Thursday, July 31, 2008

Charlie Bucket and the Factory of Chocolate

Charlie Bucket and the Factory of Chocolate
By Nathan Viney and Roahl Dahl.
Unedited and Ungrammafixed.

Charlie Bucket was a small nine year old boy. He lived with his starving family of six. Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina. As well as his mother and father who tried their hardest to bring money into the house.

Charlie was a dreamer, he dreamt of only one thing. Willy Wonka’s factory. Wouldn’t it just be fantastic to escape the gloomy world he lived in now? Bring his parents into an unknown place of colour and candy?
His house was a broken down cottage, held up by weak planks of rotting wood and mucky metal nails.
Past their home and up the thin road was the factory, a huge steaming building closed off by large metal gates.
“Willy Wonka was an amazing man.” Grandpa Joe woke from his nap, the other elderly continued in slumber. Charlie walked over to the side of the bed that the four old people shared.
“Have you ever met him?”
“Yes Charlie. When I was younger I was asked by him to try out a new chocolate taste. He was handing out small nibbles on the street just outside our house.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “What did it taste like Grandpa Joe?”
“Like heaven Charlie! It was a cube of pure chocolate. He called it the Milk an’ Smooth Delectable Slab. I think it was one of his first creations.”
“Wow Grandpa Joe…. That’s…..” Charlie was obviously lost for words. “Marvellous.”
Grandpa Joe began to rest his shoulders back onto the pillow, “Did you get today’s paper Charlie?”
Charlie nodded and pulled the paper out from his shoulder bag handing it to his grandfather.

“Cabbage soups ready deary!” Charlie’s mother, Mrs. Bucket called from the other side of the room where the crooked kitchen was melded into the walls. She was stirring a wooden spoon in a small metal pot. “There… isn’t much I’m afraid today.”

Grandpa George threw his arms up in joy, “I’m glad! I’d rather starve.”“Oh my gallows,” Grandpa Joe butt in whilst reading the front page of the folding newspaper.
“Every day, cabbage soup. When are we going to get any real money in here?”
Mrs. Bucket frowned, “Well I don’t see you getting up and finding a job George. You’ve been in that bed for twenty years. The only one working is Mr. Bucket.”
“Oh my... did anyone hear me?” Grandpa Joe was still staring at the front page. “IT’S MR. WILLY WONKA!”
“Watch your language whilst Charlies here Grandpa Joe,” Charlies mother spoke. “Charlie, if you ever repeat any of your grandparent’s words I’ll send you out in the cold without a jumper.”
Charlie squirmed but was anxious to find out what his grandfather was talking about, “No mum… Wonka is a chocolate and candy creator, a pure genius.”
“Candy rots your teeth darling, look at mine.” His mother smiled, a black tooth hanging from her top gum was made visible. Dribble flopped down her front as she closed her mouth again.
“Probably the cabbage that did that,” George shouted.
“EVERYONE LISTEN TO ME.” Grandpa Joe screamed. “It says here Willy Wonka has sent out 5 Golden Tickets. They are hidden in 5 Wonka Bars across the world.”
“So?” George was not interested, he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
Charlie was hopping up in joy. “When does it start?”
“The first ticket gets sent out today!” Grandpa Joe replied.
Charlie’s mother dropped the pan on her toes and screamed as hot water boiled down her legs.
Charlie hugged Grandpa Joe. “It’s my birthday tomorrow; I get my bar of chocolate for the year.”
Joe was nodding and agreeing happily as they hugged and giggled.
Mr. Bucket finally arrived home after he’d been shoveling snow from the drive ways of the village folk. “Brr… its sure cold out there Buckets.”
Charlie’s mother was on the floor bandaging up her legs, “Welcome home darling. Apparently its Charlie’s birthday tomorrow so have you got the money for the candy?”
Mr. Bucket nodded and held out a neatly wrapped bar of chocolate. “I heard about the competition. Five people around the world get to visit Mr. Wonka’s factory for a whole day. I thought to myself, well that would be the greatest birthday present when I was your age.”
“Who is this Wonka fella?” Mrs. Bucket asked throwing the Wonka wrappers Charlie had on his bedroom wall into the dustbin.
Mr. Bucket was happy to reply, “He is a candy genius. I used to work for him you know. He created chocolate eggs from chocolate birds and liquorish dips from liquorish fish. No one knew how he did it. Soon he built that huge factory you see up the street."
Mrs. Bucket butt in, "That factory that blocks my view of the beautiful mountains, yeah okay, continue."
"But there were spies, giving ingredients to people like Slugworth and Augelly PikkleBum.”
“What happened?” Charlie was interested.
“I was fired, along with everyone else. The factory was closed down. But one day steam started to explode out of the pipes and the colourful lights and chocolate smell appeared once more…. Someone’s working in there with him. But it isn't me…”
Charlie sighed and slowly grabbed the chocolate from his father’s hand.
“Which end should I open first?”
“Does it really matter? The golden ticket is going to be visible on both ends.”
Charlie and his father frowned towards Grandpa George who had, after this comment fallen back to sleep.
Grandpa Joe snatched the bar from Charlie. “Isn’t this exciting? I’ll open it if you are going to be such a girl.”
Grandpa Joe tore the silvery paper away from the rectangle of chocolate slowly and carefully, his eyes twinkling as he shook.
Charlie saw it first, “The Golden Ticket.” He said exploding in joy; he began to dance around the room.
Grandpa Joe's face lit up, “I’m going to take George!” He started moving his legs rapidly under the covers kicking Grandma Georgina out of the bed. There was a bang on rotten wood, silence and then celebrating once again.

Mr. Bucket coughed rather loudly. “Grandpa Joe, I do think actually… it was Charlie’s birthday present, not yours. He should be the one going, and he should be the one who takes someone.”

Joe fell silent, dropping the ticket to his side. Charlie smiled weakly at his father and took the ticket lightly from Joe’s hand.
He was holding the ticket in two hands glaring and reading through the golden glow. “Bring one person from your family. Mr. Wonka shakes you warmly by the hand and introduces you to a day in the factory. He says every child will get a truck load of candy to last them their lives… as well as…”
“What? You’re not going.” Mumbled Mrs. Bucket. “A truck load of teeth rotting candy? I do not think so. Not in my household.”
“We can ask if we can not have that mum.” Charlie said smiling. Mrs. Bucket realised this and nodded firmly.
“GET THAT MUD OFF YOUR PANTS!” Grandpa Joe was shaking and laughing loudly.
Charlie looked down at his patchy knees. “I don’t have any mud on my pants…” He left this and stared at the ticket once again.
“So will you take your old Grandpa Joe Charlie?” Mr. Bucket grinned with crooked teeth. Joe was moving closer to Charlie. “No Dad, I’m going to take you! You seem to know more about it than anyone else!”
Joes face dropped, literally. He collapsed off of the bed and broke his neck.
“Cabbage soups up!”

The day came, hundreds, thousands of people surrounded the gates of Wonka’s factory.

Mr. Bucket was using his property as a visitor car park. The vehicles came in and paid him a good amount of money to dump their vehicles on the grass.

Willy Wonka was a tall man, with a dark top hat. He wore a long red coat and held a cane full of candy. “Welcome my children, to my factory.” He pulled a leaver on the wall by the large front doors and the giant gates opened.

The five lucky/unlucky winners stepped slowly inside the creaky separating gate. As they did, the gate swiftly closed and locked loudly behind them.

They turned surprised and only saw the flashing lights of paparazzi. “Come forward.” Wonka said beckoning them.
The five children all came with one parent. There was a fat child, named Augustus Gloop who came with his plump mother. Mike Teavee, who was obsessed with soup operas, he stood with his father. Violet Beauregarde, who loved chewing gum so much she would jump in front of a bus for it, she was with her mother.
There was also a British girl named Veruca Salt who rather enjoyed getting ANYTHING SHE WANTED from her Father who was with her today.
Last of all were Charlie Bucket and his Father Mr. Bucket who were at the back of the rampaging line of visitors.

Soon enough they were all closed in behind the front door.

