The Key and the Poo Bag

Good afternoon, 

The following entry contains a measly portion of shameful knife on fork action and screams of a painful nature. Anyone with an overactive thyroid, get it looked at. Tissues won’t be necessary, a toilet break might. There’s still time to grab your popcorn and overpriced fizzy pop from the forecourt. Times up, I’m gonna start now. 

Many prunes ago, my pint-sized prick of an evil sibling, Minor Gubbins, took Leroy’s family silver to our beloved printer. The result was one sore cutlery drawer and a bleeding paper feeder. It kiboshed my plans of good vibes and envelope seasoned shenanigans, but did save us a tidy packet on ink. Every cloud has a purse lining you could say... but probably wouldn’t. 

And can you believe that it's been just over a year since I gained my inexplicable, inanimate object animating power! That’s right, the one to which I have no seeming control over, and that comes and goes with a bang on the bonce.

Well, yesterday some of these things came to a head, literally.

But before I deliberate deeper, here’s some of TONE.’s nebbing notes. You know how flies are, always with the ‘fly on the wall’ stereotype. Well, they seem somewhat relevant to the grand scheme.

10/10/13

Little Kieron Fyfe holds a, er, Argos catalogue up to his Dad, Phillip Fyfe, and points to a remote control helicopter. Phil shakes his head and says something about money being tight since he lost his job at the tobacconist. “These E-Cigs literally sell themselves. So we won’t be needing you anymore...” said Phil in a silly voice, maybe, I think, er, paraphrasing his boss? I dunno. Seems a shame that Kieron can’t have it. It really looks like a, erm, nice looking helicopter. Christmas is coming up I guess.

02/11/13

On my way to the, er, park, I saw little Kieron washing his neighbours car. His neighbour is Leslie Penniless, known for being the, er, tightest man in Fakemoor. Not to be confused with Levi Winkle, the wearer of the tightest jeans in Fakemoor. 

Kieron was still there hours later, buffing Leslie’s Reliant Regal. I stopped on a leaf for a, er, closer nebb. Leslie came out minutes later and gave Kieron a strong handshake and said something about it being payment for his labour. He then passed him an invoice for all the products used.

Kieron didn’t look happy... I had a nice time at the park though.

23/11/13

Round at the Fyfe’s again. Kieron was sat at the, er, computer,  cuddling his favourite teddy. I think he was selling it on eBay. I think maybe to save up money for that helicopter, or maybe smack! No, doubt it, he's too young I’m guessing. Must be for the, erm, helicopter. 

I sat on his shoulder and we watched his teddy time out. It only went for 99p. Kieron hugged his bear and cried, before, er, finally placing it into a box ready for the post office to send. 

I licked some, erm, sugar from the kitchen side and left. Pour Karen, I mean poor Kieron. 

24/12/13 - Part A

Was buzzing past the new Fidl supermarket earlier. I’m surprised how much like Lidl it is, but no one appears to be suing anyone. It could be one of them sister businesses, or, erm, something like that.

I noticed little Kieron Fyfe out of the corner of my eyes, this time doing a paper round. That boy really wants that bike... Helicopter, I mean, erm, helicopter. I’m getting confused with that Paddy kid across the, er, way, that I've also been nebbing on. 

Kieron looked exhausted. He stopped, rested his scooter on the Fidl car park entrance wall and took a swig out of his bottle. Then, out of nowhere, Leroy zoomed past us on a mobility scooter! He had a box on his lap, I couldn’t make out what it was though. I turned to see the security guard, a one Wayne Blurgh, was chasing him. Wayne pushed poor Kieron over and stole his scooter. 

I would have, erm, followed Leroy, but Kieron looked really upset so I stayed with him to cheer him up...

Hello, it's Major again. So okay, you maybe didn’t need that level of detail. M’eh, you’ve read it now. Anyway, we'll be popping back to TONE.'s diary in a bit. 

Right then, the other day, Christmas Eve. Well, Leroy and I made our way to the local tip to find a free inkjet. Think it was the Leroy Craddock equivalent of taking a child to Toys ‘R’ Us.

