Posh Harold

"Heave Ahoy," shouted the fake sailor. The real sailors looked at him in disgust and walked away. Chester was a tabby cat strolling the jetty that day and was on the lookout for a gin seller for a drink to ease his crippling depression. Unfortunately, Togo, the local gin peddler, was away on a three week cruise around the Antarctic. Gin sales had failed to reach the same heights achieved last year so he had only enough funds for a third class cabin on the starboard side which stank of burger sauce and had terrible views of the ice masses. Chester had been informed of this upon his last visit to Togo, but the scrap of paper he wrote the information on burnt down. Undeterred, he proceeded to the local gastro pub in search of satisfaction. He entered, approached the bar and belched loudly. The barman was a chimney pot with an oven shelf for a head. He ungracefully ejected Chester from the building leaving his reputation in tatters.

A Christmas Carol

Bhindi was a total lesbian. She failed however to complete her quest laid down in a dream to her by k.d. lang to be the next Christmas No. 1. The song she released that fateful year, "Sausage Dodge", sold eight copies. Three of them Bhindi purchased herself, two were sold to her mother and the other three went to unknown destinations. Thanks to the healthy download market, she still managed to get to No. 3. Her short lived fame ended after her naked appearance on CD:UK was marred by blatant flouting of the fire regulations. The extinguisher service records were not up to date, there were no fire assembly points identified and the stage was covered in petrol. Her follow up single, "Billingsgate", had heart but no lungs. In later life, Bhindi would come to find great satisfaction in wood chopping, electioneering and brutal self abuse.

Undermining Gino

Jonny was an alien. He was so alien that not only was he not human, he wasnt even the same race as the aliens who planet he was on, in fact, he had no idea what species he was. He had never really known how had arrived there, its was just all he knew. Anyway, the planet was called Raelian. On the planet Raelian, there was a vast array cultural spectrum, from the old and grumpy to the loud and happy to the meek and fearsome to the downright nasty. No-one ever really noticed Jonny, he was similar in appearance in most ways and as he had known no better, he just fitted in and carried on the way everybody else did.

One day on Raelian, Jonny was on his way to work at the Plingo farm where he was a foreman in the Roinker warehouse. Quite good work for a young Uduices and certainly worthy of the respect of his peers. Anyway, on his usual route, he suddenly found himself on a part of the road he didnt recognise. He had been dreaming away to himself about things and lost concentration as he considered himself extremely familiar with the route. He turned back and discovered he had failed to make the right turn which he made every morning. This seemed strange to him because he walked this road twice every day and had never forgotten it before in the nine argons he had been working there. He put it down to just a mistake but really, he knew what the reason probably was. Just recently, he was worried about his alien status. The thought of never being able to be the same as everyone else had been building in his mind for so many years now, that it was obviously starting to take over his thought patterns. His parents had always told him that they didnt consider him an alien and even if he was, he was easily good enough to become Raelianist with just a few forms being filled in and a couple of very minor operations. This idea had always scared him, which confused him further as he was unhappy with his current situation but was too scared to try and make it better.

While considering all this, he had managed to find his way to the farm on automatic thought without any other hiccups. The first person he saw was a friend of his, Mizoo. Mizoo was a nice enough Raelianist, he would have done anything for Jonny, should he ask, and wouldn't intentionally hurt a living soul. “Morning Jonny”, said Mizoo in his usual cheery tone. “Morning Miz, hows things?” Jonny replied, giving the best smile he could muster. “Not too bad at all really, I just got the news that my new Flogrot is arriving next week and I cant wait”, he said with a genuine enthusiasm. “How are you doing?” He asked, with a slightly duller tone. “Oh, pretty good”, Jonny said as the interest flooded out of the conversation. “Listen, I cant stop because I have to see Arlanot about some things, but i’ll catch up with you later”. “Ok, sounds Chunky Fiddory”, said Mizoo with regained enthusiasm. Jonny walked away thinking to himself and came to the conclusion that despite Mizoo’s good points, he wasnt all that keen on him. He was the type of person who meant you no harm but who you wouldn't choose to spend too much time with, he just, well, he just never seemed to have any interest in anyone else. It was always conversation about him, or something about you that he would be able to lead on to him. Jonny didn't let it bother him, it was just the way he was and he had no interest in changing him at all but it did feel like if he told him his house fallen down, Miz would probably have a fallen down house with a bow on it. Jonny smiled to himself, he had just had a conversation which basically consisted of asking how each other were, despite the fact that neither probably cared before lying to answer the question. Miz wasnt ok, and neither was Jonny.