Wonka was smiling at the children and parents, locked on a smile he awaited someone to speak. “I’m Violet Beauregarde! Nice to meet you!” Wonka stepped back holding his cane towards her. 
“Away from the coat…” He paused and then smiled again. “Which of you is the least well dressed?”
They all stared around examining each other. Veruca spoke, “The fat boy has chocolate on him, the poor boy has his clothes all ripped and everyone else are just ‘ordinary’. Where as I am better dressed, more appropriate for a special occasion wouldn't you say?”
Wonka nodded smiling still. He then screamed a very high pitched sound. The slight mumbling on the visitors disappeared as some tiny men began to walk towards them. They had extremely spiky hair, wore nothing but leaves and held sharp knives.
“What are they Father?” Asked Charlie.
“I’m not sure Charlie.”
Wonka’s pupils flickered to Mr. Bucket, then Veruca, and then the little men. “These are Oompa-Loompas. They work in my factory; they mix the chocolate, churn it up. You know this is the only factory in the world that mixes its chocolate by Oompa-Loompa.” He paused, looking for some expressions. He then turned to the small man that stood before him.
“Take Miss Salt to the fish and chips shop. Slice her up into neat pieces. She told me her clothing was of the finest quality so that should do fine on the chips.”
The Oompa-Loompa nodded and grinned with sharp teeth. By this time Veruca’s father had become very protective.
“I DON’T WANT TO BE SALT ON CHIPS DADDY!” She screamed. His father stood in front of her with arms out, “I’ll make sure you won’t little pumpkin.”
Wonka yelped suddenly, “Oh, she’s a pumpkin is she? Well that changes everything!”
The father cried, Veruca screamed. “NO!”
The little men were pulling at the Father, and pushing away the British girl. The visitors were all looking in shock.
“If you fight it you’ll just be cut up here. You don’t want to be cut up in front of all of your friends now do you?”
“Of course you do. Your generation are the greedy, candy eating, drunken, party going characters, you KNOW everyone. And you all deserve to die.” He laughed maniacally as Mr. Bucket held Charlie close.
The father was pulled away and Veruca was shoved into a small metal room to the left of the group. The door closed loudly behind her.
On the door was a tiny peep hole, in minutes it was battered in red droop.
Mr. Willy Wonka smiled, “On with the tour.”

Augustus Gloop, the fat child had dropped his Wonka bar in fear and moved towards the front door. His mother turned to see her shrieking son hit the metal door screaming to get out.

Wonka was still smiling, “I wonder why the police had no interest going into a building that was locked off for twenty years and then suddenly asked some kids to come in… HAHAHAHAH…” His laughing was moving as he did down the long hallway. “I don’t even get a health inspector. I could be putting anything into my chocolate, and well… I am.”
Mr. Bucket looked at Charlie frightened as they stepped down a long winding carpet. He then went up to the big hatted man himself, "Excuse me Mr. Wonka. I used to work for you."
"Oh really? Were you one of the thieving scumbags that stole my ingredients and sold them to my wretched competition? Because if you are i'm going to turn you and that homeless child you brought along into caramel right now my friend."
"Good. Next question. Who likes gum?” Wonka had turned on one foot and was now facing the group.
Violet did not want to say anything, she was too frightened. “Oh come on Violet, I know it is you. It’s okay, I love gum as well, keeps you minty fresh.”
She nodded.
“But tell me Violet… do you like bubble gum?”
She nodded.
“Oh… well that is a shame.”
Violets' mothers eyes widened scared of another question, answer trap. Wonka picked a tiny piece of gum out of his coat pocket and handed it to the young girl, who up until now was very loud.
“Chew it.” Wonka said smiling.
Violet did not respond, the gum sat in her hand.
“CHEW IT!” a fierce glare came across his face. 
So she did, placing it into her mouth and chewing slowly.
Wonka continued, “You know chewing is a bad habit. If you do it too much, you may bite your own tongue off.”
Mike Teavee interrupted, “If you don’t like gum why do you make it?”
Wonka cracked his neck and turned to the little boy, whose eyes were most certainly square. “Maybe a knife would open that mouth up a little hm, mumbling like that? Wait your turn.”
Violet was chewing, and as she did her stomach was inflating. “What’s happening?” screamed the mother.
“I didn't like her. I only like Charlie.” Wonka replied. 
Violet was still inflating, getting larger and larger, and turning purple. “Violet, you’re turning Violet, Violet! Spit the gum out!”
“I can’t!” mumbled a fat faced little girl. “It’s sticky, sticking to my gums, stuck down my throat."
“Yep, it is blowing a bubble backwards, instead of outwards it blows the bubble back down into your stomach. Neat, huh?” Wonka smirked and continued to watch.
Wonka smiled, “It is okay, I planned it all out.” He held up his cane again, shook it and watched a sharp needle seek out the end, a part of the cane.
He moved it towards the circular girl and pressed it into her stomach, there was a pop.

Mr. Bucket opened his eyes to see the room he once stood in was red. Drooping blobs of blood flopped down the walls and trickled down the visitors faces.

Mr. Wonka began to lick it from his lips and then smile. A body part was dribbling down Charlie’s shoulder. He creased his face up realizing what had happened.
Violets mother had the most blood on her of course; she had elements of her daughters face stuck to her arms as well.
She was not screaming, just standing there.
At that point an Oompa Loompa let loose a raving beast of a dog from a doorway. The canine soared across the room sniffing and dribbling. Soon enough it discovered the tongue of the young, dead Violet Beauregarde and began to chew it down.
"Who next?” Wonka grinned once again. “I am so full of invention and creation! I could go on all night. Too bad I've only got three children left to kill. I should do this more often...Oh wait…”
He paused and walked to the helpless Augustus Gloop leaning against the front door. Wonka held out the cane and the needle stabbed into Gloop’s stomach. Unlike Violet a fountain of blood shot from his stomach. His legs weakened and he collapsed into the red puddle of liquid.
“Oh damn, I forgot that only works with bubbles. Now I've wasted a child. I was planning to drown him violently in my chocolate river. Who wants to see that?”
There was no answer.
“Okay, Teavee kid. You can go. I was planning to lock you in a blinding light for an hour and see if you came out the same but I really need to get back to work. Plus the Oompa-Loompas are going to need to clean this room up. GOSH doesn't it stink?”
Augustus was faintly choking to his death in the background.
The doors slowly opened and Mike Teavee and his Dad ran for their lives silent as they did. His father held him close as they made it to the gate. “Parents left! Apart from Mr. Bucket! You can all go!” The parents whose children were killed walked blankly out of the building.
Behind them the front doors of the factory closed once again with Charlie and his father inside, with Wonka.

“Climb son!” Mr. Teavee was pushing Mike up and over the gate as the paparazzi soared in to ask questions.

At exactly the same time, Grandpa Joe was attempting to climb over the gate to enter the factory but failing miserably. 

Inside Wonka stood silent still smiling towards Charlie and his dad. “I want you to live with me," he said, blood dripping from his ears.

Charlie shook his head.
“You can bring your family with you if you want. I’m fine with that.”
Charlie did nothing.
“You know, id feed you all the candy you want. See earlier on I was thinking… I’m getting rather old. I’ll need a good little boy to take over the factory when I’m gone. What do you say?”
Charlie turned away from Wonka and looked up to his Dad.
Mr. Bucket spoke wisely towards the hatted man, “I don’t think he wants it, Wonka.”
Wonka began to cry rapidly.
Charlie and his father looked over to the saddened man, the liquid tears cleaning off the blood on his face.
“I always wanted a son. Especially a homeless looking one” He said still crying.
“Well I’m not your son. I’m his,” Charlie said pointing towards his father.
Wonka's eyes shot towards them and he grinned an evil grin, “Gosh…” All the tears seemed to have disappeared. “I should have realized before.”
He hit his own head violently with the cane splattering loose blood as he did. “I just kill the father! Then I can MAKE you take over the Factory…”
Charlie felt horrible; his Father was scared, eyeing the blood puddles and bodies on the floor.
“What do you say Charlie? Should I kill your Dad?” Wonka began to dance in one spot. 
Charlie felt tears emerging from his eyes now, his thoughts disappeared. In trouble, when you are expected to answer, that is when your mind leaves you. “No… I’ll live with you. Just don’t hurt my dad.”

Wonka shot back to his ordinary smile. “Brilliant! Now good sirs, how about some fizzy lifting drink to celebrate?”

Wonka handed the two of them a bottle each of bubbling liquid. “Drink up,” he said pouring a bottle down his throat.
Charlie did as he was told, as did his father.

The three of them lifted into the air. But Charlie and his father were not amazed, nor were they astonished… nor did they think this was a Milk an’ Smooth Delectable Slab.

Up above them was a fan, spinning at an amazing speed.

Wonka was giggling, “This is the fun bit guys! Just burp and you’ll go down to safety! You’ll see HOW FUN MY FACTORY REALLY IS!”His giggling was getting louder, but then disappeared when he burped his way back downwards a little.

