Carly Sparkles nearly fell backwards off her seat.
“Donald,” She purred, immediately recovering. “Honey, how are you?” Her powerful, husky voice was almost hot enough to melt dry ice.
“Same as the last time I saw you, Carly Sparkles. I’m doing professional and I’ll be doing it for the entire time that I’m here. I’ll skip straight to the centrefold, Sweet Cheeks- Line ‘em up, it’s Duck Hunt inspection time.”
Carly Sparkles despised Donald and all that he stood for. It was the people’s right to choose and they chose Duck Hunt. Who was he to deny them their fun? Who was he to deem her game “unfair” or “legally fraudulent?” Carly Sparkles wanted to tell him where to shove his precious clipboard and check sheet but instead she stood, stretching her long, shapely legs, and sauntered over to the duck range. She pressed the button to make her ducks stand up and they did, then she raised her rifle and pumped the bolt handle confidently. She’d fooled him before and she’d fool him again.
“I think I’ll shoot this time, Sugar. If it’s all the same to you.” Donald all but snatched the rifle from her hands. Carly Sparkles grinned sweetly at him while she considered grabbing her cash and bolting. But she wasn’t prepared, just yet, to surrender so she stepped back and watched him take aim. He would miss. He had to miss. Because he didn’t know where the hidden button was in the tiny faux-grass patch in front of the range. The hidden black button immediately set into motion a faultless plan of fraudulent action- Carly Sparkles only had to step on it once during her demonstration and a tiny hammer on the back of each duck made a nice little “ding” noise as if there had been buckshot-bird impact and the ducks laid back, fallen over, their defeat tempting hundreds of hopeful punters to the Hunt. But now her plan would surely be discovered. Ugh.
At that moment a piece of paper fluttered by Carly Sparkles face, it annoyed her. It was a stupid little piece of paper fluttering in her face as if to spite her, laughing “HA-HA” like that annoying kid off The Simpsons. As Donald took his first shots Carly Sparkles grabbed angrily at the piece of paper, twisted it brutally into a tight little stick and shoved it with some difficulty into her tiny shorts, promising under her breath that she would stuff it and smoke it later.
Donald tried ten times to shoot the ducks, mentioning every time that he had been his high school clay shooting champion all four years. He caught her out. He took a bribe to keep quiet. Carly Sparkles lost her business and her dignity and the bundles of cash she’d used as a footrest.
Destitute and despondent she walked away from the Launceston Showgrounds empty handed.
She walked as though she walked alone down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams until she met a hairy man who liked her husky voice and her womanly body and he offered her a joint. He lost his papers so Carly Sparkles pulled out the twisted piece of scrap paper she’d snatched earlier from the air. As she unravelled it she saw that there, printed on the tiny paper were a bunch of numbers. As she continued to unravel she heard a TV playing loudly from someone’s living room and a voice on the TV spoke the very same numbers as she read them.
“Happy Birthday to me...” She mumbled, smiling, as she walked away from the hairy man.
Carly Sparkles had won the lottery.
Horrorscope
Michelle nodded sadly, having read the bad tidings over her young cousins shoulder.
Libra:
Today you will have a terrible day. Everything that can go wrong will, so hide out under a rock until tomorrow.
Money: A small windfall. Love: Venus is as far from your system as is solarly possible- stay away from any kind of romantic commitment.
“Michelle, you know I just scratched that scratchie wot Nana gave me! I won two dollars! It’s true, it’s all true!” Becky screamed the deafening screaming of a little girl who had lost her favourite Malibu Stacey, and threw the newspaper across the room. It collided heavily with the wooden stand from which proudly hung her veil-tiara hybrid and knocked them both over. They landed with a thud that could very well have been the very last beat of Becky’s heart as far as she was concerned.
“Becks, it’s just The Herald. You know they make that shit up some days, when they don’t have time to do the proper research. The sun is shining and the deco’s just look fab! The groomsmen are all here ready and even Billy made it out for your big day- you know Bunghouse Penitentiary don’t give out day passes too easy! It’s gonna be a perfect day. Just you watch.”
And it was a perfect day. The music played, the sun shone, the barbecue sizzled with the delicious scent of burnt onions and fancy sausages, tens of tens of cheerful guests assumed their seats on rows of decorated lawn chairs. It was a perfect day. But Becky never saw it because she sat in her room and refused to come out. She wouldn’t see her fiancé and wouldn’t come down when coaxed by the “dum de dum” music. Becky didn’t want to risk ruining her third shot at true love on a day marred by the stars. And so she ruined her third shot at true love on a day accurately marred by the stars.
Unfortunately, it was Becky’s fiancé, Kevin, who went to break the bad news to their guests.
“Uhm, thanks for coming out fellas,” He scratched his freshly shaven head awkwardly. “But, there won’t be a show today. Beck’s had some pretty strong warnings that today’s not gonna be a good day to do this so we’re gonna take a raincheck ay. Anyone who’s already grabbed a sausage, no worries, just let us know who ya are and you can sort us out for that later. Hopefully we can see you all back here real soon.”
Billy stood up in his chair near the back row and shook a finger threateningly at his cousin-to-be-in-law. “You’re pulling my plonker?!” Billy had spent a fair bit of time with Poms in the penitentiary. “Tell me now that you’re joking, Kev’, before I react violently!”
“Billy, I wish I was joking, mate. We just can’t afford to risk it today, hey?”
“Can’t. Afford. To. Risk. It?! Can’t Afford To Risk it!?” Billy was raising his voice a lot now. He was really angry. “Do you realise I have just broken out of Bunghouse for this day? They don’t give effing Day Passes for weddings you little turd! I am almost certainly about to be given five years extended sentence to arrive here at your posh little ceremony with your neat little rows of chairs to be told that you Can’t Afford To Risk It?!” As he spoke Billy walked closer to where Kevin stood, throwing chairs out of his way. Some of the chairs were flung with people still sitting on them. Before long there were elderly guests flying all around the backyard and Billy had reached the groom.
Kevin, normally rather speedy and well-equipped to handle the rush of an oncoming angry criminal was a little slow today aka seedy (he had his bucks the night before).
Before he could put his arms up in a defensive position he was rocked by the force of a fist that had, legally, been declared a deadly weapon. Just one punch, and Kev went down. And he stayed down. He stayed down, laying down, while he was pronounced dead.
Becky sold all their wedding presents and donated half of the proceeds to the “One Punch Can Kill” Campaign. Because it could. She searched a long time for a “One Horoscope Can Wreck Homes” Campaign but it had not yet been formed, so she took the other half of the money and started a community pumpkin patch.
Rock Superstar
fer audio readin
Rock Hard was Nathan’s new single. He wrote it to celebrate becoming newly single. It was a tribute also, to his rock hard ab’s. He didn’t always have rock hard ab’s. Nathan used to have something on his tummy more likely mistaken for a wavepool than a stone. But if he was going to be a rockstar, he reckoned his body was his job and everything about him needed to emulate rock. So Nathan had stopped eating about a year ago.
Nathan’s mother was perplexed. “Never had a boy I couldn’t feed,” She said, clucking her tongue and looking around at her large brood of up-sized young men.
“Yeah mum,” Nathan pushed his fish fingers around on his plate. “But you never had a rockstar neither.”