He continued accross the farm, not rushing because after all, work wasn't greatly interesting and neither was his task ahead. Arlanot was the farm manager and Jonny reported to him should there be a problem in the Roinkers. Arlanot was also a very nice Raelianist who had given Jonny the job, helped him and promoted him to where he was today. This made Jonny’s task even more dissatisfying as he felt guilty (everything had its own guilt quotient for Jonny, it was just a matter of how much) about letting him down after so much. He walked into his office where Arlanot was talking on his Floopsy Winder. He was involved in a passionate conversation with a patron of the farm who was obviously unhappy about his latest shipment of Runksifters. Jonny stayed in the office as he knew it wasn't a private call and began to aimlessly survey the things pinned to the walls. It wasn't out of any interest, he had seen it all a thousand times before but he had little else to do. Eventually, after studying the Flingtime rota, the topless bligo calender and the staff anouncements board telling everyone that Lowrumbles were selling Chuzmeekers for 400 Goins to Plingo employees, which wasn't a particularly good deal as these particular Chuzmeekers were liable to fall apart soon after purchase and probably injure one of your small children. Some of the labourers in the Roinker warehouse had bought some anyway though, because they were cheap. Arlanot soon ended his call and was shouting about the person he had just finished his converstion with before he had even replaced the handset. Jonny smiled and nodded and laughed when it was appropriate to show he was listening but ultimately, he didn't care. He sat down. “So, forget that Shnickfuller” he said, losing his temper and calming to the level he usually spoke to Jonny in, “What can I do for you my dear boy? Hard drugs? Advice on women? Safe passage out of the region and a new identity in Kalto?” he joked, with a wink and a smile. “No thanks, I dont take drugs, Kalto is a dump and I’ve seen your wife!” They both laughed. “What I really want to tell you is...” he drew in a breath and held it, forcing him back in his seat, “I’m leaving Plingo” the words came out as he exhaled, forcing his to slump a little. He kept eye contact but not strong eye contact, he felt weak and his body language wanted to tell anyone watching he was feeling like a piece of Splonge dribble. “Right”, Arlanot replied in a drawn out questioning tone. “May I ask whats brought this on?” he continued with a more direct approach. “It's just I feel I’m not going anywhere,” Jonny said with a lack of confidence. “I know I have a good job here and I should be grateful for where I am but I still live somewhere I don't want to and I can't afford to move anywhere better on what you are paying me”. Arlanot wasted no time, he knew exactly what he was going to say and he probably knew how the rest of the conversation was going to go and he was pretty sure of the result, “Look, we’re not going to dance around this, I don't want to lose you, you're a good lad and it would be a pain in the flancer to get anyone in to replace you.” he paused. “This is my best offer to keep you”, he wrote on a scrap of paper as he spoke and pushed it over to Jonny. Three things entered Jonny’s head: 1. That was easy, I should have done this years ago, 2. I said I wasn't gonna stay whatever happened. The third was a mental sum, thinking about how much better off he would be with this new salary. It was no where near good enough. In fact, as the seconds passed in silence, his brain working faster that the speed of light, it slowly dawned on him that this offer was a joke. “Do you think you pay me fairly for what I do here?” he broke the silence. “No, I don't think I do, I have been waiting for this for a while now”, Arlanot said with a patronising knowing look as he briefly closed his eyes mid-sentence. “What do you pay Sleybeard over in the thiostry building? She does the same job as me does she not?” he said with his voice rising, not in volume but in challenge. “Now, lets not get into this one, you know she is older than you” he said, with no change in tone. “So fropping what? I’ve been here longer, I work harder and I am better at the job. You are just saying to me with that piece of paper that I’m not good enough, thats all it says”. Arlanot tried to interrupt, probably some (un)reassuring response how that wasn't the case but Jonny just spoke over him, “...and its funny how this is the most you can afford when it concerns me yet Plingo’s budget expands greatly when it comes to Sleybears and her useless flitch friends doesnt it? And another thing...”