Then the giggling returned.
Charlie and his father were not in the mood for giggling, especially when they noticed the fan soaring above them.
"CHARLIE! HOLD ON TO ME!" Charlie pulled himself in the direction of his father and went in for a tight hug. "It will be okay Charlie. We just need to burp."
And so they both burped in each-others faces. 
"We did not think that through Dad."

Wonka's feet landed softly on the ground, he then looked up to see his victims moving slowly downwards in the air. "How do I kill the dad, but keep the homeless kid? Think Think. People say you're a genius Wonka, then be a wonking genius Wonka! They say you are! But where are the ideas??" He began hitting his head again in anger.

Whilst he was busy hitting himself Charlie and his father landed safely behind him and ran off down a long hall way towards the exit. 

"I'VE GOT IT!" Wonka smiled at last and pulled a hand gun out of his deep magical breast pocket. He then shot Mr. Bucket in the leg. 
Mr. Bucket's body collapsed heavily onto the surface of the tiled floor and slid slightly through Violet's blood. 
Charlie followed suit and slipped up suddenly, falling flat on his back. 
The man called Willy Wonka loomed over them slowly, his cane in hand. The gun placed carefully packed into his pocket. He held the cane up, the blade of the needle shot out fiercely. The point drifted towards Mr. Bucket's head. 
"One stab, you'll be de...."
He was interrupted by a scooping sound. Wonka turned to see a Oompa Loompa with a dustpan and brush, "Seriously Oompa Loompa number 689???? Right now? Come on! I know you're a frigging temp but this is seriously bad timing. I clearly sent a telegram saying FIVE oclock is clean up!! What time is it now??"
The Oompa Loompa shook, "4: 58?"
When he looked back Charlie was pulling his fathers limp body towards the front door. "No, no no homeless boy. NO NO NO! I GET WHAT I WANT, I ALWAYS DO HOMELESS BOY!"
"I'm not homeless!! I have a home! It's where my family is, my family that love me."
"Your bedroom's got a massive hole in the ceiling kid! It rains and snows on you, like every night!"
"Well we don't have a shower so it all fits together nicely."
"You're disgusting." Willy stared, unimpressed.
"I'm not, Wonka. My family keep me warm and safe, and cosy."
"He's not keeping you very safe right now is he, hm?" Wonka pointed at Charlie's helpless father on the tiles.
"No... but he tries. We all try to do our part to keep the house running. Apart from Uncle George of course, who mum says would be better dead and gone. But anyway, we all click together, a team of love and cherishing. It's a life I don't think you will ever have. Also my mum says candy is bad for your teeth."
"Hm.. yeah. I know what she is like Charlie."
"What?... you don't know my mum."
"What do you frigging mean I don't know your mum??? Why do you think you're here you stupid moron?? What? You think you actually look like that lump of blood father of yours on the floor? Of course not. You're mine. Why do you think your mum has such terrible teeth. I gave her all that chocolate when we were dating. We used to have these cute chocolate kisses..."
"That is disgusting Wonka. And not at all true!!!"

Mr. Bucket pulled himself up from the tiles and stared over at Charlie. Blood dripping from his nostrils. "It is true Charlie... I met your mum through working here... at the factory... because she was dating Wonka.... I hoped the baby was mine... but I always knew."

Charlie's face dropped.
"I'm only 12! You could have waited guys!"

Wonka smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "So what do you say Charlie Wonka? Will you take over the factory for me. Keep in the family way?"

And Charlie ran out of the front door and was never seen again. Until he got home of course.

After a long talk with his mother, Charlie discovered that Mike Teavee was actually his brother, another son of Wonka. And so next up Wonka tried to hunt down Mike so he would take over the factory. Unfortunately Wonka was arrested for stalking and trespassing and a list of other felonies and sent to jail. 
Mike started up a Successful Robot Factory across the sea.

Charlie was so happy to have his father, Mr. Bucket back in good health and cooking up some delicious new Cabbage soup. They were closer than ever.
The same could not be said for everyone else and his mum. Everyone hated his mum, but that is a story for another time.


Grandpa Joe finally made it over the gate and landed in front of the factory. And he sung: "FINALLY! I never dreamed that I would climb, over the gate in ecstasy! But nevertheless, it's there that I'm, shortly about to beeeee!"

"It's all over mate. the factory was closed down. Where have you been? Under a frigging rock?"
A cleaner was sweeping the path by the factory door. "This place is abandoned. Though sometimes at night I hear little sounds, like little voices. The guys at work say I'm nuts but, you never know right?"

Grandpa Joe stared blankly at him, "Shut up with your life story kid. I'm going in!"

And so Grandpa Joe became the Queen of the Oompa Loompas. 

By Nathan Viney and Roahl Dahl.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Wey Damage breaks out of its box.

It has been a long time since this was written.
But if you have not already, id like to send you backwards in time to read my story, Wey Damage.
Please Enjoy

Monday, July 28, 2008

The Life and Death of Alfred Dirt

The Life and Death of Alfred Dirt
“The boy cursed with a beard”
Written by Andrew Denton and Alfred Dirt

"Gday I’m Andrew Denton, today on Enough Rope we have Alfred Dirt."
Alfred Dirt was sat in an armchair in front of Andrew scratching away at his beard. "Tell us Alfred, about your earlier life."

Alfred began to cry, smiling as he did.
"If this is a touchy subject we don’t even have to worry about it mate."
Alfred wiped tears from his eyes and spoke, "No, it's ok lets talk about it." He picked up his glass of beer and had a sip.

Alfred Dirt, seven years old, year one.
Originally Named: Barney Ostridge.
You all know Alfred Dirt as a brilliant musician and outgoing character. Known for his emotional lyrics and unique changes to the music world.
Well now we will look at how it all began.
My name is Andrew Denton; I have gone out of my way to interview various members of Alfred's life.
He does not know I am writing this but I have nothing to worry about due to the fact that he cannot read.

Barney Ostridge, aged seven, with a beard.
He began at Grand Heights primary school and lived in a block of flats with his family of three. All his childhood his mother, Lolley Ostridge told him that no matter what anyone said his beard would always be special to her.
His first day of school began. Apparently by this age Barney had not yet learnt English. He spoke to strangers with a slight mumble and no emotion.
A young girl in his class constantly followed Barney, anxious of a friendship. Her name was Flippa Empire and she clearly had a crush on the bearded seven year old.
She carried books as she walked, wore spectacles and braces. Barney was oblivious of this; he continued to live his daily school life without speech or friendship.
As friendships formed around him, the bullies appeared from the class, from the school. Children of any age would physically beat him.
As they did, Barney just mumbled in shock.
One break:
Flippa sat beside Barney on the stone wall. They did not speak to each other, and Barney's eyes were lost behind his beard. His beard grew down to his chest and ended with a point. His parents had tried to shave it off, but it blunted the shaver. It blunted any sharp object that went near it.
No matter what, they said they would always love him.

Burkus Breakfast: The head bully
He walked over to the two silent students, "Yo, what’s with the beard?"
Alfred did not speak, Flippa only turned her head. Burkus frowned and threw his hand towards the beard. He tugged, "It's fake, right?" He pulled harder and Barney shrieked.
As Burkus continued to step back pulling the beard it started to get longer, stretch.
Flippa held her books over her eyes.
Burkus finally let go firing Barney backwards off of the wall. He fell into a pool of mud. As he sat, upside down he felt a tear emerge. His beard was covered in mud, along with his uniform.
Similar events occurred over the next months.
One afternoon his beard was placed between the bread of his sandwich and shoved into his mouth.
Barney choked for the first time; luckily he escaped when Flippa hit Burkus with a book.
After continuous bullying Barney was becoming deeply depressed. To escape from reality he smeared his clothes with tomato sauce and scrambled eggs. He thought it would make him invisible.
It may not have made him invisible, but it freaked the bullies out enough to keep them away.

Over the next weeks Barney began to learn some English, listening to conversations and teachings.
His first word; was 'Beer' (Hearing it constantly from teachers, Burkus and Barney's father.)

After half a year of sitting by Barney's side Flippa Empire finally spoke. "Barney."
She paused, "Barney." Her squeaky voice repeated.
"BEER" A deep voice bellowed out of the seven year olds mouth.
The next day they met up at the playground with their parents for a polite meal. Taking turns down the slide Alfred got stuck, the beard had caught onto the rough sides.
As the sun went down eventually a fire engine was called to get him untangled. Flippa’s parents eventually took the seven year old back to her warm home.
After Alfred was finally released he was disappointed to see his love had deserted him.
He continued to cry for many nights.

Flippa never appeared at school again.

Alfred drank some of his father’s beer to get over the matter.