“I don’t know how to talk to this boy,” Nathan’s mum turned to her husband for support. He shrugged.
“I don’t know how to talk to you mum. Not in a way that you can hear me. I communicate through my music. Just listen, and maybe consider rocking out every now and then so we can be on the same level. And mum, I’ve asked before and I’ll ask again- could you please get some fresh lemons so I can have my lemon water in the morning. It’s an urgent kind of necessary pertaining to my metabolism.”
Later, Nath’ went back to rehearsing in his bedroom studio.
“KCOR! It’s rock spelled backwards yeah!
KCOR It’s gonna rock you to it!
KCOR It’s harder than dodgeball
KCOR More real than Demi Moore! Or maybe not, or maybe yeaah!”
He professionally finished the length of his final note but he had been distracted, mid-verse by the girl in the window of the room opposite in the house next to his.
“What, girl?” He pushed his window up to talk to her.
“What up, boi?” She was clearly hip-hop. His most despised musical genre.
“You’re in my head space, girl. I’m gonna need you out of it so I can continue to Rock!”
“You’re messin’ wit my flow, boy, how’m I gunna drop phat beats with that noise in my street? Uh, uh, check it, one, two.”
“What was that? What was that? A mike check?”
“That just somethin’ I be doin’ son. Word.”
“You’re white.”
“And you’re a pansy rock wannabe, what? Oooh No she di’n’t!”
“Alright, burn noted. Now, close your window- I’m ready to rock! You’ve helped to reignite the flame of my rock passion and for that, and only that, I thank you. Good night.”
“Pffft. Peace, dawg. And if you drivin’, drive slow homey.”
Later that night, through some freaky freak of nature (that might have been caused by an overheated rock speaker in an upstairs bedroom) Nathan’s home was burned down.
Miraculously, the next door house was untouched by the flames and, because they were a nosy and religious lot, his neighbours took Nathan’s family in and offered them warmth and shelter until they found somewhere else to go. How kind.
Nathan could not have been more pissed that he had landed under the same roof as the hip hop diva chick but, since the fire may or may not have been entirely his fault, he felt he wasn’t in a great position to complain loudly.
Even though it was a little bit awkward, since he was a boy and she was a girl, Nathan and the hip-hop chick, who was called Roxy (by some crazy coincidence) were sharing a bedroom. Roxy’s parents had generously offered up the space to Nath’ since he was the only next door neighbour small enough to comfortably share a room- the others were on futons and fold-out couches throughout the house’s multiple living areas.
The hardest time of day during those weeks of shared-living space was jam time. Roxy warmed up with a little beat-boxing “bmph, chic, bmph, bmph, bmph, chic” and Nathan tuned his guitar “wa- weeee-wa-wa”. And then they battled. They fought for sound bites and air time, each frustrated and feeling stifled within their most cherished outlet and method of communication.
Roxy rapped:
Step back from me cousin
Coz I’m ready to snap
Got me wannin’ got me comin’
I’mma rip you a new
Acid rain falls heavy from my eyes
Dark clouds hanging heavy in the darkest disguise
Step back from me cousin
Coz I’m ready to snap!
And Nathan rocked:
Rock OFF would ya sister
You don’t know my pain
Rock OFF from me sister
I’m ahead of the game
And you won’t know and you won’t see when I’m coming at you
Like a steam train engine you will see where I came
You won’t know and you won’t see when I’m coming at you
But my steel steam engine’s gonna cause you Pa-a-ain
Finding their lyrical banter amusing, one of Nathan’s oversized younger brothers captured a few of these battles on video and posted them on YouTube. Before you could say “overnight stardom” Nathan and Roxy were at 1 million downloads and growing. They were a sensation, a hit, an instantaneous-accidental-international treasure. They were pioneers of the new genre “Rock-Hop.”
Nath’ and Roxy toured for the next 20 years with a DJ and a four piece rock band. Never short of new material their concerts sold out and their back pockets bulged with bank notes.
Their most loved ballad “Still Hatin’ on You” stayed at the number one spot on the U.S. charts for 20 weeks straight and Rolling Stone magazine had them on the cover five times.
Vroom-Vroom
fer audio readin
One day there was a hawk with a new Commodore V8. Some birds asked why he had a V8, or any kind of vehicle, when he had two perfectly good wings but he answered with a question, which proved he was pretty switched on: “Why do human men drive when they have two perfectly good legs?”
“Ah, touché.” The birds cooed humbly.
Anyway, one day, Hawk guy was hooning around in his new V8 with a very grumbly tumbly. He hadn’t eaten for months on account of his loud, but very impressive engine.
“Sounds like a V8!” The mice would call. And they would scamper.
But Hawk guy had never had more lady hawks in the nest on account of his very impressive engine so his appetite had gone ignored for longer than it should. Now, all the chicks were having, well, chicks, so Hawk guy had gone hunting with a ravishing appetite.
He drove fast and he drove long, around and around the movie cinema in town. He gassed up twice (coz the V8 could sure burn some fumes) but still he didn’t come across any unsuspecting rodents or lizards. Hawk guy was almost about to settle for some hoon-made road kill on the outskirts of his blockie when he suddenly got the idea to make his own food!
“Of course!” Hawk guy said. “It could be hot, nutritious, and still bleeding if I’m really careful!” And so off he drove- to the outskirts of town. He waited until darkness fell, then he picked it up and placed it back in the sky.
So, the sky was covered in darkness and off Hawk guy drove again- this time quickly and with very deliberate intent. Before long there was a long, sickening screech of terror and a gut-wrenching BAM!
Hawk guy chuckled merrily and stepped out of his V8 to see what he had cooked for tea.
“Aw shit.” There, before his strong beak and beady eyes Hawk guy found a disaster. He’d dented the front of his most prized possession. It was very difficult for a large, hunting bird to get repairs done on his automobile and this would be no easy fix. Also, he’d hit a human. A stupid, jogging human. Human flesh had always made Hawk guy gag so this guy would be no good for eating, just another mess to clean up.
Hawk guy sighed, pathetically, and began to roll the man to the side of the road.
All of a sudden, a copper on a bicycle came upon the Hawk guy and the wreckage of man and car. He got on his portable two-way immediately and within seconds backup had arrived.
Hawk guy was handcuffed, locked away and, because of new hoon laws and old manslaughter laws, despite the best efforts of the Animal Rights Protection Agency, his key was thrown away.
Hawk guy died in captivity eight years later.
“Ah, touché.” The birds cooed humbly.
Anyway, one day, Hawk guy was hooning around in his new V8 with a very grumbly tumbly. He hadn’t eaten for months on account of his loud, but very impressive engine.
“Sounds like a V8!” The mice would call. And they would scamper.
But Hawk guy had never had more lady hawks in the nest on account of his very impressive engine so his appetite had gone ignored for longer than it should. Now, all the chicks were having, well, chicks, so Hawk guy had gone hunting with a ravishing appetite.
He drove fast and he drove long, around and around the movie cinema in town. He gassed up twice (coz the V8 could sure burn some fumes) but still he didn’t come across any unsuspecting rodents or lizards. Hawk guy was almost about to settle for some hoon-made road kill on the outskirts of his blockie when he suddenly got the idea to make his own food!
