“Ohmagod. Like, I can’t believe this could happen today- of all frickin’ days Michelle!” 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!” He screamed into the make-believe crowd. “ROCK NOW AND ROOOOCK HARD!” And the make-believe crowd went wilder than Britney.
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.
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.
“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.
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.”
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.
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.
The Gizmos, Phil and Stan, who were homosexual life partners, always had a Halloween themed party on New Years Eve because they thought it was cute and quirky. They had turnip themed parties on the American Thanksgiving Day, pool parties when it snowed, and they had Saturday Night Fever parties every Monday. The Gizmos were definitely odd but quite popular- because it was widely believed that it's good to have a friend who has parties.
Unfortunately, for the Gizmos, party friends were not real friends and popularity was not love (except on Facebook). So, when they weren't having fabulously inappropriate parties Phil and Stan were actually quite lonely.
It was early on New Years Eve, 2009 when the strange black cat with a bald patch above his right ear wandered into the Gizmo's house. He purred loudly but nobody heard him over the musicians who were warming up their violas and irish horns on the coffee-table-stage. The black cat walked inside, enjoying the irony as he loped under a ladder which had been used to hang long strings of skull-shaped lanterns along the beams of the grand entrance. He continued on until he reached the feet of Phil and Stan Gizmo where they stood in the kitchen, doing a last-minute checklist for this, their perfect party. The cat attracted attention with a quick flick of his wiry black tail on Stan's bare calf. "Oooh! Ow! Oh, there you are Prudentil! Phil, Phil he made it!" "Oh, excellent! How was Vegas?" Phil asked. "You know," Prudentil purred. "Same old, same old... Sluts and slots. So, what's the plan here gentlemen? Are we going to have a very scary New Year?" "Yes, Prudentil," Phil nodded curtly. "Just as we discussed." "We've plated our hors d'oeurves and chilled the punch, we've got strings and horns in the foyer, we've got fabulous decorations, and now we have you!" Stan giggled. "It's good to see you old friend." "It's going to be marvellous," Phil smiled. "Twelve o'clock sharp, Prudentil. Is there anything you need?" "Yes." Prudentil's green eyes narrowed. "Leave the ladder in the entrance hall, just where it is."
Prudentil, who had been an associate of the boys since they had hired him to resolve a very big Sum-inter Party scandal in Autumn last year, was a specialist in karma. Phil and Stan hired him back then to give a reading on their caterer whom, they believed, had deliberately sabotaged their summer berry snow-cones just to ruin their party. Prudentil had a special sense and skill when it came to karma. He could sense when good karma was oweing and, just the same, he could sense when bad karma was overdue. He also had special skills in handing out due punishment. The boys had hired him tonight as a professional. They thought it was time to weed out the users. "True friends only!" They had said. 12a.m. was judgement hour.
Later in the night, as guests filed in with their "plus ones" plus a couple of others, Prudentil began to stalk. He walked slowly around the party, feeling, listening, smelling, sensing the vibe of this house full of costumed men and women. There were butterflies and ladybugs, pirates and prostitutes, there was a beer keg and a tampon- but of all the shocking costumes there was one to which Prudentil was inexplicable drawn. The man in the giant VB stubby suit stood, alone, in the corner of the grand foyer. He probably would have liked to sit but, in the confines of his costume, he stood sipping at a can of VB, bottle cap hat perched proudly atop his head. Prudentil was intrigued. None of the other guests had brought beverages, knowing that the Gizmo’s would provide. Mr. VB was standing, sipping, and he seemed to be watching his hosts as they moved about their fabulous party, as if he wanted to speak to them.
“Hm.” Prudentil purred. “A friend, I wonder?”
Mr. VB apparently saw his chance to approach the two men at about 11:15 p.m. He shuffled forward, in his awkward brown bottle suit, and called out to Phil. Prudentil followed, keen to watch. “Phil! Phil!” “Well if it isn’t…” Phil looked Mr. VB up and down with his nose high in the air, as though it were suspended by the hold of a puppeteer. “What are you doing here and what on Earth are you wearing? Pauly, I thought we had discussed this. You mustn’t just show up to my private soiree’s. I’m sorry Stan, I’ll be right with you-” “I know, I know-” Pauly interrupted before Phil could usher Stan away. “I’m real sorry, Phil. It’s just that… Fark, I saw it on Facebook and I, I had to talk to you, ay. It’s mum. She’s real sick, Phil. It’s for real this time. She don’t do nufin’ but drink that special tea you got her that Christmas. And sleep. She sleeps all bloody day sometimes. I really fink she misses ya Phil. I try to do what I can, but, she just wants you.”
“Ahh,” Prudentil hummed to himself. “Bogans! Perhaps a whole family of them. My, my…”
Now, Phil had, in effect, disowned his family about seven years prior. Right after a weekend trip to Toorak in Victoria, (which he won in CLEO magazine’s “Pride and Prejudice” special edition competition) Phil had adopted an entirely new life for himself and had left his family behind. He immediately stopped visiting his family, stopped returning their phone calls, he hadn’t even invited his parents to his commitment ceremony in 2004. But Phil hadn’t counted on the stalker-friendly capabilities of the modern day internet to burst his precious bubble of isolation.
