The instructions were explicit. Nyartholep was never to be woken while napping.
Gus tip-toed and danced around his bed, waiting, hoping for a miracle. Surely any second now he would awaken, he couldn't nap forever. That proverb was so true, a watched Nyartholep never wakes.
After a few more seconds had gone by Gus thought to himself, "That's it! I'm going to have to accidentally wake him"
Gus walked past the bed and "accidentally" tripped, thumped to the floor, and yelled bloody murder.
Nyartholep didn't stir.
Gus then decided to "accidentally" set the bed on fire. Then changed his mind, perhaps that was going too far.
It would have to be marbles. Gus grabbed the bucket of marbles lying beside Nyar's bed and slowly tipped it over his sleeping head, plonking a few marbles off his noggin and then ending with a deluge of marbles not unlike a waterfall.
"uuughhhehh.....ehem...arrr....what? What happened?", Nyartholep had awoken.
"It was an accident", Gus said, "Sorry. Oh, by the way...there is a...err...THE great Blaather MbBlenzy on the phone for you sir"
"Who the hell is Blaather?", Nyar enquired, all the while having a certain sinking feeling, he thought he had heard that name before, and that it was very important.
A few moments and a glass of milk later, Nyartholep was on the phone.
"...No No, you did fine..."
"...you are NOT an idiot..."
"....No you're not..."
"...it happens to all of us, no-ones perfect..."
"...now that's just silly..."
Meanwhile Gus had slinked off to the bathroom to read a certain letter, a letter that perhaps could save the world.
Father McKenzie had made it to the train station. Socks darned and all.
He had this strange feeling. He felt like an ice-cream. He also wanted to eat an ice-cream which was a much more normal thing to feel. Perhaps if he ate an ice-cream he would stop feeling like one, the fear of being licked by passers by and of melting was getting too much to bear, especially when people were trying to get you.
Hazily, quietly at first, like out of a dream, a jingly jangly tune wafted out of the din of the streets. A tune that is apt to send children into a borderline psychotic state, a tune that Mr Whippy, the ice-cream giant, had researched and found to be irresistable to all who would even barely tolerate ice-creams. A tune that had even ice-cream haters thinking, "hmmmm...I could just about go for an ice-cream about now"
The jingly jangly tune got louder...and louder...and all of a sudden Father McKenzie saw the ice-cream truck race past him. He took up pursuit, waving and hollering, sprinting, running for an ice-cream he could nearly taste.
Inside the truck Malony could hear someone shouting behind him, he could barely hear, but it sounded like, "iiice creeem, stoooooop", he turned his tune up to try and drown it out, he was growing more and more tired of people asking him for ice-creams.
McKenzie's world was entering a new state of consciousness. Suddenly the jingly jangly tune drowned out everything, and everything he saw or thought about was an ice-cream. His entire field of vision had turned into an ice-cream kaleidoscope and he feared that he may just have the ice-cream madness.
Malony could hear it even louder now, the man screaming, begging, pleading for an ice-cream. He stepped on the gas, turned off his tune and put on his walkman, next time he was definately going to use the sewage van, people didn't seem to bother him as much then.
When the tune stopped so did McKenzie, panting and gasping for breath. Walking ice-creams turned into normal people, and he no longer felt sweet and cool, he felt quite sour and hot.
He bent over, trying to catch his breath, and as he did he noticed he was standing outside a newsagents. Catching a glimpse of the headlines plastered outside he suddenly stopped panting and stood transfixed.
"David Bowie a nazi?"
"For sure this time?"
"We have the scoop on his
latest starring role in
Tarantino hate film"
Of all Buddha's teachings only a few were never written and lost forever. One of those was, "Never make film deals in crowded noisy nightclubs". It was never written mostly because his followers had no idea what he was talking about, neither did Buddha for that matter. The advice seemed out of place and out of time, a wrong number from above if you like.
A message that David Bowie had learned the hard way. This was the fifth deal he had made in a noisy crowded nightclub, and this time it had gotten him into real trouble.
Iman and the baby slept while the train went clickity clack, but David wasn't tired. He was full of regret and worry, he was a man with a lot of explaining to do, with a true story that sounded like a lame excuse, it's something that has happened to us all at time to time.
Of course not many of us have accidentally signed on to star in a fascist propoganda film, on the mistaken presumption that it was a film teaching us of the dangers of drugs, maybe only half a dozen at the most, but underneath the names and places, the situation remains the same.
"So what's this film called? What's it about?", David had screamed at Tarantino.
"Nazi Supermen Are Our Superiors", Tarantino had screamed back, Techno music blaring all the while.
"Pasta Supersauce and Mother Superior? Cool!", an unusual name for a movie, but that is what made it sound so interesting.
"It's about thugs and the master race!", Tarantino screamed, his voice getting hoarser.
"About drugs and Melrose Place? OK I'm in!", David had signed right then and there. The next day the world was after his blood.
"I need to be a better listener", David muttered to the back of the seat in front of him. His gaze shifted down to a book in the compartment built into the back of the seat. The title startled David, which in turn frightened quite a few of the pink monkey's away.
The title of the book was, "How to be a Better Listener, and Allow Things to Fall into Place"
To be continued...
I am not a cockturd
FENIX - 3/7/2001