“Of course!” Hawk guy said. “It could be hot, nutritious, and still bleeding if I’m really careful!” And so off he drove- to the outskirts of town. He waited until darkness fell, then he picked it up and placed it back in the sky.
So, the sky was covered in darkness and off Hawk guy drove again- this time quickly and with very deliberate intent. Before long there was a long, sickening screech of terror and a gut-wrenching BAM!
Hawk guy chuckled merrily and stepped out of his V8 to see what he had cooked for tea.
“Aw shit.” There, before his strong beak and beady eyes Hawk guy found a disaster. He’d dented the front of his most prized possession. It was very difficult for a large, hunting bird to get repairs done on his automobile and this would be no easy fix. Also, he’d hit a human. A stupid, jogging human. Human flesh had always made Hawk guy gag so this guy would be no good for eating, just another mess to clean up.
Hawk guy sighed, pathetically, and began to roll the man to the side of the road.
All of a sudden, a copper on a bicycle came upon the Hawk guy and the wreckage of man and car. He got on his portable two-way immediately and within seconds backup had arrived.
Hawk guy was handcuffed, locked away and, because of new hoon laws and old manslaughter laws, despite the best efforts of the Animal Rights Protection Agency, his key was thrown away.
Hawk guy died in captivity eight years later.
The Wing-ed Whippersnapper
“Dad, one day I’m gunna fly.” Young Ronald said, watching the jet plane leave it’s white, dusty line in the sky.
“Sure, boy,” His dad rolled his already rolling eyes. “You’ll fly from the top of my hand to the smack of your bum. That’s how far you’re gunna fly.” Young Ronald’s dad never really made much sense, on account of all the grass he smoked.
“Nah, Dad, for real. I’m gunna fly.”
“Get your face outta my space, boy. I’m tired of your big head.”
Young Ronald grinned and moved away. He liked to think his Dad was just a big joker, just a big goofy joker who loved him very much.
When Young Ronald became Awkward Adolescent Ronald his dream of one day flying became a rock-hard, no-other-option, I’m really-gonna-do-it type plan. He was an incredibly faithful believer in the belief of things and, since he moved out of home last year, Ronald really felt he had the freedom to embrace his planned dreams.
Ronald made plans for wings and he made plans for capes, he wrote mathematical equations and he tested parachute fabrics- by the time he was 17, Ronald was almost certainly positive that it was time. And this made him happy.
So, happily, on a lightly breezy Sunday, Ronald walked to the tippy top of a cliff called Krazy Peak. He was wearing the wings he’d created from egg cartons, nutri grain boxes, and the foam egg crate pad you’re supposed to put on your bed to make it more comfortable for sleeping on. They didn’t look like they would fly but Ronald happily believed in his wings.
Ronald believed all the way to the bottom of the valley where he died instantly of head trauma and massive internal injury.
Therese, Shannon, and the Thievery
Shannon and Therese were in love. There was no two ways about it. Ever since Shannon touched Therese’s tits behind the toilet in grade four there was no going back. Smit. Ten.
Now, Shannon was a good lad. A strong lad, with a strong jaw- but he’d been born with an infallible hunger and drive to achieve. He had a sense of ambition so strongly ingrained that there was no possibility it could lead to any good- he was a bit like Macbeth in that sense.
Shannon had particular skill in the department of thievery and it was his ambition to become the best, most prestigious thief in all of greater Hobart.
Therese used to meet her mates at the movies for a frozen coke on Fridays and she would waste no time in declaring: “Shaz is as good a thief as has ever been told about,” Her chest swelled with pride. “He stole my heart from under my nose and lord knows I didn’t even miss my V plates ‘til months after he scabbed those!”
Well, Shannon may have been the best thief ever told about largely because better thieves hadn’t been caught and were, therefore, not spoken about specifically.
Therese loved Shannon and respected his business as a good unwed wifey should- She didn’t ask questions and didn’t protest when he took to selling her body to pay bond and bail. He only sold her at top dollar and only to the most dignified of his comrades you must understand, for his love was unending and with that, unquestionable.
Therese waited, whistfully, for the day that Shannon had earned enough money for the ring she’d picked out so many, many moons ago. Then they would be married. Then she would finally become Therese Theroof.
Now, in the Spring of 2007, while watching a Coogans furniture store ad’, Shannon had a plan just pop into his brain. It was a mighty plan, bigger than any plan that had ever been laid before it. This plan was for one last hit, one job that might put him in the top ten big-timers list for good and forever. Therese clapped her hands in an uncharacteristically coordinated jig and praised her strong-jawed boyfriend for his clever thinking.
So, with a rope and a bucket filled halfway with water Shannon set off on foot, in the dead of the night, to do the job that had to be done. But halfway to his destination Shannon realised it was Sunday which would be no good. So he came home and watched the Sunday late night movie with Therese, which was also not much good because he was quite fidgety with excitement about what was to come tomorrow night and he basically ruined the movie for Therese. But she loved him and so, she did not care.
The next night, a Monday night, Shannon headed off again on foot with his bucket of water and his rope. When he got to the front door of Coogans furniture store, which was open 24 hours, he quickly splashed the bucket of water on the front of his pants, which were unfortunately black so didn’t quite give the effect he was after but looked damp and dripped just the same.
He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Once inside Shannon walked quickly up to the first employee he saw which was, unfortunately, not an employee but his uncle Kev’ shopping for a couch. So Shannon made idle chitchat for a few minutes while trying to hide his wet pants. Then, excusing himself, Shannon locked his strong jaw and went about his business. He waddled, hunched over up to the store manager and said: “Mate, you wouldn’t read about it. I’ve gone and wet me’self. Could I use your throne room to clean up?”
“Well, ahem, this is awkward,” The manager looked Shannon up and down with some difficulty as the fat rolls on his neck appeared to inhibit his movement somewhat. “You know we don’t normally allow patrons to use our facilities as our bathrooms are out back with all of our important documentation and safe codes and whatnot. But this is quite obviously a real emergency so I’ll allow it just this once.”
Now Shannon, having known the difficulty of getting into this facility in the past did a very secretive fist pump at his high-flying clearance of this first hurdle. To make matters better the manager didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the bucket and rope in Shannon’s right hand as he showed him to the staff bathrooms.
“Hurry along if you don’t mind,” The manager spoke gruffly. “I’ve been drinking green tea all night and it’ll only be a matter of minutes before I’ll need to pee again myself. Nobody wants to do stocktake with a green tea stench and wet pants.” He continued to grumble as he walked away.
Shannon quickly relieved himself in the bathroom- because by this time he really did need to go- then silently stepped back into the staff-only hallway and found his way to the door marked ‘Accounts and Other Good Targets for Thieves.’ (Seriously, that’s what it said on the door.) Within two minutes and 45 seconds Shannon was back out, and heading towards the Coogans exit, whistling cheerfully and swinging his bucket.
When Shannon got home that evening Therese greeted him gleefully. “Did you do it Shaz? Are we rich and home with hoses?”
“Oh yes, my love, we are well on our way. I went shopping for a future at Coogans and I think I got a good one!” Shannon pulled from his bucket several sheets of A4 paper with names and addresses on them.