He stopped daydreaming at that point. He barely even noticed himself politely decline the offer presented to him and walk out because he was caught up in thoughts of a much more assertive version of himself. He walked back down the path he had used not long previously. He began to think to himself that maybe Arlanot wasn’t the saviour he had made him out to be in his head and maybe he had been manipulated all this time. Then he thought to himself that maybe Arlanot wasn’t the bad guy and its was just purely his own inadequacy which had led him to this. He settled on that one, he didn’t like to spoil on anyone’s good name so he blamed himself just in case. It wasn’t likely he was going to be able to think about anything else much for the foreseeable future, so he resigned himself to depressing himself in his head. He felt he had been treated badly, taken for a ride, betrayed, let down, and hundreds of other words that all meant the same thing. As the minutes past, where he was walking wasn’t even registering anymore. He thought and thought and thought and every instance in the past where people of circumstance were shitting on him, now made sense. He twitched in anger at himself for not noticing. How can someone with a smile on their face looking at you every day hide an alternative agenda which is there purely to mess you around and take advantage of you. This then led him on to other areas in his life, who else was doing this to him? Where else was he being fooled in such a big way? The thing is he knew why people did it, it was obvious but only now was it so apparent. His mind was racing, faster than even his mind went. A thousand thoughts all once coming from the space place but all heading in different directions, each one faster than the last. Bang. A hydro-spinner sped round the corner and with Trevor, its driver, not expecting anyone to in the middle of the road, had no chance of breaking in time. There wasn’t much left of Jonny, just a whole load of orange blood over the surrounding road, fence and plant life.

Trevor was an alcoholic. He got out of the Hydro-spinner, a vastly outdated model which wasn’t exactly a desirable conveyance. He had his hands on his head and just stood in a stunned disbelief. The Polizagaurd soon arrived after an alert from a another passer by and a medical wagon, which soon left again with there obviously being nothing they could do. The events unfolded in front of Trevor’s eyes without him even noticing. He was stunned and it was all just images in front of him. The Agent in charge asked him a few questions, and he managed some vacant answer. It was pretty obvious what had taken place though. He was tested for alcohol in his system and much to Trevor’s surprise, it came out negative. He still felt drunk from drinking a whole bottle of off-world Plish Juice the night before and he had just been down to the local booze pit with some friends and polished off a couple of jars of wisnecker. Luckily, wisnecker was odorless and over the years, Trevor had perfected the art of acting sober. The Agent didn’t feel the need to believe that this was anything but an accident and that Trevor was not to blame so he took his details, and arranged for him to come to the Law Depot the following day. Trevor slid into his hydro-spinner, and just sat for a while. It was covered in blood. He suddenly became aware that his eyes were wide open, it felt like he hadn’t blinked since he hit Jonny. He forced himself into it. Once his eyes opened again, he felt a little less in a daze. He pulled away from the scene and continued down the road. After getting the blood cleaned off by some very shocked hydro washers, he went home.

A few weeks later, the issue had been resolved. The Judging Centre had ruled it was not his fault, and he was in the clear. He had been off work for the last few weeks, despite not really needing that amount of time. He had begun to feel a little better about everything not long after it happened but he was milking it for all he could get, compassion is an easy thing to abuse. He spent most of his time when he got in front at work getting drunk to try and forget about all the things he was so unhappy about and to help him sleep then all his time the next day drinking caffeine at work to wake himself up. It wasn’t a good cycle but at least it only gave him one thing to worry about. Well, two, falling asleep and waking up. When he thought about it though, he didn’t really do either anymore, he had reached sort of a medium between the two. At night he had his eyes closed but wasn’t really asleep, not like other people slept anyway. During the day, his eyes were open but he was never really awake, he just used any energy he did have trying to make everyone think he was doing just fine. That was the good thing about being on Raelian, people were very easy to fool. Other people ask each other how they feel but only out of a social requirement now, any answer other than “Fine” or “Ok” would instantly leads to them regretting asking. Other people may have looked at Trevor and thought to themselves that there was something wrong with him, but they were always grateful for his standard response. Then there were family. His family looked at him and noticed cracks but dismissed them as quickly as Trevor told them to, it was good to use the power of denial for his own purposes. He told no-one about the accident. Friends, family, no-one. He had told the bare minimum to his boss at work and asked him to keep it to himself.