Stan, ever-friendly and opposed to dramatics, stepped forward now, nervously extending his hand in front of him. “Pauly I presume?” He asked. “I’m Stan, it’s so very nice to meet you, finally.” “Nice to meet you, Stan. And, uh, congratulations! I know the ceremony was a couple years ago now but I been waiting to say it, ay?” “Thank you, Pauly- and thank you so much for our commitment present. Bundaberg Rum is certainly something I had been wanting to try.” “I reckon Bundy’s something e’rybody should try once or twice, ay. I’m sorry ta intrude here, Stan. I don’t wanna be stickin’ my face where it don’t belong, and this seems like a really wicked party but I didn’t know how else to get to my brother.” “Well, I’m glad you stopped by, Pauly.” Stan smiled. “Stay as long as you like. Oop- I'm off to refill the punch!” “Pauly, I’m, I’m sorry about Mum,” Phil began. “But, this is my life now. Don’t you see? You’re-” Phil leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re different, Pauly- we’re just different. I’m not the same as you and Mum and Dad, and Shaz, poor little dot. I can’t go back to that. Besides, that herbal tea is really pretty good for Mum, she’ll be right.”
“Maybe you’re right, Phil.” Pauly said, uncomfortable. “But she really misses ya. Talks about you all the time. Just, Phil, we just want you ta know that you can come home whenever you want, ya know? We all just miss ya. Mum’d be really proud of all this, ay?” Pauly moved his long, bony hand around the room filled with fake decadence and cheerful Halloween-themed paraphernalia. “I reckon she’d be real proud…” And with that, Pauly generously pushed the remainder of his 6-pack into his brother’s hands. “Happy New Year, Phil.” He turned stiffly and shuffled away in his VB bottle-suit.
Stan returned in time to see the young bottle leave. “Well, he certainly went to a lot of trouble to get dressed up didn’t he hun’?” Phil grunted. Stan continued. “You know, I never wanted to ask but I’ve always wondered- Why don’t you see your family? It’s quite clear they love you… Sometimes you don’t have forever to come around. You know?” “Oh Stan,” Phil cried. “Don’t you know I’ve tried to protect you from them? They’re all bogans! Horrible, terrible, undignified, bogans. You’re so much more than that, and now, I’m so much more than that.” Stan smiled kindly. “Phil… When you’re not around I wear my hoody around the house.” “You, what! Stan! I never knew!” “That’s right, I like hoodies, they’re comfortable. And I like VB, and I really did like the Bundy your brother gave us. On Sunday’s I drive around the block in town- with my music up loud and my windows down. Because it feels good! Sometimes I like to swear because four letters will satisfactorily express how I’m feeling. And, fuck it, Phil- it feels good. So maybe I’m a bogan, Phil. I think that, perhaps, there’s a little bit of bogan in all of us.” “No!” Gasped Phil. “I never knew,” He said again. “Bogans…” He was utterly bewildered. “You’re really okay with bogans?” “You’ve got a pretty thick head, Phil Gizmo.” But at that moment the New Year’s countdown began and Stan’s voice was swept away in the noise.
Prudentil, head cocked to one side as he listened intently, smiled slowly as the grandfather clock in the next room chimed cheerily.
12 o’clock.
Quietly, with adept and padded paws, Prudentil scaled the ladder in the giant entrance hall. Before the final chime of the clock had sounded he opened his mouth wide and yawned- and as his eyes crinkled and unfolded the entire Gizmo home was filled with an incredible green light- exposed in the light of this karma cat’s judgemental eyes every guest stood, mid-celebration, frozen in place. When the party guest’s eyes began to adjust to the light they saw that, apparently, karma had kicked them in the ass.
Half of the Gizmo’s guests were standing, naked, with a large Blundstone boot protruding from their rear end. Cries of pain, shock, and embarassment rippled around the room but, despite the state of their own ends, as the green light faded back to white, all eyes turned to the strange lump at the front of the room standing underneath the wooden ladder. “Phil!” Stan cried. “Phil, is that you!?” But the gigantic pink mass could not reply. For it did not have a mouth. “Prudentil! Oh, Prudentil, what have you done?!”
The cat creased his green eyes kindly. “Dear friend, I have done just as your husband requested. I have seen that my judgement has resulted in due punishment. Your guests have received a warning boot up the bum for their ignorance and vanity… But Phil… After years of warning, Phil couldn’t understand a simple rule, Sir: He who lives with a soul unclean will eventually fall victim to that oily build up beneath the skin, known to you as karma. This is the long-overdue zit of Phil’s dirty mind- and I don’t mean that in the sexy way. Good day to you, Stan.”
Three days later Phil came to a head and popped.
Four days later Stan found comfort in the arms of Pauly.
