Hello. You probably don't remember me, why should you? We haven't even met but that hasn't stopped some people from remembering who I am. This is all the stranger because I have never forgotten who I was and so I never needed another else to remind me. However all of this doesn't really matter and is what we call padding, by we I mean the monkeys and me. I am here to tell you a story, a story of good versus evil, of cheeseburgers versus those burgers which seem to have everything but the kitchen sink, of thinking smart versus acting dumb, of never ending sentences, of insanity versus reality, of something else versus Bob, basically, of many things. As any good story smith I have decided to start at the middle and work my way towards the ending and ending up at the beginning. All this while spinning four plates and singing the tune to Beethoven's 5th chair movement through the medium of silence. When I told this to my friend Mike, he said it could never be done. He was right, not about the safety of operating heavy machinery while under the influence of dance music though, and my thoughts go out to Steve and his family. So I scrapped my initial story structure and went back to the tried and tested approach of clichés. This didn't work either but I did discover the meaning of a particular joke that until then I thought was the secret to finding the lost hamlet of junket (that was found last spring it turns out it was on the table next to my car keys along). So if you will indulge me I shall begin with the beginning and hope somehow I can find my way to the ending or at least the beginning of the end, you can find your way from there.
Chapter One – Does An Oxymoron Breath More Than A Normal Moron?It was all began with a fish, a fish called Charlie. This fish was no ordinary fish, for example he could speak fluent Latin, and he knew it. Charlie, pronounced Helojetpootrylot [Sound of car horn] O'Brien [Whistle] Foliate [Gunshot] Tangotangofoxtrotalphajumperbucketmermaid [Rattling of keys] smith, hated his name for obvious reasons. He once tried to change it but couldn't convince the official of his identity, fish not having passports and all. Well, one day Charlie started to think about leaving his home of fifteen years, the upstairs radiator of the Joneses of number 42. He formulated a plan and started to hum the tune to the Great Escape. After about five hours of this he realised that action was needed and he called him on his mobile phone. "Action?" He said. "I need your help." Action was familiar with the concept of help and was quickly told the plan of escape. After negotiating his pay, 5 pence now five million pounds in the year 3218, Action was ready to help. He was over in a flash and as quick as you can read this sentence I have written it. Then with a crash, bang and a wallop Charlie was free and being hunted by the police for mass-murder, the Joneses having held their Sunday lunch three days earlier. He thanked Action for his help, paid him his money and was on his way. His way lead straight to the port of Steeton but upon arriving he remembered that Steeton wasn't a port at all but a small village in the Yorkshire moors. A change of plan was necessary as well as a change of underpants. Deciding that it was easier to change his underpants than think of a new plan Charlie headed straight for Underpants, Underpants, Underpants (plc). However they had run out. He tried his luck at the nearby Old Ladies Old Tea Shop Full Of Really Old Stuff (plc) but he was thrown out before his trousers hit the ground. It seemed harder to find a new pair of underpants in Steeton than discovering a cure for cancer, something Charlie had managed one rainy afternoon. After being through out of the children's shop for little children with rich parents (very plc) Charlie had had enough and so he proceeded to go on a killing rampage the likes of which has never been repeated by a Latin-speaking fish. The police eventually charged him the murder of thirty-five people, three pigeons and twenty-seven ants though they didn't have enough evidence for the Zebra. Why the Zebra was acting as judge was never explained to Charlie but he was happy enough to have his freedom back as well as a book publishing deal worth the hair on the back of a well-developed deer, literally. With a renewed sense of wealth and a criminal record Charlie decided that there was only one thing he could do…go to America.
Coming soon to a story very similar to this one = Chapter Two – For The Last Time, Nude Squirrels Simply Don't Sell Newspapers!