Anyway, Trevor had taken the time off but hadn't been at home licking his mental wounds from the accident, he had been out every day with various people drinking. He had known most of his friends since their days at the Education Academy over in Radlor. Back in those days, after they left, they were always doing things as a group. Playing Runtrough in the Rec-glades, travelling around the touranet looking for things to do, playing reversa down at the local Community Bunct. Now all they did was get drunk. They went out all the time, met up, spoke awkardly for a while before the drinks made the conversation flow then waited for either someone to lose conciousness or a fight to ensue. Then, the next time they met up, they would all laugh about the person who passed out or all have a self serving session of remorse over the falling out. It was pathetic and they all knew it, it's just there was nothing else to do. Trevor was slightly worse off than the rest though. He had more of a problem. Because he now got drunk so much, it was turning into an obsession. He would disappear mid evening to get drinks in alone, he would drink before he left his Lowcile (the low standard of domicile, found for him because of his budgetry situation) and he would drink when he returned. He would drink because he was down, he would drink because something good had happened, he would drink because he was bored. For any situation there was an excuse. Insomnia was always a good one.

In the third week after the accident, he returned to work. He was employed by the local off world letting agents, selling luxury holiday soace on the habitable orbiting moon, Snifflebrough. It was a low grade, menial task and he didn't like describing it because he was essentially ashamed of it. Everyone asked why he had been off but he declined to comment. He was popular in the workplace, he was liked by almost everyone and he was able to relax in the environment. He had often thought that this might be his problem, he wasn't unhappy in work, he was unhappy about work. He was just too comfortable, and making any effort to better himself would involves a long uncomfortable struggle. He only ever thought about the next five minutes, and in the next five minutes, it was much better staying put. But the thought stayed with him. It was always with him, he knew what he had to do but he could avoid doing it so he did.

Over the next few weeks however, his sleeping got worse and worse, and drinking had stopped helping and started hurting. He felt like he was two different people, he was usually not awake enough to take on board anything he or anyone around him was doing so it never really stayed in his head. When he came back to doing the same task again, he had no recollection of what he had done the previous time so just had to rely on himself at the time, he knew he wasn't going to remember so covered his own tail. It had been like that for so long, he couldn't remember when it was any diffferent. The thoughts of maybe breaking out and trying to make something of his life remained, grew, and eventually took control. He managed to cut back on drinking, except on the most extreme situations, he spent more time trying to sleep and things picked up generally. Not long after, he found himself a new job, not one to be proud of really, but one he could be proud of if it worked out well. He went out for a celebration drink with his friends, it was heavier than by even their standards but it was him being up for a change. As usual though, an ending to the evening had to come and it was a standard one. A fight broke out and Trevor picked up a knife off a table where some Raelianists were enjoying their Floot Pie to try and scare the opposition. Unfortunately John was caught in the middle and was pushed onto Trevor, causing the knife in his hand into his own chest. A few minutes of bleeding was all it took and no-one went to the cremation.

John was shy. He was shy and he had no self confidence. He wasn't a disliked person, in fact, he had a lot of friends on Raelian. Everyone thought John should do something great with his life, become a composer of tribbly music or a poet or a writer. John didnt agree. He believed himself to be so low and pathetic that he couldnt even be normal, let alone great. This made everyone think that if John's brain worked for him instead of against him, there would be no limits to how far he could go. But it was all just optimism, something John held in as low regard as he held himself. John had a good job. He had to force himself into getting it because the shyness grabbed him by the throat in new situations and squeezed and wouldnt let go. But he had forced himself into doing it, had worked hard at it and even occasionally showed a glimpse of pride over what he had achieved. But work was never what he wanted really, he was lonely and he hated it. He hated it so much, it actually made him hate other things in his life.