Seven years past.
Barney moved into the realms of smoking.
Towards him crept high school. His beard down to his stomach, which was now a little fatter. He was fourteen but looked close to thirty.
His life was deserted. He attended Golden Star College and sat lonely once again scratching his beard.

Barney showed his first and last smile when he noticed Burcus Breakfast being bullied by a taller student. Burcus had not grown since year one so was an easy target.
The taller bully hung Burcus from the balcony and threatened to drop him. In the corner, on another stone wall, Barney Ostridge sipped his beer and laughed manically.
The bully opened his hand and dropped Burcus three stories downwards. Burcus broke his neck and split open his head. He was killed instantly.
This is why the Principle of Golden Star College, Richard Gold left to open up his own pub.
The staff of the college also went their separate ways and Barney’s education disappeared.

Barney ended up content in his room, smoking and drinking.
Over time the walls turned yellow and a baby was born.
Lolley Ostridge and his father Feedthe Ostridge came home with a baby boy. Barney’s brother was named Smelly after being threatened with Barney’s beard and drunken attitude.

“Barney! Do you want to invite your friends around for your 18th tomorrow?” Feedthe called up the stairs.
Barney sat in his room finishing off another bottle.
He never answered.

That afternoon he was called downstairs.
The family, Lolley, Feedthe and Smelly were set out in the kitchen. Lolley pointed to a big present sitting in the corner. It was the shape of a guitar, his very first guitar.
Lolley stopped Barney from setting Smelly on fire.
“Here Barney, I just finished baking your cake. Happy Birthday my love.”

The cake was a beer bottle shaped sponge cake. Stuck into the icing was 18 candles all lit with a glowing flame.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday…….” “Dear Barney, happy birthday to you.”
Barney stood silent with no emotion.
“Well blow out your candles Barney.” Lolley was smiling lovingly towards him. With no facial change Barney leant forward and attempted to blow. Unfortunately his beard set fire.
He moaned as the heat reached his skin. As this happened the bright light of flame spread along the kitchen table.
Suddenly there was spitting fire, burps of specs and flame. As Barney’s father held baby Smelly tightly Lolley reached to pour a bucket of water over Barney.
The beard was saved, but the block of flats was not.

That night they stood by the large pile of ash and debris that used to be their home and two other families.
Barney was standing with his tearful family, holding his guitar in his arms.


Smelly Ostridge attended school at the age of seven. His brother Barney sat drinking in the families new city home.

The new house was wide and echoed. Expensive sofas and kitchen ware. His room seemed almost the same as his older room.
It was small, yellow and piled in broken CDs, empty beer bottles and cigarettes.

The big day that would change the life of Barney Ostridge was almost here, on his 47th birthday.

As usual Barney sat on his bed strumming away at his acoustic guitar which was saved from the ashes of the earlier house. I believe he saw it as a god send.
He never spoke, only singing his creative lyrics in his head.

His 47th birthday was like any other day; he sat strumming as his brother arrived home from school.
“Hi mum, hi dad!”
“Smelly dear! Did the bullies come after you again?”
“Yes! But I was not afraid of them! I stared them in the eye like you said and then they didn’t hit me as hard.”
His mother smiled, she was happy that one son was confident.

“Barney! Would you come down? I’ve made you a nice, safe birthday pie.”
Barney loudly slouched down the stairs drunk and walked over to the kitchen. “What is it mum?” He grasped onto a chair and then tipped it over causing a loud echo across the house.
“Your brother has something for you.”

Smelly Ostridge, the small seven year old came up to Barney with a beaming smile on his face. He held out a teddy bear. “I saved up all of my pocket money, happy birthday big brother.”

Barney growled in his deep voice, “A teddy bear? What you want me to do with a teddy bear?”
Smelly was still smiling, “You can name it if you like.” He said in a sweet, jolly voice. Barney pulled out his lighter, and clicked.
The teddy bear shot up in flames in Smelly’s hand.
Over a minute the bear was black, weak. Its arms fell off in sparks and Smelly dropped it to the floor.
There was silence for a moment until Barney opened another bottle of beer.

He pushed himself up the stairs and landed on his bed.
Smelly stood flooded in tears. Lolley hugged the boy and cut a slice of Barneys birthday pie.

The burn of his present hit Smelly Ostridge like a bullet.


Lolley Ostridge was vacuuming the front room; Barney stood staring at her drinking his beer.

The Hoover pressed against his foot, “Darling Barney, could you just step outside while I Hoover this bit of carpet.”
Barney was shocked; in anger and drunkenness he stepped out of the front door and slammed it shut. “Thanks darling, I’ll only be a minute.” He heard from inside.

Barney stood alone on the street; he turned and faced the road.
“GET OUT BARNEY! WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE ANYMORE!” This is what Barney apparently heard in his drunken state.

He picked his guitar up from the garden and walked off into the sunset.


“Even if the world cannot see me.”

When I was younger
I begged for money
All I want, is a beer
Gimme a beer
My parents, they left me on the street
They left me there to die, to die of starvation
How did that make me feel?
Sad, lonely, depressed, unloved, rejected like a piece of dirt.

Even if the world cannot see me
But I cant see the world instead of it

Barney wrote his first song, begging on the streets. Eventually his music was recognized by the public and he was continuously given tips.
One day whilst by the shopping centre he found his new love, the trolley.
I might as well let the song he wrote tell you this story.


Oh Trolley, oh trolley.
Where have you gone?
Oh trolley, oh trolley I miss you so much.
You carried my beer, my clothes, my money, my sleeping bag and everything I own
Oh Trolley, oh trolley.
Where have you gone?
Oh trolley, oh trolley I miss you so much.
Please come back to me
Even if you cannot see me
But I can sure see you
Oh I miss you so much it just aint funny
I miss you so much

I don’t know what to do without you I don’t know how to live my life
Ever since I was on the street when I finally found you at the shopping centre car park
Trolley oh trolley you mean everything to me.


He was known to occasionally say Oh Flippa Oh Flippa at various gigs of his.
Others, he did not even show up to.

On the streets he earned himself a small fan base of both the homeless and the well paid.
He eventually got fatter and his beard grew. As he got older the fact he never had a shower caused mushrooms to grow in his whiskers.

His family reported Barney Ostridge missing. Due to his change in appearance he was never found by the police.
Shop window:
“Today in the news a man was kidnapped from his front garden today, his parents are rather depressed. Here is a picture of his face. Call crime stoppers”

One day his parents walked down his street as he sung his song.
As soon as Lolley saw him she screamed in happiness, recognizing him straight away. “IT’S BARNEY! IT’S OUR SON BARNEY!”

Barney’s father pointed out the name of the homeless man was “Alfred Dirt”. “It is not our son dear.” He held her tight and they moved along down the street, tears in her eyes.
Alfred stared in anger and then took a sip of his beer.

Stood in front of Alfred was the principle of his college, Richard Gold. “It is you right?”
Alfred shook his head, stood up and began playing “Even if the world cannot see me.”

Richard’s eyes widened as he listened, “Mate, you shouldn’t be on the street playing this music. You deserve the full drunken audience! Come to the Golden Star tomorrow, it’s my pub down the road! Let me be the one to give you your ‘big break’.”

“Pub?” Alfred smiled.

The Golden Star pub was like no other pub. Inside, the walls were showered with bottles and the floor was a pool. To the sides were counters and in the centre stood a small stage.
“The folk sit in the pool, have their meals and drink up. They listen to live music.” Richard Gold was soon explaining the dos and don’ts of the Golden Star Beer Garden.

Soon enough Alfred was doing his first live show:

“Pure Beerenation” (Which he stole off of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Although he denies this, claiming they stole it from him.)

Come with me
To Golden Star
To content with Pure Beerenation
Take a drink
And you’ll see what beer does.
Come with me
To Golden Star
Share a drink
To Pure Beerenation
Take a drink, you will see
You’ll get drunk

If you want to view Beeradise
Simply drink around and drink it
Even if the world cannot see me
There’s nothing to it
(Open your eyes, Make a wish upon a beer)

Share with me
One last drink
To content with Pure Beerenation
I was called Barney Ostridge
In my first life
Come with me to Golden Star
To content in drink imagination
Have a drink, have my beer.
It will be cool.


The audience applauded.
“Did they like it? Did they like it? I knew they did! I knew it!” – Alfred Dirt.

Through a shop window, Alfred Dirt stood. Guitar and sleeping bag slouched in the Coles trolley.
The man on the TV sat at the news desk, “Today in the news a mother of three deserted her family. Lolley Ostridge was seen catching a train and leaving. She became very violent in the house and then ran out on them.
Leaving behind a nine year old boy named Smelly and a new baby girl named Trolley
Ostridge. It is believed the daughter was named after a song sung by a homeless man in the centre of Fremantle.”