“Shaz, I don’t get it hun,” Therese was very confused. “What are we going to do with this paper? Are we gonna print our own money?!” Therese began to get very excited again.
“Nah luv, these are the places where furniture is being dropped off at some point in the next 30 days. All we gotta do is case these front lawns and wait for the Coogans trucks to drop them into our waiting arms. Comprende?” Shannon felt his efforts for the night allowed him to talk a little bit gangster to his wife-to-be. “We sign for it, take it away and voila- sell it for half the price that Coogans would! Won’t be too tricky to offload. Already got a mate looking for a love seat.”
“Oh, that’s genius Shaz!” Therese said. “But, why did you need the rope and the bucket?”
“Oh, Therese, do I have to explain everything to your thick skull? The bucket was to carry the water to wet my pants and the rope was my alibi if I got caught in accounts. I was gonna say I had come to die. And I was going to wrap it around my neck. Duh.”
Therese was about to clap again with great coordination but she was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door.
“Who is it?” Shannon yelled.
“It’s the police, open up!”
Without another word, Shannon stuffed the stolen documents into his mouth and ate each of them, washing the last of the evidence away with a swig of VB. Then he ran to open the door while Therese put the kettle on in case the gentlemen might wish to stay a while.
“Mr. Theroof, is your girlfriend in? Therese Therent?”
“Well, yeah. Why?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Theroof.”
Suddenly the two big, burly policemen had pushed their way inside the kitchen and before you could say, love-at-first-squeeze they had young Therese’s arms behind her back, were reading her rights and clapping on cuffs.
“You nearly got away with it, Ms. Therent,” The fattest officer chortled. “You almost had us fooled. But we’ve been watching you on camera for weeks now, watching you down there at the movies with your buddies. Well, finally we caught you out.”
“What are you talking about?!” Spluttered Shannon. “She’s no sort of criminal!”
“Mr. Theroof, we’ve been observing your little lady for a long time. She’s been caught on camera smuggling hundreds of dollars in TimeZone tickets out the door in that little frozen coke cup she’s always sucking at. Use the same cup every week don’t you? Keep it nice and sterile do you? What were you planning to purchase with all those tickets you little minx? Were you going for the grand prize were you?”
Therese was sobbing, her little body writhing in despair. “I’m sorry Shannon!” She shrieked. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to- but the grand prize! I only needed 20 more TimeZone tickets! There’s no way I could bop enough crabs!” She heaved a sobbing cry. “I couldn’t wait!”
When the coppers had left with Therese, Shannon went for a walk to clear his head. He wound up at the movies so he wandered into TimeZone and what was it he saw up there on the ‘Top Prize’ podium?
The sparkling, plastic ring that Therese had fallen in love with so many moons ago.
“It must have been love,” Shannon thought. “But it’s over now.”
Now, Shannon was a good lad. A strong lad, with a strong jaw- but he’d been born with an infallible hunger and drive to achieve. He had a sense of ambition so strongly ingrained that there was no possibility it could lead to any good- he was a bit like Macbeth in that sense.
Shannon had particular skill in the department of thievery and it was his ambition to become the best, most prestigious thief in all of greater Hobart.
Therese used to meet her mates at the movies for a frozen coke on Fridays and she would waste no time in declaring: “Shaz is as good a thief as has ever been told about,” Her chest swelled with pride. “He stole my heart from under my nose and lord knows I didn’t even miss my V plates ‘til months after he scabbed those!”
Well, Shannon may have been the best thief ever told about largely because better thieves hadn’t been caught and were, therefore, not spoken about specifically.
Therese loved Shannon and respected his business as a good unwed wifey should- She didn’t ask questions and didn’t protest when he took to selling her body to pay bond and bail. He only sold her at top dollar and only to the most dignified of his comrades you must understand, for his love was unending and with that, unquestionable.
Therese waited, whistfully, for the day that Shannon had earned enough money for the ring she’d picked out so many, many moons ago. Then they would be married. Then she would finally become Therese Theroof.
Now, in the Spring of 2007, while watching a Coogans furniture store ad’, Shannon had a plan just pop into his brain. It was a mighty plan, bigger than any plan that had ever been laid before it. This plan was for one last hit, one job that might put him in the top ten big-timers list for good and forever. Therese clapped her hands in an uncharacteristically coordinated jig and praised her strong-jawed boyfriend for his clever thinking.
So, with a rope and a bucket filled halfway with water Shannon set off on foot, in the dead of the night, to do the job that had to be done. But halfway to his destination Shannon realised it was Sunday which would be no good. So he came home and watched the Sunday late night movie with Therese, which was also not much good because he was quite fidgety with excitement about what was to come tomorrow night and he basically ruined the movie for Therese. But she loved him and so, she did not care.
The next night, a Monday night, Shannon headed off again on foot with his bucket of water and his rope. When he got to the front door of Coogans furniture store, which was open 24 hours, he quickly splashed the bucket of water on the front of his pants, which were unfortunately black so didn’t quite give the effect he was after but looked damp and dripped just the same.
He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Once inside Shannon walked quickly up to the first employee he saw which was, unfortunately, not an employee but his uncle Kev’ shopping for a couch. So Shannon made idle chitchat for a few minutes while trying to hide his wet pants. Then, excusing himself, Shannon locked his strong jaw and went about his business. He waddled, hunched over up to the store manager and said: “Mate, you wouldn’t read about it. I’ve gone and wet me’self. Could I use your throne room to clean up?”
“Well, ahem, this is awkward,” The manager looked Shannon up and down with some difficulty as the fat rolls on his neck appeared to inhibit his movement somewhat. “You know we don’t normally allow patrons to use our facilities as our bathrooms are out back with all of our important documentation and safe codes and whatnot. But this is quite obviously a real emergency so I’ll allow it just this once.”
Now Shannon, having known the difficulty of getting into this facility in the past did a very secretive fist pump at his high-flying clearance of this first hurdle. To make matters better the manager didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the bucket and rope in Shannon’s right hand as he showed him to the staff bathrooms.
“Hurry along if you don’t mind,” The manager spoke gruffly. “I’ve been drinking green tea all night and it’ll only be a matter of minutes before I’ll need to pee again myself. Nobody wants to do stocktake with a green tea stench and wet pants.” He continued to grumble as he walked away.
Shannon quickly relieved himself in the bathroom- because by this time he really did need to go- then silently stepped back into the staff-only hallway and found his way to the door marked ‘Accounts and Other Good Targets for Thieves.’ (Seriously, that’s what it said on the door.) Within two minutes and 45 seconds Shannon was back out, and heading towards the Coogans exit, whistling cheerfully and swinging his bucket.
When Shannon got home that evening Therese greeted him gleefully. “Did you do it Shaz? Are we rich and home with hoses?”
“Oh yes, my love, we are well on our way. I went shopping for a future at Coogans and I think I got a good one!” Shannon pulled from his bucket several sheets of A4 paper with names and addresses on them.
“Shaz, I don’t get it hun,” Therese was very confused. “What are we going to do with this paper? Are we gonna print our own money?!” Therese began to get very excited again.
“Nah luv, these are the places where furniture is being dropped off at some point in the next 30 days. All we gotta do is case these front lawns and wait for the Coogans trucks to drop them into our waiting arms. Comprende?” Shannon felt his efforts for the night allowed him to talk a little bit gangster to his wife-to-be. “We sign for it, take it away and voila- sell it for half the price that Coogans would! Won’t be too tricky to offload. Already got a mate looking for a love seat.”