John had met Leah. She was a stunning Raelian female, who was not only gorgeous she was just the sort of person John had always dreamed of. She made subtle hints through their time together, but John didn't seem to be able to accept the fact that someone might like him for the person he was, it was like someone speaking English to him, his brain didn't understand. After quite some time had past, John was still avoiding the issue, and contented himself think about how good it would be to be with Leah rather trying to see if it would or not. In the end, Leah got bored of John and found another male. John was so devastated, he drove home so fast he lost control of the hydro-spinner and crashed straight into a Grindle factory.

Colin worked at the Grindle factory. Colin just killed himself.

Taniq was the only Metnam on Raelien. He killed himself trying to kill everyone else.

Fred was a retarded church worker who tended to the gardens. He had no friends, no life and lived in the local rehabilitation clinic. He never went anywhere or did anything. He lived happily ever after.

An Abstract View Macro Enviromental Effects Unplanned

Fluffy, the magical pixie from Lubeville was sitting at home in his cosy cave when boredom finally got the better of him and he decided to take a spur of the pixie moment holiday. One place all Pixies spoke about with great mystery and caution was the realm of the beast called Man. London was supposed to be a great hub of activity and wonderment and full to the brim with the enigmatic 'Man'.

Fluffy, throwing caution to the wind, packed his suitcase with Pixie socks and pants, Pixie shirts and trousers and Pixie shoes left his cave, making sure the alarm was set, and headed into the forbidden lands. Three days he travelled through the land the signs referred to as Essex, in which time (in keeping with the locals) he tucked his trousers in his socks and spoke in the tongue of Dumpy, the retarded Pixie from Lubeville which worked well enough for him to aquire three illegitimate Pixie/Human half breeds from some friendly local females from the town of Basildon.

Finally, after many miles of travelling he reached the town of London. He was amazed at the greeting he recieved from the townsfolk, some carried his wallet for him (although he thinks they must have lost him somewhere as they have yet to return it), some approached him and patted him on the back very firmly... and his stomach, and his face. They were so pleased to see him in fact that many bones were shattered and much blood was lost. After they had realised someone was already carrying his wallet for him they must have, he told himself, decided to go and find other visitors to the town to greet in a similar manner. On his first night in the area, he found himself in something called a 'bed-sit' which the local council had kindly offered to pay for. In the establishment there were others who had obviously come to see the sights, some of which had brought their children with them (their husbands, who are hard working honest individuals must be joining them at a later date he decided) and some had obviously forgotten their offspring so decided to make more to make up for it.

After a few days, he called his best friend Flotman back in Lubeville. He gave such a glowing report of the Man territory of London that Flotman, and some friends, were leaving immediately to come and see it for themselves. When they arrived, they saw Fluffy thoroughly settled in and were suprised when he told them he planned to reside in the area permanantly and to raise a family there. They observed he had himself a job selling magic white powder which was obviously helping people as it was usually to poorly looking people who looked very pale and had sunken eyes and as soon as they had it, they looked much better. He had himself a car which he said he had borrowed from someone else. Everything was borrowed, he told them, and it was up to them when they returned it. He himself hadn't had anything returned yet so the loan period must be quite extensive. All in all, Flotman and his friends were so impressed with the treatment he received by the local goverment that they too decided to stay. They set themselves up in the domiciles provided for them and went out and lived it up on the allowance they were given every week. They discovered that if they mated with the locals and produced half cast Pixies their allowance increased so they created as many as they could, as quickly as they could.

Before long, word had spread back to Lubeville and the Pixies were now flooding into the new world by their thousands. The news of the magical land also spread to Lubevilles neighbours, Cheeseland and Porkton and their inhabitants also started coming for extended holidays. They were all amazed at how nice it was of the people to work hard for long hours just so the new visitors could live for free. They all realised that this would never happen back home and it would be better for them to stay. The locals had even given them their own affectionate pet name. When walking down the street many would often hear the words "F****** Immigrants" whispered as they passed. This gave them a sense of security and well being.