Alfred continued to perform his music at the Golden Star.
And eventually Richard asked Alfred if he’d like to release an official album.
His first album, “Apples Dipped in Beer”
Based on his favourite drink.

“Apples dipped in Beer”
Apples dipped in Beer
Dip them in a glass
Talk about your taste of beer at the Golden Star
Alfred Dirt can
Who can make the apples rise?
Dip them in the beer
Soak them all day to make a apple and beer pie
Alfred Dirt can

Alfred Dirt can drink anything he wants
Satisfying and Drunklishous.
Talk about your childhood wishes
Though I never had any childhood wishes because my brother smashed them all.
Who can make the bubbles rise?
Pour them in the glass
Soak them in the beer to make a beer and bubble pie
Alfred Dirt can.


“I love apples dipped in beer.”
Alfred Dirt was invited on the Tomothy Live show on his 50th birthday.
The release of the album shocked the world.

Instead of buying a home with the money he earned he bought a huge recording studio and named it Dirt Records.
There he lived.
“So I think you’ve created your own genre haven’t you?” Tomothy.
“The dirt genre…. Dirt music! Storm across the world.” Tomothy
Soon his life was great, he lived in his huge studio recording his sounds and visiting the Golden Star.

One day the buzzer went off. “Hello?” Alfred spoke through.
“Hi, this is Richard Gold.”
Alfred smiled, “Yes.” He drank some beer and pressed the button opening the front door of the studio.
Richard stepped in on the reflecting tiles.
“Alfy, I just… I was just wondering why you didn’t turn up to the gig yesterday… at the Beer Gardens…”
He hesitated, rather afraid of the drunken man in front of him.
“I WAS DRUNK” Alfred said smashing the bottle against a counter. Richard stood back as Alfred picked up a gun from the shelf near by.
“My parents…. Left me on the street….” He stepped forwards, “How do you think that makes me feel?”
Richard spoke, “Sad... lonely...” He was frightened.
“How do you think that makes me feel?”
There was a shocking bang and blood splattered from Richard’s chest. He collapsed onto the tiles bathing in his own pool of red liquid.
Alfred put the gun down and began drinking another bottle of beer.

The sun set and Alfred did not care what happened next, he never did. He eventually stopped smoking realizing the taste was sickening.
In his spare time he started to build a tower of beer bottles, though was too drunk to continue. He fell into the tower knocking every one onto the tiles.
He sat in his armchair strumming his guitar; the dead body on the floor was invisible to him.

Richard Gold organized gigs, recording and interviews. Now he was dead Alfred felt a weight lift off of him.
Alfred continued to drown his sorrows with alcohol.

The phone rang.
“Gday, Alfy here.”
“Hi there, this is Barbara. I am a nurse at the local hospital. We have a patient here who claims to be your father. I don’t know how to say it Alfred, but your father is dieing.”

Alfred Dirt waited at the bus stop in his drunken state. A woman stood by with a baby in a pram. She gave the child a bottle of milk.
Alfred spat out suddenly taking his beer bottle away from his mouth. “This is OFF!” A dribble of thick vomit dropped down his beard.
He noticed the baby’s bottle.
Alfred’s thought: “A classic Golden Star Beer! Man, I must have that!”
He took the bottle from the baby’s mouth and started drinking. At the same time he dropped his half empty beer bottle into the pram.

Alfred spat once again noticing the flavor was off throwing the milk bottle towards a passing car. It crashed through the front window and caused the vehicle to spin out of control.
It shot past the bus stop and crashed into a stop sign. Smoke clouded the street as the bus finally pulled up.
The mother of the child was screaming in shock, the baby was drinking a bottle of beer.
Alfred stepped onto the bus.
“Sorry, no bums allowed,” The driver spoke.
“I’m not a bum! I’m Alfred Dirt!”
There was silence, a frown on the drivers face.
He began to sing, “Even if the world cannot see me!”
“But I can see the world instead of it”!
Everybody on the bus sat there in silence and all had their eyes focused on Alfred.

That afternoon Alfred arrived at the local hospital, Saint Enemy hospital.
Inside, at reception Barbara greeted Mr. Dirt. “Your father is Feedthe Ostridge yes?”
Alfred did not reply.
Barbara led Alfred to a white room along one of the halls and opened the door. Inside laid an old man, Feedthe.
“Barney.” His father spoke lightly; he was shaking as he did.
Alfred shook his head and pulled a beer bottle from his pocket, “No, I’m Alfred DIRT.”
“Don’t be an idiot Barney, I know it is you. I knew it was you when I first saw you on the street. No one could ever miss that beard. I assured your mother it was not you just so she wouldn’t get any more hurt than she already was.”
Alfred continued to frown.
“It’s nice to see you again though, son.”

“I don’t have a family! They kicked me out onto the street to beg for money! How do you think that made me feel?”
Alfred gulped down a large amount of alcohol in one. His father smiled, “We didn’t kick you out Barney. Leaving was your own choice. We thought you were kidnapped.”

Alfred was constantly moving in the drunken state. In anger he threw his bottle towards the floor. It exploded into thousands of pieces firing across the tiles.

There was once again silence.
A man with a dark black hat and sunglasses ran into the room with a sandwich in his hand. “Smelly!” Feedthe screamed in happiness.
“No father, you know I’ve changed my name to Rick Wey.” He tipped his hat to his father.
In a deep voice Alfred spoke in shock, “Smelly Ostridge?”
Ricks eyes met Alfred suddenly, “Alfred Dirt... or Barney Ostridge…” He was constantly frowning towards Alfy.

“Dad, why did you invite him?” He was obviously angry.
His father replied, “He’s my son too. Don’t forget that.”
Rick Wey was around twenty one now standing before the two of them. “He’s drunk…”
Feedthe laughed, “He’s always drunk.”

Alfred felt his eyes widen, the shock of seeing two people from his past in the same room. Alfred picked up his guitar from the wall and began to strum.
“Oh smelly please get out of my life. I hate you so much. You’re a bad brother to me. You’re younger than me but you never give me any respect. Well, not the respect I deserve.”

Rick’s bland expression did not change. “Here…... is your sandwich Dad.” He handed Feedthe the sandwich and watched him unwrap the plastic.
Alfred noticed the sandwich and walked over to his father, “Here’s a sandwich for you Dad.” He took the top bread from his father’s sandwich and then stuffed his beard between the bread.
Suddenly, before anyone could move the beard sandwich was being stuffed into Feedthe’s mouth.
He was suffocating, struggling manically as Alfred laughed drunk. Rick stood in horror, as he moved forward Alfred swung a fist back and bashed him into the wall. Rick collapsed into the corner of the room.
Suddenly there was a long lasting bleep and his father was dead.
Alfred stepped back slowly.

On his way out he smeared himself with sandwich insides and crept out of the building silently


Sat at home beside a small radio Alfred listened.
“Hello! This is Golden Star radio. Today Alfred Dirt’s place of number one was beaten by a certain, Mr. Bindy.
Mr. Bindy is a new musician whose music has rocked the world.
His first single “We Start Living” was huge in the country and now his new song, “We all hate Alfred Dirt” has brought him a whole new audience.”

Alfred listened as a high pitched voice sung that they hated him constantly to a guitar and drum track. Soon enough a crowd of children’s voices joined in the singing.
A tear formed in Alfred’s eyes.
Over the next few months more songs were released talking negatively of Alfy.
Soon his music moved down the charts and he continued to get drunk. Money disappeared and furniture was removed. No one was buying his music any more. People who listened to his tunes had downloaded them illegally.

Soon, he was homeless once again.

After so many millions of beers Alfred lost the sense to make music. His music sounded worse than dirt.

There was a gravel sound, two cars pulled up beside Alfred slumping beside a bin. They were police cars, a man stepped out. “It was hard tracking you down Mr. Ostridge. But here you are. You’re under arrest for the murder of two men. Mr. Richard Gold and your father Mr. Feedthe Ostridge.”
Alfred pulled himself up and then began to run. His beard was flapping in the wind as he moved.
Alfred Dirt was drunk.

It was 12:30 at night.
Alfred crashed through a window and found himself in a dark waiting room. He watched as the two police cars shot past leaving him safe from capture.