“Oh, that’s genius Shaz!” Therese said. “But, why did you need the rope and the bucket?”
“Oh, Therese, do I have to explain everything to your thick skull? The bucket was to carry the water to wet my pants and the rope was my alibi if I got caught in accounts. I was gonna say I had come to die. And I was going to wrap it around my neck. Duh.”
Therese was about to clap again with great coordination but she was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door.
“Who is it?” Shannon yelled.
“It’s the police, open up!”
Without another word, Shannon stuffed the stolen documents into his mouth and ate each of them, washing the last of the evidence away with a swig of VB. Then he ran to open the door while Therese put the kettle on in case the gentlemen might wish to stay a while.
“Mr. Theroof, is your girlfriend in? Therese Therent?”
“Well, yeah. Why?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Theroof.”
Suddenly the two big, burly policemen had pushed their way inside the kitchen and before you could say, love-at-first-squeeze they had young Therese’s arms behind her back, were reading her rights and clapping on cuffs.
“You nearly got away with it, Ms. Therent,” The fattest officer chortled. “You almost had us fooled. But we’ve been watching you on camera for weeks now, watching you down there at the movies with your buddies. Well, finally we caught you out.”
“What are you talking about?!” Spluttered Shannon. “She’s no sort of criminal!”
“Mr. Theroof, we’ve been observing your little lady for a long time. She’s been caught on camera smuggling hundreds of dollars in TimeZone tickets out the door in that little frozen coke cup she’s always sucking at. Use the same cup every week don’t you? Keep it nice and sterile do you? What were you planning to purchase with all those tickets you little minx? Were you going for the grand prize were you?”
Therese was sobbing, her little body writhing in despair. “I’m sorry Shannon!” She shrieked. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to- but the grand prize! I only needed 20 more TimeZone tickets! There’s no way I could bop enough crabs!” She heaved a sobbing cry. “I couldn’t wait!”
When the coppers had left with Therese, Shannon went for a walk to clear his head. He wound up at the movies so he wandered into TimeZone and what was it he saw up there on the ‘Top Prize’ podium?
The sparkling, plastic ring that Therese had fallen in love with so many moons ago.
“It must have been love,” Shannon thought. “But it’s over now.”
Jacinta and the Bubble-O-Bill
One day in Spring it was hot. Like, real hot, strip-in-public and forget-about-the-fact-that-you’re-not-wearing-a-bra kind of hot. It was so hot street signs were melting so that “slippery when wet” began to look like “it’s a very, very, very long and slightly curvy road ahead” signs.
Jacinta was hotter than most. This was mostly because she was born hot. That’s what Ricky said. He said, “Hey, Hot Stuff! You’re so hot you’re making me burn for you!” Then he passionately strummed his 4-stringed guitar and sang Farnsey ditties. Ricky was romantic like that. But his burning was another story all together.
Being so hot had really become a problem for Jacinta on this extraordinarily hot day. She had no pool to swim in and even the water in the house pipes was warm. “No hot water all winter!” She grumbled. “And now it’s all running bloody hot for free! Reckon I should fill up some buckets now to save for next winter…”
Jacinta was a thinker.
Jacinta’s mother had informed her that this unseasonal heat wave was due to the fact that the icebergs were melting in Antarctica. “You see Jacinta,” Her mum said, shaking a long, gel-nailed finger very close to her daughter’s face. “It’s coz of those Iraqi’s! They been testin’ all these big new bombs in Antarctica- statistical warfare- They been melting up all the ice and boiling the water, ya know? The hot water flows down in our direction, gettin’ all caught up in the clouds ‘n shit. Then them clouds float around our sky makin’ the air thick with their hot water emissions. Heard it all on the bus this mornin’… Them bloody Iraqi’s. They can all go back to Pakistan as far as I’m concerned. Leave our weather alone!”
Well, it sure was hot.
Jacinta was so hot she didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to breathe because every miniscule, muscular movement seemed to result in the collection of another heavy drop of sweat above her eyebrow. Once that drop of sweat started to move she’d have to close her eyes and endure the slow, excruciating wait while it trickled down over her eyelids and on, to the safety of her nose. The effort of wiping the bead before it rolled would only result in the formation of a new bead so there she sat, sweating and awaiting rolling beads to prevent the saltwater-sting in her eyes…
There she sat, at least, until she had a craving. Jacinta sincerely felt that she was almost constantly in the middle of a ghost pregnancy because when she had a flavour for something she really had a flavour. Normally she could just send Ricky down to the corner shop to get what she needed- but Ricky was up the coast fishing this weekend and he wouldn’t be back ‘til tomorrow. Jacinta just couldn’t wait that long.
Right now, Jacinta was craving an icecream- which seemed almost predictable given the heat, except that the icecream she truly yearned for was a Bubble-O-Bill. Every day delicious but not exactly refreshing or thirst-quenching on a day like today. Regardless, that is what her stomach demanded and who was she to try to control physical demands? “Your body knows what it needs,” Dr. Phil said that last Friday. “You just have to listen to it.”
“Damn straight!” She whispered now, trying not to move her lips. “My body needs a Bubble-O-Bill.”
Before she stood up Jacinta made an energy-efficiency plan- she would travel five steps to her piggy bank, three steps to the door, and run to the corner shop from her doorstep, without closing the door. She figured less time in direct sunlight was worth a little extra effort, so she would definitely run.
By the time Jacinta got into the shop there was sweat cascading off her like tiny waterfalls at every hanging cliff made by the points of her body. But, even inside, Jacinta continued running until she got to to the old, buzzing freezer on the far, back wall. She got close enough to feel the hot air coming from the fan on the bottom of the machine and slid back the glass top. “Bubble-O-Bubble-O-Bubble-O,” she chanted, thowing aside Calippo’s and Lemonade icypoles. “Bubble-O-Bubble-O-Bubble-O Bubble-O” Her chanting grew more frantic and her hunger for the chocolate-backed icecream on a stick more intense as her hand cooled in the deep freezer. Finally she rushed to the counter, slamming both fists on the bench. “Bubble-O-Bill, I need a Bubble-O-Bill!” She yelled to the young boy at the register.
“Sorry, lady,” he grinned, red from heat but entirely unfazed. “All outta them ones. Get some more tomorrow I reckon.”
“Tomorrow!?” Jacinta leaned across the counter and attempted to grab the boy’s shirt but he stepped back and she fell with her desperate, sweaty face making a puddle on the counter top. “I need it now,” She slobbered sadly.
“Lady, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” The boy spoke with disgusted pity. “You’re dripping on our vanilla slice.”
So Jacinta took a deep breath and stood up. “Right. They don’t have them here…” She thought to herself. “Now what?” And, like a child in the car who’d just been told they couldn’t have a toilet break until the next petrol station she reset her craving and settled for determined patience. Stoically, she headed for the corner shop two streets over.
By the time she got to the second shop Jacinta was quite delirious from heat stroke and Bubble-O-Bill fantasy-pains. She stumbled up and down the isles looking for the freezer and singing songs about savaloys. On her third lap of the tiny shop she was intercepted by a shop keeper who had, quite begrudgingly, left his rotating fan to sort her out. “Ma’am, are you lost?”
