An Odd Life [humour]

Sureal · 2005-06-24T20:59:02Z

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.

Elizabeth

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Mon Jul 18, 2005 7:14 pm

Elizabeth says... · Mon Jul 18, 2005 7:14 pm

XXX to which type of people? those who can't say anything else without breaking out giggling? I mean:

'That was amazing,' breathed Ahveen, 'I've never seen a ding-a-ling used so well before.'

bwahahaha though

Yeah, that was a good story.

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Muse

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Mon Jul 18, 2005 11:09 pm

Muse says... · Mon Jul 18, 2005 11:09 pm

ahahaaahaa. hawhwehahheheehehahhahe *wheezes* hawhehahehahahehahwhahwhhawhehaw.

anyhoo, i luffed it all. S'funny. It is quite like Douglas Adams' work, which is a good thing..cause he's ace!

"Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish,
A vapour sometimes like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendant rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory,
With trees upon't that nod unto the world,And mock our eyes with air.."

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Sam

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Fri Aug 12, 2005 4:03 am

Sam says... · Fri Aug 12, 2005 4:03 am

Hehe, that was great, especially the 'going to hell for eternity was a bummer'...tehee...

All right. I give up giggling. *cracks up* Especially the Sex Ed. bit was GREAT. I salute you!

Graffiti is the most passionate form of literature there is.

- Demetri Martin

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Sureal

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Tue Sep 13, 2005 6:13 pm

Sureal says... · Tue Sep 13, 2005 6:13 pm

And another ‘chapter’. I doubt there will be much more after this one…
All I need to do is figure out how to bring this to a conclusion…

‘Look, Ahveen… do you actually have any clothes to buy here?’ Chris asked impatiently.
‘There is so much… more… than clothes here. Enlightment… spiritual happiness… ever lasting peace…’ Ahveen whispered impressively, her eyes alight with joy.
‘But no clothes?’
‘Well…’ she began, the mysticism disappearing from her voice ‘No, but-‘
‘Right. Good. As long as that’s clear. Ted, we’re leaving.’

Ted began to follow Chris, still in the daydream he had been playing his hero daydream in his mind. Now it was Ahveen he rescued. But she had larger boobs. And less clothes. And hair that didn’t seem to be the mortal enemy of physics.

Ahveen looked momentarily shocked as the du began to leave, than ran – rather impressively, given her robe like clothes – to block the door.
‘You must not go! Stay! Here!’ she cried hastily.

‘Look – crazy women – get out of our way. Or else.’ Chris said, his eyes raised to look up at Ahveen, his voice quiet.
‘Or else what?’
‘I shall have Ted bit you. And I would be not at all surprised if you then caught rabies.’

‘Why buy clothes? You can have much more her! Heavenly pleasures! An endless supply of happiness!’ Ahveen cried, desperate to keep her two visitors.
‘Look, we want a clothes shop, not a brothel. Now please, get out of our way.’

Ted thought that Ahveen had sounded quite lonely, but followed Chris out the shop regardless. He gave the sagging Ahveen an apologetic look, as he left. The women shook her head. Either their departure saddened her greatly; or else she was vaguely offended at being called a prostitute – though why anyone would be offended at being called a prostitute Ted could not gather.
Many people had suggested that Ted would end up being a prostitute, and – not knowing the finer details of what exactly it was that they did – he had rather unfortunately proudly claimed that was what he wanted to be when he was older during his career options interview.

As they left the beautiful room, and once again found themselves in the run down road, Ted spotted something just down the street…
‘Hey! Chris – look over there!’ he cried, pointing to the object of interest.
‘Ted.’ Chris said in an exasperated voice, ‘I’ve told you before. Stop pointing out every cat you see. It’s annoying.’

‘No Chris. It’s not a cat this time. Look!’
Sighing, Chris glared in the direction of the object as though hoping to scare it into non-existence.

Then he stopped. Looked again. Rubbed his eyes.
There was another clothes shop a little way down the road… one he could swear wasn’t there early…
And the shop’s sign had all the grammar of a deranged and chronically illiterate armadillo...

I don’t feel well. Rest now.

I wrote the above just for you.

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Sophie

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Sat Sep 17, 2005 7:54 pm

Sophie says... · Sat Sep 17, 2005 7:54 pm

Sorry, haven't read all of it, only the first section. But I actually really enjoyed it.
I'd be happy to read more and properly critique it, if you'd care to remind me. Just PM me before Tuesday and I will.

Oh the trees!
Take me back to London please!!!

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