The lights flickered in the room. Alfred got up wiping glass from his flesh.
Suddenly there was a bell and the lift doors opened firing in a blinding light. A silhouette stood in the lift.
“Up stairs,” the man said.
Alfred moved slowly towards him, finally traveling into the lift. “Who is this?” Alfred asked still moving around.
The doors shut in front of him and the lift bellowed a new sound. It was moving upwards.

After a minute or so the doors opened revealing the level 6987. That is pretty high up…
The man stepped out into the light, instantly Alfred recognized him.
Rick Wey, formerly Smelly Ostridge stood in front of him.

“Hello Alfred. It was nice of you to drop in to the hospital once again. After the last time you were here you murdered my father.”
Alfred burped, “I was… drunk.”
“I thought id give you a little choice. Alfred, you deserted our family didn’t you?”
“NO! They kicked me out to beg for money! How do you think that makes me feel?”
Rick frowned once again.
“Alfred…. Do you remember your 47th birthday?”
“Yes… the house burnt down.”
“No… that was your 18th. You burnt my present. You set it on fire.”
“Well you made the walls turn yellow.”
“Shut up, that was you.”
“With your smell!”
“Smelly was just a name Alfred.”
Alfred giggled, dribbling on his shirt.

“I want you to say sorry.”
“What for?” Alfred asked.
“For everything. Putting our mother through so much, burning the teddy bear… leaving us… not to mention ruining the music industry with dirt music.”
“Where is mum anyway?” Alfred was staring around the room.
“Mother left, after our sister was born. Father wanted to call her Trolley after your song. He missed you as well but didn’t want to interfere with your new life.”
“How did that make you feel?”
Alfred went silent.
“You probably felt drunken Alfred. You always do. See, a person like you does not even deserve to live. But I’m going to give you a chance.
First off I wanted to ruin your life again.
So I joined up the Wey Organization. We brought together musicians and people that hated you. Mr. Bindy, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, even Phil Collins. We all worked together to produce music that told the world what you were REALLY like.
We brought you down Alfred, we made you homeless again.
Tell me Alfred, how did THAT make you feel?”
Alfred was still silent.

“Say sorry or we both die. This hospital is loaded with dynamite. It will rip open from bottom to top. We’re at the top.
Say sorry or I detonate.
You’ll be killing all of those people, all of those patients and night staff…. And yourself. Because as we all know, you only ever think about yourself.”

Alfred twitched, “Please, I’ll give you my beer. I swear.”
Rick Wey grinded his teeth. “Just say sorry.”

“Our parents kicked me out, don’t you believe me?”
“Just say sorry.”
“Sorry for WHAT? I was drunk!”
“4, 3, 2”
Alfred skimmed the area and made his way for a restroom. He ran inside a cubicle and closed the door shut loudly.

Rick Wey detonated the bomb.

A blast of energy came from the bottom of the building, ripping open the first level. Then the second exploded. Like a chain reaction, a Mexican wave the building burst separately into fire.

Rick Wey laughed as the floor got hotter. The building shook under his feet and the top level finally exploded burning everything.

The sky lit up as a small cubicle spun through the air and fell downwards.

Down below Grand Heights primary school were having a school fair. Children lining up for the bouncy castle watched as sparks and rubble fell from the clouds and the hospital burnt.

The cubicle collapsed onto the bouncy castle bursting a large hole in the rubber. Alfred collapsed out and fell down off the front of castle.
He was motionless for a minute, but soon pulled himself up to see a hundred children’s eyes on him.
The bouncy castle started falling in on itself. Alfred got up and walked slowly through the crowd of children staring at the sky.


Supervising the children of the fair was a 60ish year old woman. She had turned her attention from the children, the burning hospital, to a fat old man.
“That beard…” She said staring at him.
Alfred walked past her stumbling as he did. “BARNEY?” she called towards him.
He stopped in his steps.

Maybe he recognized the voice?
“Are you Barney Ostridge?” The woman said.
Alfred smiled, “Yes I guess I am… or was.”
“It’s me, Flippa, Flippa Empire. Do you remember me?”
Alfred thought for a moment, “Yes, you left me on the slides, my beard stuck on the sides!”
“Barney, we moved away. My family moved to Sydney… I was to shy to tell you.”

Alfred stood for a moment listening, “Oh….
I’m sorry.”


Gday, this is Andrew Denton again. I’m not sure what you may think of Alfred after all of this. I feel sorry for him after writing his earlier life, but also feel sorry for the people he hurt on his journey.

Alfred Dirt ended up getting married to Flippa Empire. But unfortunately died of Alcohol poisoning at the wedding.

The song “Flippa” was released after they reunited.


Lolley Ostridge, his mother was never found. Trolley, the sister that he never knew moved away and never made contact. Flippa became the principle of Grand Heights School.

RIP Alfred Dirt (Barney Ostridge)

The End

- The Daily Crumb

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

The wipe of music

Today in the news the head of the planet George Barnable has called a meeting of the heads.
Prime Ministers, Presidents, Kings, Queens, heads of doctor who fan clubs and many others are attending.

The clock is ticking on the wall of the large meeting hall.

No news reporters are allowed within 300 metres of the building. But in this case i am being called as Head of Fiction, Penny Lane.
I sat in one of the expensive chairs.
George Barnable was sitting at the end of the table. "So, we're getting rid of music. Over the years it has gone down hill. So every musician will be shot. Got it?"
The people were shocked.
"No bums, rappers, loudness. No musical radio, everything will be fantastic."
So that is the news today. He asked the heads to go back to their countries and organise an assasination of all musicians.

So i'm writing this late today and the world is so quiet. Jerome has not spoken, Penny Lane is silent. England is silent, the world... is silent.

And George Barnable is sitting in his armchair smiling. In peace.

"Mr. Barnable."
"My names Nathan Viney. Am I the first to complain about this?"
"Yes... the others dont want to be shot."
"Oh ok."
George Barnables head exploded into blots of flesh and brain. His body collapsed backwards splashing a mesh of blood onto the wall.

I stood shocked in his office.

Behind me a soldier was holding a rifle. "I missed." He was staring at the dripping blood on the curtains of the large window.
"I killed George Barnable."
"What do you mean you missed?" I asked.
"I was aiming for you obviously... i was assigned to kill anyone who complains." He moves the gun slowly in my direction. "I might as well shoot you."
"NO! Look, whats your name?"
"Mocha Brakenfresh."
"O....k. Well, has music not influenced your life?"
"Well of course it has, i was the lead singer of The Red Hot Chili Peppers."
"Wow... um. well dont you see you've done the right thing?"
"Killing George! You killed the ban. Now the next person in line is the ruler of the world."
"And.. thats me..."
"I just shot my dad."
"Lovely.... now! You can make the world musical again. Go! Sit on that chair and be the rightful lord of Earth."
Mocha smiled and walked over to the desk. "Um.. dads bodies still on it..."
"Well... push it off."
Mocha pushed his fathers body off of the chair and sat down, smiling. "Wow."
"Feels good to be in control dosent it?"
"Yeah... anything i say will come true."
"Yep. Now just say you want music back."
"Nope... i'm going to say i want all bald people shot! I dont like them. I hate seeing my reflection."
"NO! What the... get off that chair."

3 soldiers came into the room after hearing the gunshot. "Whats happ...." They paused when they saw the blood above Mochas head.

Mocha was sent to life in prison. I was sent home to have a some hot chocolate.
The new leader of Earth position was given to the worthy Tony Blair.

- The Daily Crumb

Monday, July 21, 2008

Pattern of Complete and Utter Completed Patterns

A painting sat on the table. I pulled the blinds open letting in the wave of sunlight.
"This painting dear boy is one of only two."
"Yes, in the whole world."
"Not the universe then."
"Oh no, there is one more out there somewhere."
"Ah right."
"You must take care of it my boy."
"How did you get in my house?"
"Just... back door was wide open."

Today in the news eight brainy calculators sitting in a tree. One was tired and slipped. Like dominoes they collapsed off of the tree and exploded into electronic pieces.
Only one calculator lived, the one that was tired.


"Let me dilute this water for you."
"Accidently stabbed you seven times. I'm so sorry. My eyes are fogged today from the storm."
"I understand, no biggy...."
"You're hiding your true feelings arent you."
"You ARE! I know these things. You're hiding that you're angry with me. Maybe a little dissapointed."
"I'm not.... i swear.."
"Yep, i knew it. Face, blue as a bubble. You need to tell me something, just tell me."

"Oh come on boy! Tell me! You cant keep feelings locked up forever."

"Boy? Releasing blood from your mouth is not polite."

"Boy... lying on the floor of MY classroom is NOT polite."


"That's it. I'm calling your parents boy."