After a few years, Fluffly and Flotman had been there long enough so that the local council let them have 13 houses and flats between them for free and were pulling in over £10000 a month in tourist allowance. Their business had spread throughtout the area and they now had over 50 poorly looking people working for them. Life was so good that the locals seem to turn nasty and decided to send out something called 'Police' to spoil things for them. Unfortunately, the goodness in them all was their undoing and the 'policemen' were too polite and courteous to ever be able to spoil anything for them.

In conclusion, because 'London' was unprepared for the mass influx ofPixies and other genres, it turned into a shithole.

Ginger Torment Featuring Chaffinch

Forbesy was the attendant in charge of the cycle rack at the local train station - Trodden Downs. This particular train station was relatively quiet, and frequently by-passed by rush hour commuter trains as it was between Richester and Largemonsville, two high flying cities on the short run into London from the North-West. After extensive lobbying from residents from Richester and Largemonsville, Trodden Downs had been removed from the morning trains stops schedule due to the people of Trodden Downs having particularly low levels of commuters into London. The Richester and Largemonsvillians saved on average 3 minutes a day because of the change. Forbesy had seen his work all but disappear over this period. His 'Ticket' book had been neglected as he had only issued one "WATCH OUT! - Your Tyres Are Bald" notices, three "WATCH OUT! - You Don't Appear To Have an Adequate Security Chain!" warnings and barely a single "WATCH OUT! - You Ran Over My Foot This Morning So I've Cut Your Chain Off And Posted It To Your Nan" reprimands. Forbesy was a keen cyclist himself and was soon informed that his job was to be "phased out". Due to his numerous years with the company, he was looking forward to a large redundancy package which would enable him to pursue his dream of cycling round Greater Manchester. This, sadly, never came to fruition as he was offered a relocation package to Largemonsville station with a new role as a "Convenience Hygiene Operative". Unfortunately, he was allergic to human filth and died three weeks into the job. He widow, Kay, won a huge compensation package and pursued Forbesy's cycling dream in his honour before dying herself in a bizarre incident involving a traffic warden and STD.

Gourangoo!

The rain beat down hard on the old corrugated iron roof of the abandoned nightclub. Timmy was charged with clearing out the place, ready for demolition the following morning. His remit was simple - clear, or die. He swept furiously, threw abandoned stools and tables through the now redundant fire exit and ripped the optics which now held empty bottles from the walls of the bar. This place held so many memories for him, his first kiss, the first time he got drunk and the first time he had learned to darn socks, in the small arts and homecrafts area in the corner of the club. This was his youth he was throwing away, and his socks were full of holes. He trudged home through the snow, humming the song they had played at midnight every Friday night at midnight, much to the crowds delight (Holiday by Madonna). As he considered all this, he was brutally gunned down by henchmen from the local gang. No-one knew why. Some said it was just random violence. Some said it was an indictment of lack of respect for human life in modern society. Some said it had happened to an innocent pawn in the power plays of local gangs. Then again others said it was because his efforts to muscle in on the local coke market, his dissing of the homies and sexual abuse of the local gangs mother. Maybe we will never know.

The Indictment

The political climate was tense. Gerald turned to Tarbin in disgust and remarked "Scum, why must they insist on such petty small mindedness?" "I have no idea", replied Tarbin. "This will affect thousands at the most grass roots level...". "I mean insisting tax bracket for minimum wage workers extend to this is ridiculous....". Conversation was tough in the Sainsburys staff canteen. Maud, the canteen worker loved her job in as much to say, she hated it. At the weekend, Maud would go home and incite violence against her husband in a manner most convicted arsonists would have been proud of. This meant, as a result, that her husband had joined the local anti-nazi league which had, in fact, started a commission against inequality in right wing political movements. This led to him being away from home, 4 nights out of 7, much to Maud's frustration. Come Monday morning, Maud, frustrated from not being able to berate her husband for some time, viewed the proposed menu for todays lunch and instead of Gazpacho soup, she served rat poison on toast and crippled the educational output of the region for months. The anti-nazi league's work continued unhindered but still, frustratingly, with limited success.