“Yes, I am lost…” Jacinta twittered. “I’m lost like a loungeroom lizard… No, no, then I’m lying.” She sunk to the floor, too weak to stand and whispered. “Please, Sir, I want a Bubble-O-Bill.”
“I have bubblegum,” He laughed jovially. “And I have a Billabong… But I have no Bubble-O-Bill.”
Jacinta wailed and in a sudden, energetic fit of rage she ran back out into the heat where the tar of the road had begun to melt so that it stuck beneath her feet.
Jacinta headed for the Woolies in the next suburb over but, not wanting to actually have to make it all that way, she began to knock on doors as she progressed. Some of the doors burnt her knuckles and some of the doors were covered in shade but none of the doors led to her Bubble-O-Bill… until she got to number 93 Willohpacked Terrace, right next to a green park, and the alley where she’d first met Ricky.
“Pleaaaase,” Jacinta growled through cracked lips with a gravelly voice as she stared into the darkness of number 93’s open door. “Do you have a Bubble-O-Bill?”
“Like, the icecream?” Came the little boys reply.
“Yes,” Jacinta’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the doorway and she saw that he was not, precisely a “little” boy, but he was very young.
“I sure do!” He grinned widely. “Mum went shopping yesterday!”
“What can I pay you for a Bubble-O-Bill?” She slurped at the air with her dry mouth. She was more desperate now than the time she’d craved a McChicken burger at her cousins Burger King party and more sick now than the time she’d craved tequila, red wine and chocolate milkshakes in quick succession.
“Weeeell,” The boy thought about this with his thumb in his mouth. “Mum says I have to mow the lawns by the time she gets home and I don’t wanna.” His lips curled up at the edges. “You could just do that?”
For the next hour Jacinta battled with the rusty old mower as she traipsed up and down the deceptively steep backyard of the chubby little icecream-pirate. She realised in the final moments of her toils that by this time and with less energy she could have been to Woollies and back twice, so when she knocked again at the door to collect her dues she was mad as a cut snake and more vicious than a virgin principal. “Hand it over, you fat little, shit,” She spat into the darkened doorway.
“Excuse me!” Came a shocked reply.
“Oh. Shit.” Apparently his mum was home. “Sorry lady. I meant that for your son.”
And with that, the door was slammed at number 59 and Jacinta began to cry.
Barely able to see the footpath in front of her feet she stumbled and fumbled and fell until the red lettering of Woolworths lit up the sky above her head and the cool air that escaped between the automatic sliding doors slapped her playfully in the face.
Later, Jacinta would swear she heard a chorus of angels as she entered the huge supermarket and headed for the frozen deserts. Without even waiting to pay, Jacinta slid to the cool floor of the supermarket, ripped open the box of icecreams, tore off the blue and pink wrapper and lifted her prize to her hot, rough lips.
And then, BANG!! The blue, bubblegum nose exploded.
Jacinta was rushed to hospital in an ambulance and was treated for third degree bubblegum burns to her face and neck.
Due to the fact that her health insurance had gone unpaid and expired last October, elective reconstructive surgery was delayed and her considerable, disfiguring wounds became permanent scars.
Jacinta might well have collected a sizeable handout from the shipping company who had, it seems, allowed the icecreams to get too hot in transition which somehow pressurised the bubble gum in its hard candy shell, but she was too embarassed to take the stand in court so a minor payout was awarded her in an out-of-court settlement.
Jacinta moved to a small hut on a deserted beach where the hermit crabs called her “Elephant Man” and Ricky called her “Beautiful.”
Jacinta never had another craving for a Bubble-O-Bill.
Jacinta was hotter than most. This was mostly because she was born hot. That’s what Ricky said. He said, “Hey, Hot Stuff! You’re so hot you’re making me burn for you!” Then he passionately strummed his 4-stringed guitar and sang Farnsey ditties. Ricky was romantic like that. But his burning was another story all together.
Being so hot had really become a problem for Jacinta on this extraordinarily hot day. She had no pool to swim in and even the water in the house pipes was warm. “No hot water all winter!” She grumbled. “And now it’s all running bloody hot for free! Reckon I should fill up some buckets now to save for next winter…”
Jacinta was a thinker.
Jacinta’s mother had informed her that this unseasonal heat wave was due to the fact that the icebergs were melting in Antarctica. “You see Jacinta,” Her mum said, shaking a long, gel-nailed finger very close to her daughter’s face. “It’s coz of those Iraqi’s! They been testin’ all these big new bombs in Antarctica- statistical warfare- They been melting up all the ice and boiling the water, ya know? The hot water flows down in our direction, gettin’ all caught up in the clouds ‘n shit. Then them clouds float around our sky makin’ the air thick with their hot water emissions. Heard it all on the bus this mornin’… Them bloody Iraqi’s. They can all go back to Pakistan as far as I’m concerned. Leave our weather alone!”
Well, it sure was hot.
Jacinta was so hot she didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to breathe because every miniscule, muscular movement seemed to result in the collection of another heavy drop of sweat above her eyebrow. Once that drop of sweat started to move she’d have to close her eyes and endure the slow, excruciating wait while it trickled down over her eyelids and on, to the safety of her nose. The effort of wiping the bead before it rolled would only result in the formation of a new bead so there she sat, sweating and awaiting rolling beads to prevent the saltwater-sting in her eyes…
There she sat, at least, until she had a craving. Jacinta sincerely felt that she was almost constantly in the middle of a ghost pregnancy because when she had a flavour for something she really had a flavour. Normally she could just send Ricky down to the corner shop to get what she needed- but Ricky was up the coast fishing this weekend and he wouldn’t be back ‘til tomorrow. Jacinta just couldn’t wait that long.
Right now, Jacinta was craving an icecream- which seemed almost predictable given the heat, except that the icecream she truly yearned for was a Bubble-O-Bill. Every day delicious but not exactly refreshing or thirst-quenching on a day like today. Regardless, that is what her stomach demanded and who was she to try to control physical demands? “Your body knows what it needs,” Dr. Phil said that last Friday. “You just have to listen to it.”
“Damn straight!” She whispered now, trying not to move her lips. “My body needs a Bubble-O-Bill.”
Before she stood up Jacinta made an energy-efficiency plan- she would travel five steps to her piggy bank, three steps to the door, and run to the corner shop from her doorstep, without closing the door. She figured less time in direct sunlight was worth a little extra effort, so she would definitely run.
By the time Jacinta got into the shop there was sweat cascading off her like tiny waterfalls at every hanging cliff made by the points of her body. But, even inside, Jacinta continued running until she got to to the old, buzzing freezer on the far, back wall. She got close enough to feel the hot air coming from the fan on the bottom of the machine and slid back the glass top. “Bubble-O-Bubble-O-Bubble-O,” she chanted, thowing aside Calippo’s and Lemonade icypoles. “Bubble-O-Bubble-O-Bubble-O Bubble-O” Her chanting grew more frantic and her hunger for the chocolate-backed icecream on a stick more intense as her hand cooled in the deep freezer. Finally she rushed to the counter, slamming both fists on the bench. “Bubble-O-Bill, I need a Bubble-O-Bill!” She yelled to the young boy at the register.
