For some strange and unknown reason, I’m sitting here ready to write a story. I have nothing in mind at all – no plot, characters or ideas. All I know is that I’m going to write a humour story.
I’ve tried that before.
I failed as well.
Miserably.
None the less, I am ready to try again. Of course – I really should think it through first. But I’m actually quite bored, so whatever.
The hardest part will probably be starting. Well, actually – that’s a lie. That’ll probably be quite easy. But the hard part will be coming up with a coherent plot out of the randomness that spews from my grey brain.
Have you ever seen a brain? They really are grey. So weird.
Anyway – I’m getting away from the point… back to the story…
Wish me luck.
An Odd Life
Ted was sitting – alone – in the old dump yard. It was far from a pleasant place – the smell, the view… everything… was disgusting to a lesser or greater extent (unfortunately, it was pretty much always the greater). But it did have one redeeming feature, which is what had drawn Ted there.
The peace and the quiet was nothing short on luxury.
Of course, Ted enjoyed company, but sometimes he wanted to be alone and undisturbed. In that regard, he felt like he was garbage.
Literally – garbage was something that had once enjoyed the company of humans, but now sort its peace, away from everyone else.
Ted could also have compared himself to leaves from a tree… a young bird of prey leaving its parents… or shit being flushed down the bog.
The trees had sounded like a good idea – but people were always going for walks up there. At any rate, Ted had been forcibly removed from the nearest forest, after trying to lead the trees into an uprising against the human oppressors. It had all just been a game (as he later patiently explained to the psychiatrists) but not everyone found it all that amusing.
Ted had no idea about where to find some birds of prey, or how to convince them to shut up long enough for him to think.
So that left the sewers or the junkyard.
Rather unfortunately, the junkyard hadn’t been the one he’d first tried. It had taken three days and eight firemen to rescue him.
None the less, he was in the dump yard now, enjoying the quiet, listening to the rather peaceful drip drip drip of an upturned flask of uranium, dumped there by a scientist with no sense of environmentally (or common sense for that matter).
Ted believed that the radioactive waste had been placed there in order to create an army of zombies, poised to take over the world and cause the well-known and much anticipated Holy Apocalypse (though admittedly, only actual Christians were anticipating it. Everyone else was kind of hoping it’d never happen. Going to Hell for all of Eternity was considered to be a bit of a bummer).
That, however, was complete and utter bull doody.
The truth was far more sinister…
‘Oy! Ted!’ A voice called, hidden from sight by large piles of junk, ‘Where the hell are you? Ted! TED!’
Ted sighed. It looked as though his peaceful existence was over. ‘I’m over here Chris,’ he called out to the searcher.
‘Where?’
‘By the junk.’
‘… oh yes, thank you for that. You’re about as much help as a brain dead dung beetle.’
Ted sniffed, offended.
‘And while we’re at it, you look like a dwarf chimp with no sense of hygiene and an allergy to food.’
Chris… wasn’t exactly the trustworthiest person you could find… but he had the sort of brain that meant he was often employed to solve tricky problems. Of course, if there was personal gain to be had, Chris was never afraid of stabbing his employer in the back (only metaphorically, of course).
Ted’s brain – on the other hand – was an anorexic apricot.
Chris was in his early-twenties, Ted still in his mid-teens. They only really worked together as Ted would do anything, and would work for cheap.
‘Look – Ted – I’ve got the two of us a job.’ Chris said, glancing around in a bid to find somewhere clean to sit.
Ted was intrigued – they hadn’t had a job for a while now, ‘Really? Where?’
‘A bank. So I want you to look respectable…’ Chris’ voice trailed off as he surveyed his mucky companion, ‘… well, as respectable as a bum like you can look.’
‘Hey – I’m no tramp…’ Ted muttered, shaking his head full of unwashed hair.
Chris gently sat down and conceded, ‘Well, maybe, but you smell like one.’
And… that’s all I have time for today folks. It’s getting late, I can’t be bothered to sit around and write any more of this dribble.
Maybe tomorrow then.
When I’m feeling more up to dribbling.
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