Course, I was dubious to whether the tip would be open or not, what with it being a council landmark. My dubiousness was soon distilled when Leroy pulled the gate key from his person. Bemused, I asked Leroy why he owned a key to the tip, he replied with... 

“W’eh, these are my gates duck. I gev ‘em t’council years ago. They just never changed the chuffin’ locks. That’s the bleedin’ council for you in’t it ay. Lazy inbred clots the lot of ‘em...”

Leroy continued to slag off the council while we rummaged through the ramshackled heap of overcooked appliances in the defunked electronic mound. No printers, but there, cosied amongst the portable DVD players and CD Walkmen, was a Yamaha DX100. The one used by Autechre? The very same. 

...

After the tip I giddily skipped back to the flat with my new keyboard. Leroy on the other paw took off to the supermarket for some last minute Xmas consumerism. Said we needed some yoghurt for the festivities. Who knows.

I untangled myself a 9V adapter from ‘the box of much frustration’ A.K.A the miscellaneous box of wires under the sofa, sat myself down at the kitchen table with a cup of yesterdays  tea and prepared myself for musical loveliness. I flicked the socket on, linked fingers and cracked outwards. Then, with a little digit wiggle, stabbed my dusty palms down on the yellowed keys. 

Zap! Zoom! Crash! Ooch!... Or noises similar rung around the place as a bolt of purest minor key electricity threw me up into the rafters. My head was firmly wedged in the ceiling. During which time I heard Minor come into the kitchen and make himself a drink. I tried to shout, but decades of floorboard debris gathered in my word-hole. Minor left, tutting on his way out... 

...Luckily I didn’t need help from the little prat, as gravity eventually grabbed me by the ankles and hastily sat me back in my chair. Hands still stretched, I unwilling performed the old perfect cadence on the Yamaha before my body collapsed over it. 

“Hello, my nem Geve.” A computerised voice spoke out to me. I lifted my sizzled head to see the keyboard staring back at me. It smiled and said. “Cuse me, cuse me, you beard on fire friend.”

I touched at my amber face fur and felt it to be true. I was indeedy do, aflame. I sunk my head into the sink and submerged the heat under the trickling tap. 

“Oi, ging! What the shittin’ ‘ell do you think you’re doing?! Have you any idea of the nasty taste that’s happening in my U-bend thanks to you?! Well do ya pube face?”

I jolted back from the sink, cracking my head on the mixer tap on the way out.

“Oh, you okay? I’m so, so sorry, my nose does nothing but get in the way. I’m thinking about having a reduction, you know, plastic surgery. The amount of folk who think I’m Jewish, I tell you, you wouldn’t believe honey...”

I peered inside the sink. “...And sorry about shouting at you before. I have a tendency to run a little hot and cold.”

I stepped backwards into Emily. “You okay sweet? I heard commotion.”

“Hello, my nem Geve. What you nem?”

Em winced. “Oh Christ Major, not again... Go on what happened?”

I told Emily about the crash and the bang while she searched under the sink. By the time that I got to the wallop, she'd pulled out a pair of marigolds. The gloves, not the flowers. Though that would’ve been nice wouldn’t it.

At that very moment, Minor swaggered in with his empty mug to find Em stood holding a pair of washing-up mittens. 

“Oi oi Emily, looks like you've finally found your place, hahaha!”

I couldn’t see Emily’s scowl on the account that she wasn’t facing me, but I did see the business end of her mock blahniks impact in the middle of Minor’s peevish mugshot. Now, you may think it choreographed but it was purely coincidental. You see, the instant that Minor began careering through the hallway airspace, Trevor slithered into the flat. Minor’s podgy wee body whizzed over Trevor and out through the freshly opened front door just as the Lady Towel slammed it shut.

“Ayup Emily love, see you’ve finally cracked then.”

“Seriously Trev, I could scream! But we’ve got more pressing things to deal with. Major’s bringing things to life again.”

“Oh love. That’s not good now is it ay.” Trevor said shimmying up toward me. “What are we going to do with you love.”