“Sorry, lady,” he grinned, red from heat but entirely unfazed. “All outta them ones. Get some more tomorrow I reckon.”
“Tomorrow!?” Jacinta leaned across the counter and attempted to grab the boy’s shirt but he stepped back and she fell with her desperate, sweaty face making a puddle on the counter top. “I need it now,” She slobbered sadly.
“Lady, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” The boy spoke with disgusted pity. “You’re dripping on our vanilla slice.”
So Jacinta took a deep breath and stood up. “Right. They don’t have them here…” She thought to herself. “Now what?” And, like a child in the car who’d just been told they couldn’t have a toilet break until the next petrol station she reset her craving and settled for determined patience. Stoically, she headed for the corner shop two streets over.
By the time she got to the second shop Jacinta was quite delirious from heat stroke and Bubble-O-Bill fantasy-pains. She stumbled up and down the isles looking for the freezer and singing songs about savaloys. On her third lap of the tiny shop she was intercepted by a shop keeper who had, quite begrudgingly, left his rotating fan to sort her out. “Ma’am, are you lost?”
“Yes, I am lost…” Jacinta twittered. “I’m lost like a loungeroom lizard… No, no, then I’m lying.” She sunk to the floor, too weak to stand and whispered. “Please, Sir, I want a Bubble-O-Bill.”
“I have bubblegum,” He laughed jovially. “And I have a Billabong… But I have no Bubble-O-Bill.”
Jacinta wailed and in a sudden, energetic fit of rage she ran back out into the heat where the tar of the road had begun to melt so that it stuck beneath her feet.
Jacinta headed for the Woolies in the next suburb over but, not wanting to actually have to make it all that way, she began to knock on doors as she progressed. Some of the doors burnt her knuckles and some of the doors were covered in shade but none of the doors led to her Bubble-O-Bill… until she got to number 93 Willohpacked Terrace, right next to a green park, and the alley where she’d first met Ricky.
“Pleaaaase,” Jacinta growled through cracked lips with a gravelly voice as she stared into the darkness of number 93’s open door. “Do you have a Bubble-O-Bill?”
“Like, the icecream?” Came the little boys reply.
“Yes,” Jacinta’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the doorway and she saw that he was not, precisely a “little” boy, but he was very young.
“I sure do!” He grinned widely. “Mum went shopping yesterday!”
“What can I pay you for a Bubble-O-Bill?” She slurped at the air with her dry mouth. She was more desperate now than the time she’d craved a McChicken burger at her cousins Burger King party and more sick now than the time she’d craved tequila, red wine and chocolate milkshakes in quick succession.
“Weeeell,” The boy thought about this with his thumb in his mouth. “Mum says I have to mow the lawns by the time she gets home and I don’t wanna.” His lips curled up at the edges. “You could just do that?”
For the next hour Jacinta battled with the rusty old mower as she traipsed up and down the deceptively steep backyard of the chubby little icecream-pirate. She realised in the final moments of her toils that by this time and with less energy she could have been to Woollies and back twice, so when she knocked again at the door to collect her dues she was mad as a cut snake and more vicious than a virgin principal. “Hand it over, you fat little, shit,” She spat into the darkened doorway.
“Excuse me!” Came a shocked reply.
“Oh. Shit.” Apparently his mum was home. “Sorry lady. I meant that for your son.”
And with that, the door was slammed at number 59 and Jacinta began to cry.
Barely able to see the footpath in front of her feet she stumbled and fumbled and fell until the red lettering of Woolworths lit up the sky above her head and the cool air that escaped between the automatic sliding doors slapped her playfully in the face.
Later, Jacinta would swear she heard a chorus of angels as she entered the huge supermarket and headed for the frozen deserts. Without even waiting to pay, Jacinta slid to the cool floor of the supermarket, ripped open the box of icecreams, tore off the blue and pink wrapper and lifted her prize to her hot, rough lips.
And then, BANG!! The blue, bubblegum nose exploded.
Jacinta was rushed to hospital in an ambulance and was treated for third degree bubblegum burns to her face and neck.
Due to the fact that her health insurance had gone unpaid and expired last October, elective reconstructive surgery was delayed and her considerable, disfiguring wounds became permanent scars.
Jacinta might well have collected a sizeable handout from the shipping company who had, it seems, allowed the icecreams to get too hot in transition which somehow pressurised the bubble gum in its hard candy shell, but she was too embarassed to take the stand in court so a minor payout was awarded her in an out-of-court settlement.
Jacinta moved to a small hut on a deserted beach where the hermit crabs called her “Elephant Man” and Ricky called her “Beautiful.”
Jacinta never had another craving for a Bubble-O-Bill.
Jacinta and the Bubble-O-Bill
Bobby and the Three Babes
Bobby had never been able to figure out chopsticks, so he just grabbed one in each hand and flicked rice into his mouth as quickly as he could. He didn’t begin chewing until he had a sizeable mouthful because it just didn’t feel right, doing all that jaw-work for less than a sizeable mouthful. He’d always been a pretty big eater, Bobby. Tonight he was celebrating his recent selection on the firsts football team for Bricklane College old scholars. Big game coming up Saturday.
Bobby was at the China Diner loading up on his carb’s with the aid of an all-you-can-eat buffet. Bobby was pretty sure there must be a lot of nutritional value in this food besides carb’s coz he’d never seen a fat Chinese man. Plus he really liked the China Diner. Spring roll dipped in sweet and sour pork sauce was his favourite.
Just like he’d never quite figured out chopsticks, and perhaps for the same reason, Bobby had never been able to figure out girls. Right now he was struggling to understand Betty, Suzie, and Sarah. Women. They all seemed to want the same thing from him and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna give it up that easy!
Monogomy. Pffft.
“Tell her she’s dreamin’.” He told Richy when Richy passed on the message from Betty. “No, no,” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell her she can have that- she can have her monogamy with no worries- as far as I’m concerned. Just as long as it’s okay with Suzie and Sarah, hey?” Richy nearly peed himself as he guffawed at the gall of his best mate. “Tell her to just nip over there and ask ‘em,” Bobby went on. “Shirley they wouldn’t mind? Shirley, you can’t be serious!”
Richy laughed so hard. He thought it was funny coz they would mind.
They would mind a lot.
Betty wanted serious commitment coz she was sick of being a single mum to Bobby Junior. Suzie wanted commitment coz she thought she was in love, daft old duck. Sarah just didn’t really like the other girls- bit of a clean freak she was. Thought it was dirty. Sarah wasn’t really brought up on the same side of the highway as the rest of them.
But, despite all of their differences of opinion and despite each of their disfunctional feminities Bobby had a lot of time for these three broads. Each of them, in their own special way, brought something to his life that he didn’t want to be without.
Betty brought him baked goods which were absolutely delicious. Though he would never say it aloud, her anzac biscuits made him want to marry her and run away forever to a land with nothing but sugar, oats, flour and an oven.
Suzie brought with her something sexy. She was a little freak in the sheets and Bobby liked that very much.
Sarah was sophisticated. Though she was still in high school Sarah was too good for him by the determination of the majority public opinion- including her own parents- and that made her a prized posession. Sarah was sort of like a trophy wife, but in the girlfriend form.