Half hour later. Teacher is sitting at desk as the parents arrive.
"Oh my god, whats happened to our son."
"He kept something to himself too long, it just took him over."
"Id say so. But imploding suicide."
"Never heard of it."
"I'm a teacher of science so i know."
"Tell us then."
"Ok. Imploding Suicide is when a student of your sons age keeps a secret in without letting it out. Although he really wants to let it out. If something terrible happened to him, like he watched a family member die or something along those lines. A possible reason is he watched me stab him seven times.
Anyway, with normal people they keep it in their head untill they go emo in their 20-30's. But in this case your son was weak and just exploded of Imploding Suicide.
It is basically the body instead of the mind commiting suicide."

"Yep. He didnt feel he could speak to me about his reaction to the stabbing."
"No need to swear. His body was too weak, like a balloon. One needle, pop! Couldnt let out his emotions like others. I'm a professional, i should know."

The mother began to cry.
The teacher continued.
"I believe it is in the genes, weak bones. You look VERY weak. You should eat more guzzle meats."
"I'm so sorry for your loss. As a priest i will organise the funeral free of charge."
"Oh, what a nice man."

- The Daily Crumb

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Stuggling around the house
Falling, reaching in pain
Trying to find a working pen
"I've got one," I was relieved to find a blue pen under a sofa cushion. "What do you want me to write?"
I was holding the phone up to my ear listening in for a response.
"You've got an enemy," the voice said.
"I've got plenty."
"No... you have one enemy."
"Check your sofa again."
I slowly put the phone down and turned my head. There, sat on the sofa was Vector. "OH MY GOD!" I screamed in shock. "Why do you keep coming back?"
There was no answer, Vector sat motionless with his legs crossed.
I walked slowly towards him, "Were you trying to scare me or something?" My words drifted away when i noticed Vector was white. Then i noticed the blood tripping from his mouth.
I closed my eyes and turned away. "He's... dead.."

"So, you have one enemy."
"Who are you?"
"I am, that one enemy. My name is not important at the moment. But ive just called the emergency line. The police and ambulances will be at your place in moments. I suggest, running."
I'd read books, seen films where the character was framed. Then they just ran, or tried to hide the bodies.
Well, i decided to break that chain and stay put.
I sat beside Vector and switched on the television. A typical cooking show appeared, "Put this in for at least an hour." The man took it out from the oven, "Now you're ready to cook."
That was not an hour.

The phone rang again.
"Why arent you running? They are going to get you for murder."
"No, i'll just explain that a crazy guy called and left the body here. I'm sure they'll believe me."
"You idiot, they dont believe stuff like that unless there is proof."
"There is proof, i've got a video camera outside picking you up on your mobile."
There was silence.
Then a curse from the other voice.

Then he hung up.

I walked outside and took the camera from the flowerpot it sat in.
Inside i rewinded the tape to see the appearence of the man that called. He wore a black hat and sun glasses.
I did not recognize him... what did he have against me?

The police arrived with flashing lights.
As they stepped inside i explained what had happened, sure they were questioning me. Soon, after listening to the sound on the camera they believed me.
"We should trace the call. Find out who owns the mobile." One officer said.
I nodded.
The lights flickered off.
I blinked in pattern and then they were off. Pitch black in The Daily Crumb.
"Shut up... they're gone." The voice from the phone.
"What?? Where have they gone?"
The voice grunted and switched on the light.
The police bodies were crumpled bloody on the floor. Next to them stood the man, he laughed. "You dont know me do you?"
"Maybe i'm a crazed fan."
"Stop writing down everything i say for your blog."
"It's not a blog, it's an online newspaper."
The man held up a long knife and started walking towards me. "I hate you Nathan. I hate everything that is The Daily Crumb." He continued walking.
"You really want to know Nathan?"
The knife was on my chin.
"Yes....." I gulped.
"Because i auditoned for the medium in the second Silver Screen film and what did you do? Hire some nutcase."
"Well.. we were sort of looking for a nutcase."
"Yeah! Well here's your case of nuts."
He opened a suitcase that sat by his feet, the knife still on my chin. Hundreds of nuts collapsed out of it and rolled towards me.
"Hire me for your next movie. OR... die."
"Sounds like either way i live."
"Shut up."
For some reason he'd backed me against the back door. So i fell backwards, landed on my foot and leapt off into the distance.
He swung his knife in anger and began to run after me.
This was, until he was hit by a passing train.
His body shot out of my eye sight and the trains carriages finally disapeared with the train.

I stood in the desert staring at The Daily Crumb, rebuilt after Penny Lane was destroyed and wondered, "I really should not care... they're always going to die. I never die, i always win..... i can just sit back and relax."

The next day the Duck stepped through the front door glaring at me with evil eyes. The robotic voice spoke, "I'm back, and i have unfinished buisness. The ugly duckling wants its kill."
I laughed and relaxed in my chair.
Then i found a sword in my stomach. Now the duck was quacking in laughter. He let go of the handle and turned away walking through the door.

I felt dizzy

-RThgdena crumvb

Monday, July 14, 2008

The Secret Sequel

You know me as the editor

I rewind, cut and pause your life around you.

This morning i woke up with a novel placed over my face. As i sat up it slid down into my hands and i began to read.
"The Thorn Bolt and the Broken Spoon Dance. Written by Trolley Ostridge and Rhonda Byrne."
I opened it up and gave it a twinkle.
"You all know the rules of the world, the basic human mind control. The fact every human on earth is a transmission tower for whatever they want. With peace comes your wants. Well now this book moves onto the greater side of it.
Who created us? Designed us to do this?
The Editor
The Editor is a man rarely seen by any human. Doctor. Falcon Berk Mansly said, "As a young boy my family were one of fighting. I understand their views on the world were so negative they could not turn back. This normally when the Editor appears, he clicks his fingers.
My parents were erased from my household.
The man was wearing sunglasses and a dark hat, that looked too big for him.
He disapeared after that."

This book is silly.

"The Secret of the Editor revealed: If you've lost all hope in life the Editor appears and fixes your problems, or just disapears you.
Whatever works best. Its a bit like the matrix really... oh, i think that old guy was called The Editor as well.
Thats a shame, i thought we were going somewhere with this book. "
The Thorn Bolt and the Broken Spoon Dance. Written by Trolley Ostridge and Rhonda Byrne

Two years from now the Editkor will return, notice i changed his name to Editkor. or Edikor. Edikor sounds good. He will return and erase all that is evil. So make sure you are not evil at that time or you will be in grave danger.
First thing:
He will send down his employees. Thorn Bolt and Broken Spoon Dance. Broken Spoon Dance is always drunk so will be the one to erase occasional 'good' people rather than 'bad'. Thorn Bolt will kill the 'bad' group slowly and 'then' erase them battered.

This is all the fun of the gods.
Broken Spoon Dance spoke:
"Well this job only goes as far as getting rid of people. Whether a person is bad, or smokes, there are never any compaints on eraseing them."
Thanks Broken Spoon Dance.s

Well that was fun
- The Daily Crumb

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Hotel in Time/Vectors Technology

Blue sky, green grass. The sun is high and the pollution is calling an army against us.

It all started this morning, i rang the bell at the reception of the Orvcet Hotel. A man came to the desk with a bell on the end of his hat. "Good morning sir. Sea or no sea?"
I stood confused, "No C."
"Very well."
I paid and was shown to my room, up the lift, the 550th floor.
Room 550.
"Everytime you go out you may leave your key at the front desk."
I thanked the bell boy and sent him on his way.
I opened the door of 550.
All there was was glass, my nose hit the window in front of me. I groaned and started hitting it, "What kind of joke is this?" Then i looked down, so very high up.
The mist by the glass was the clouds. I stepped back watching as a crack developed from where i hit my nose.
It got larger and larger until the whole window exploded into pieces letting a powerful wind burst through.
I screamed and held onto the door handle, my legs lifted and i was sucked out of the frame. My body swooped through the cold air and then i landed.
My head fell forward as i opened my eyes, a beautiful green field. The sky was so blue you could put it in a jar and then call it 'blue sky in a jar'.

The bell boy walked over to me, "Welcome." He paused, "TO THE ORVCET HOTEL!" He was very happy.
"What are you doing in my room?" I asked. As a response he blinked into the air with the ring of a bell.
I stood up and stared over the field. "No bed, no tv, nothing. A rip off, not even a door to get out."
There was silence.
A man in armour walked towards me. He gave me some heavy gear, "You'll be needing this, put it on fast. We're almost at war."
I put the armour on and stared into the wilderness. "So.... what are you guys doing in my room?"
Soldiers in similar armour were grouped up behind me stood silently listening to the wind. The man frowned, "This is our future. The hotel was built to get soldiers from the past time to help defend the human race from the Pollution."
"The who da what now?"
"You are a soldier, we kidnapped you. The pollution killed the human race so we had to do this. The hotel is a trap for recruiting."
A man shouted from far off, "HERE THEY COME!"
A large green mist of figures emerged over the green hill killing the grass.
"The pollution..... here they come."