Bobby wasn’t exactly sure what his three lovely ladies liked most about him. It could have been his brute strength and athletic ability, his witty sense of humour, or his melt in your mouth charm- it could also have been the fact that he could re-assemble a Holden HG V8 in less than 24 hours while stoned on some sweet, sweet East Coast herb.
Bobby guessed that he would never really know for sure.
On this particular night, as Bobby fought cheerfully with his chopsticks and Richy sat beside him gabbing about the upcoming footy game, something magical was blowing in on the light wind outside. Dodging discarded hamburger wrappers which blew about in the breeze, a sing-songing angel came floating through the carpark. He carried with him a very tiny toilet plunger threaded neatly through a large, wooden bow and behind him flew a small swarm of dragonflies playing miniature harps in a most peculiar fashion.
“Cupid?!” Betty exclaimed as she peered out of her greasy car window from whence she had been spying on Bobby.
“Cupid?” Suzie asked from her seat across the road where she had been keeping an eye on Betty watching Bobby.
If Sarah was there she most certainly would have wondered aloud: “Cupid?!” But she was not there as she had an important tennis match in the morning. She was already in bed.
The angel and his musical dragonflies flew right up to the front door of the China Diner where they smacked into the sliding glass like upright dominoes, as the glass had only just been washed and was very clean and appeared, at first, to be an open doorway.
With a quick and almost magical recovery the troupe reassembled, slid back the door with slight difficulty and proceeded on and through the restaurant full of awestruck… well, nobody was awestruck as Richy and Bobby were the only ones in there, the staff were out the back and Richy and Bobby hadn’t noticed the strange group of magical beings yet. But anyone who laid eyes on this mysterious bunch would surely have been awestruck.
When the strange toilet plunger-yielding angel reached the table where the two men sat he called out, “Bobby! Stand up and meet your unrequited love shot!”
Bobby grunted in response with an almost concerned look of confusion on his face.
“Mate, you’ve got the wrong bloke- I didn’t ask for no shot. I’ve got my 6-pack right here. B.Y.O ‘n all that. I don’t need no shot.”
“Bobby, I do not mean a shot containing alcohol- Stand and I shall explain myself more clearly.”
So Bobby slowly pushed back his chair, the legs scraping painfully against the linoleum floor, and he stood.
Despite his promise of explanation, the strange angel immediately pulled back the plunger until his large bow string was tight, he took aim and fired without another word- and with a terrifying “plop!” his tiny toilet plunger met with Bobby’s tiny football shorts. Right on his man crotch.
Oh, well, the high-pitched screams of Bobby were enough to set dogs three suburbs away barking with compassionate cries of support. But, despite the incredible amount of torment in his cry, he was not screaming for a pain that was physical- for there was nothing there, anymore, to be inured. The strange, hovering angel had removed the sole decision maker in Bobby’s life. The little plunger weilding demon had taken Bobby’s life blood, his promise of life immortal through a thriving brood of Junior’s. The angel-demon had taken his future, his present, and had made a mockery out of Bobby’s past.
The angel had taken Bobby’s penis.
Bobby dropped his shorts, right there in the middle of the VIP booth seating at the China Diner and as his royal blue shorts touched the ground Bobby, Richy, Suzie and Betty all cried out in horror- For there in front of them was a hairy Mangina. No tucking, no prepping, no hiding penis. Simply, a stationary, permanent Mangina.
Bobby wailed, “Ohh, Angel of unrequited love- what have you done to me?”
But there was no reply because the angel and his dragonflies had apparently disappeared.
Bobby didn’t play football that Saturday. He thought that only men should kick a Sherrin and he felt like something between nothing and lady without his penis. Bobby didn’t hear from Betty or Suzie again, Richy seemed to be intensely busy all of a sudden- someone later said they’d seen him kicking aobut with Suzie rather regularly- but he still kept in close contact with Sarah who turned out to have a lovely, soft shoulder to cry on. As they couldn’t spend time at Sarah’s house due to her parents’ misgivings about their relationship the pair spent quite a lot of time at the park on the corner… Which was where, in a round about way, Bobby met Bridget.
Bridget was sprinting through sprinkler-wet grass on a warm spring afternoon when Bobby first saw her. She was in hot pursuit of a small boxer-cross who was, according to the girls shouts, apparently named Brutus. Bobby politely excused himself from the bench where he sat with Sarah and, for the first time in months, he ran. It felt so good to be running again with the wind rushing through his greasy hair, so he ran, and he ran, and he ran. It is quite possible that he ran faster than ever before, though no one was timing. He zoomed past Bridget and grabbed the dog at it’s hind quarters with the strength of Hercules- but that didn’t stop Brutus from whipping around and biting his captor on the knuckles. Involuntarily, Bobby let go, Brutus went on his way and Bridget continued after him, thanking him for his efforts.
As Sarah tended to his wounds that afternoon Bobby did a lot of thinking and, the next day as they swung side-by-side on the swings in the park Bobby did a lot of talking.
“Sarah, you’re a top chick and I don’t want to hurt ya,” He sighed. “Shit, you’ve been the only one there for me through it all, right? I guess I’ve treated you like shit in the past and you deserve better. I’m sorry. That’s why I want to let you know now… When I saw that girl yesterday, you know, the one with the dog? I had a feeling, and it wasn’t just in my mangina. I guess what I’m trying to say is, that’s how I knew, Sarah… I’m not in love with you and I don’t want to lead you on.”
Sarah laughed- a long, loud, yelping laugh that seemed not to let her inhale. She kept laughing until her eyes bulged from her head, her cheeks turned grey from lack of oxygen, and she slid off her swing to the pinebark below. When she had finally stopped laughing, Sarah took Bobby’s hands in hers and looked into his eyes.
“You’re breaking up with me?” She grinned. “Bobby, you’ve turned into a good guy. You’re not a horrible person. But I’ve never been attracted to you…” She sighed. “I graduate next week, I may as well tell you now… My parents are assholes and I’ve been using you to get back at them for sending me to that horrible public school in Rokeby. I’m actually dating the head prefect at St. Sundersands. We’ve been going together for two years and he’s just what my father would have wanted for me. Wealthy, noble, captain of the swim team… We’re in love you know. But my parents really needed to be taught a lesson and you were the perfect tool to do it- My place of education could really have derailed the course of my life, you know! Anyway, Bobby you’re great but, mate, you’ve got a permanent mangina! Good luck to you buddy.” And with a heavy handed pat on the back Sarah was gone.
For a long time Bobby sat, with his elbows propped on his knees and his greasy hair pulled tightly in his hands. He hardly noticed when she came to stand beside him. “I’m Bridget,” She said. “And this is Brutus. Wanna come run with us?”
He did. Bobby did want to run with Brutus and Bridget. He looked up into Bridget’s freckle-sprinkled face and into her big green eyes and he wanted to run like he’d never run before. He wanted to ask questions, to get to know her, he wanted to hold her hand and keep her safe. He wanted to learn how to use chopsticks so he could teach her. He wanted to be her best friend.
“Plop!”
With a flitting of his tiny wings the angel of unrequited love and other things flew away leaving woman, dog and man alone. Alone with their future and a tiny toilet plunger.
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