I was not having any of this, "Look, just give me one of those glass doors again, i want to get back. I want to write this in my newspaper."
"And what newspaper is that?"
"The Daily Crumb."
"Well then lets hope you die in this battle."
I found myself one in a long line of soldiers standing, awaiting command. One screamed, "There are 550 of us and 5890 of them, we stand no chance!"
Another spoke, "We'll be wiped out in seconds!"
The main soldier ignored every comment and just stepped forwards, "Right. Lets go screaming."
I was wondering why id walked into so many 550's in the day.
Before i could conclude my thoughts i was running with the pack of soldiers towards the gloomy, smelly characters running towards me.
An empty can of coke hit me in the head, a plastic bag next landing on my hand. More cans, crisp packets firing at me.
Then it went silent, just screaming and a flash of light. A quick glimpse of teeth and eyes shot in front of me.
More darkness.
I collapsed.
A mans blurred shape appeared standing over me. "It is really you, i cant believe my eyes."
I pulled myself up and noticed i was in a white room, nothing for miles. "Me?"
"Nathan, the writer of The Daily Crumb. It is me, VECTOR!"
I got up in shock and pulled a blade from the air throwing it to the shadowy mans chin. I was surprised for a moment... i didnt remember having a sword.
"This is the hite dimension. It's fictional, this is just a tiny room in your mind. Sorry for the intrusion, it is just the technology of the future." Vector spoke so proud.
"Last time i saw you, you tried to kill me... twice.... in fact i watched you explode as a Gwerm."
"You forget the size of my brain, any piece of my brain could be reused. It did, by the Vector Gang. There are still dark times to come for you Nathan but you will survive them all. I matured over these years realising my hatred was, like the hite dimension, fictional.
So now i stand here, forming an army to fight the pollution."
I began writing this down in my notebook for the article.
"At the moment you are frozen in time, every other human is dieing, we didnt collect enough warriors. Outside this brain is the end of the human race. Pollution kills earth, just like expected. Pollution was controlled by a germ and evolved into its own creature taking over the world."
I frowned, "This isnt very interesting, it is fine in 2008, cant i just go back there?"
"No, im not as mature as i say i am. I want you to watch the humans die, slowly."
A screen appeared beside me in the white and i watched the people dieing, ripped up by green gunk.
"Imagine it Nathan, a tip in every city.. alive...... no one expected that. Even my technology was not good enough.... my brain was not good enough."
"Orvcet.. Hotel... Vector... DAMN IT. Why do i always fall into these holes?" I screamed.

I looked away but the screen appeared in my new direction, even when i covered my eyes they appeared on my hands, in my eyes.
"How are you doing this?"
"The power of the mind, the hite dimension."

This gave me an idea, i looked up at him and used my mind. Straining thought and suddenly..
A 550 tonne block of cheese appeared out of the white and crushed Vector into the ground. I shrieked. "Oh dear...."

The images in my mind disapeared and then so did hite.
I appeared back in the field, but it was not green anymore. A low fog of junk circled my legs. "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE STILL ALIVE!" The main soldier ran towards me.
"We will ignore commands and escape, i'll use the Vector teleport ray." He held up a gun and fired.

I was in the Hotel hallway glaring down the corridor.
I breathed and noticed the bell boy was standing beside me. "Did we win?"
I shook my head.
He cried.
I laughed
He cried
I laughed some more
He got angry
I was banned from the Hotel.

Lucky i was, all the glass doors exploded and the whole building got sucked into the future. The block was now just dirt.

Next hotel...

- The Daily Crumb

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Hit and Run, with Pizza.

I got a call today, walked over to the phone and picked it up.
First it was nothing less than breathing. Then it transformed into an electronic voice.
"I'm going to send over a friend of mine today at 12.00."
They hung up, i didnt catch a name.
So before 12 i sat in an arm chair glaring through the blinds. I glared at my watch, the digital numbers struck 12.
A car pulled up to the house. A man stepped out. "Nathan?"
"Here is your pizza." The man pulled out the seven boxes from the boot. "That will be $95.00"
I was confused, "What? I dont understand."
"It's good pizza. Cash, now."
"I'm sorry, i didnt order any pizza."
The man looked angry, "You did, you ordered it a half hour ago. To this address you said."
I stared around, the joker on the phone had ordered me some pizza.
The phone rang.
"Would you excuse me?" I said. I walked back into the house picking up the phone.
The electronic voice, "Pay for the pizza, or someone will become a pizza."
"Very funny joke but no thanks." I hung up.
The pizza man stood outside. "So?"
"I'm sorry, i dont want the pizza, there must have been a mistake."
"I guess ill have to take them back then... you know this might become a police matter."
"I hope not."
"Well bye." The pizza man walked back to his car and placed the boxes in the boot.
There was a shriek of engine, i thought it came from the pizza mans car but he hadnt even got in the seat yet.
Up the street soared a speeding car, the pizza man walked around his vehicle to get to the door.
CLUNK, I twitched.
Sandwiched... like pizza on the road. The pizza man was dead, and now, literally a pizza man.
The phone rang.
I didnt run to answer. I just stared at the wreck. The car that hit him had driven off.
I took the phone off the hook and put it to my ear. "Yes?"
"If you hang up you'll die."
I listened, but there was no more speech. "Ok, its your phone bill."
I let the phone hang and went to sit on my armchair, the police knocked at my door.
"Good Morning Sir, we wondered if you'd seen anything on the road this morning." Two police standing in the doorway.
Before i could speak the phone starting screaming in the electronic voice,"YES I KILLED HIM, I MURDERED HIM. PIZZA. ME. NATHAN, THE MURDERER."
I ran backwards and hung the phone up.
"What was that?" A policemen asked.
"Prank call... actually... a friend. Lives erm, across the road, must have seen you at the door and started screaming bad things on the line."
"No one lives across your road, you live in the desert." The police officer did not look convinced.
There was silence.
The tallest police officer asked the other to return to the crash scene while he questioned me. I seemed to be in trouble for not ordering a pizza today.
He pulled a gun out and put it to my forehead. "Your car, your car hit my family yesterday. I noticed it, and now you connect up with another hit and run."
I couldnt speak, i felt sadness for his loss but also wanted to escape the small space i felt stuck in. "I'm retiring tommorow, probably die in a year," the policemen said, "So it'll be fine to shoot you."
The phone rang.
"May i.....?" I asked pointing at the phone, as my eyes were on it, it exploded in a gunshot. The police officer was angry.
The mystery man on the end of the phone was a hit and run artist, and wanted to frame me. I had gone for a walk yesterday afternoon. The perfect opportunity to take my car and kill.
The other officer had heard the gunshot and ran in pulling the taller man down onto the ground. "I said it was too early to return to work!" The taller man shook in anger. "I'm so sorry sir, his family were killed in a similar accident yesterday."
I nodded, a second from death. Maybe that is what the man on the phone had hoped would kill me, the officers gunshot?

The taller officer had been arrested and placed in the back of the policecar. The other one walked back towards the door.
"I cannot say sorry enough." His mobile rang, a typical electronic tune.
He put it to his ear, "Hello? Right........... how do... well... ok i'll give it to him." He handed me the phone.
The voice said, "Duck."
I ducked
I wish id heard it coming up the drive, the police lights were glowing, moving in a circular pattern. The heavy vehicles engines started and it drove forwards, right for the officer and i at the door.
The car shot up the steps, the metal front cracked into the officers back and the machine skimmed over my low head, i fell forward and the car landed loudly behind me.
It exploded into the wall of the house and ripped open the ceiling. There were sparks and water spraying into the air.
All went slowly quiet, a door closed and i heard footsteps.

A duck walked out from behind the burning car and house, it quacked. It was holding in one hand a mobile, and in the other a miniture computer.
"Duck.." I whimpered.
The duck turned to me and typed in something to the computer. From the speakers it spoke, "Maybe ugly meant the mind."

It woddled off into the night.

Well that is my Australia trip so far.
The angry officer was crushed in the back of the car by a fallen wall, and the smaller one was killed almost instantly.
So much for trying to start a new life in the sunny country.... i moved on.

-The Daily Crumb