Em shrugged. “Well, it’s a long shot, but here Major, let me help you put these on...” She held out my hands and rolled the marigold’s over them. "...It might prevent you doing more damage."

I was momentarily stunned. “Huh, I think it may've worked. That or the power must’ve worn off.” I probably said. But no sooner had the words escaped my crudely organised mouth had the yellow gloves begun to jig from my muted grasp. They flopped on the lino flooring and scurried under the table. 

Two tiny voices spoke in unison. “He put his hand up us. The hairy one, he put his hand up us, hehehe...”.

“Not intentionally!” I yelped. 

Em placed her hand on my shoulder. “Come on Major, there’s only one thing for it. We’ve got to take you somewhere where there’s no stuff” and started to walk me out of the flat.

A sudden pressure developed in my bladder. “Em, I need to go.” 

“Well take Trevor with you. I don’t want you bringing the toilet to life.”

“Devon forbid” I said with a pinch of sarcasm, now thoroughly fed up with my predicament. 

“Come on Major love, come with me.” Trevor said, giddily escorting me into the bathroom.

After the embarrassment of the toilet, we stood on the sludgy green and watched the world turn a shade or two darker. A thousand levels of tack enveloped us as the Fakemoor inhabitants switched on their fairy lights, blurring the dawn sky with light pollution from the mass of blinking illuminations. Sounds awful, but it had a certain charm. Like a toasted chinchilla, it’s warm, fuzzy, but wrong on some level.

“Right, that’s enough for me, I’m getting cold.” Emily said.

“What?! You’re made of plastic, you don’t get cold.” I replied.

“Alright then I’m fed up, and I’m going in. That better?”

“Well, at least it’s honest.”

“Just keep clenching your fists and you’ll be fine sweetie... see you in a bit.”

I turned to Trevor and sighed... “Looks like it’s just us two then Trev.”

“Ooh no, it’s nearly time for Mr. Howler’s Christmas bath. I can’t miss that love. I’ve been lookin’ forward to it for yonks... In fact I better be getting a move on or I’ll miss drying his danglies, ooh!... Toodles love.”

As Trevor slinked off to our neighbours, I figured that I’d have a mosey around the estate to keep myself occupied. Maybe I’d bump into someone on the way. Leroy and TONE. were still out.

...

Now, Fakemoor’ll never win an award for aesthetics, resident morale or human rights, but it makes up for it with character. Walk down any street here and you’ll be met by semi-believable, hardly-working folk like yourselves.

Take a flick through our Yellow pages and you’ll be overwhelmed by the sheer mass of independently struggling businesses. Like our local beauty salon ‘Tash & Gash’, where eyebrow and labia trimming is buy one get one half price at the mo. The local pizza “joint” ‘Munchies’, where 60’s psychedelia and peppered pepperoni are goodfella’s. And there’s also ‘No Holes Bared’, the snooker hall located opposite ‘The Museum of Pocket Lint’ and ‘Booby Nights’ strip club, to name but a few.

The funniest thing about Fakemoor has got to be that no one really knows about it. It’s the worlds dirty little secret. It’d scramble your SatNav if you were ever to try and find it...

My train of thought was interrupted by a familiar holler. “Major pal. Get out t’way!”

But as per usual, I was slow to act, finding myself buttock first in the front basket of a mobility scooter.

"Alright pal.”

“Leroy!... What the flyin’ funk is going on?”

“Oh, I’m being chased... Quite fun it is.”

“Huh?”

“Aye, I were doing some discounting on this ‘ere printer I got for you.”

“Discounting?”

“Aye, wi’ that sticker gun whatsit they use.”

“You know you can’t do that?”

“We’h, I do now like. Think that’s why that fella’s chasing me.”

I peered behind Leroy to find my gaze greeted by the mother of all peeved security guards, riding a push scooter and a grudge. 

“You think! Stop and give it back to him!” 

“Not before we go down this right steep road... Weeeeee!”

...

And now for a quick break. Ahhh... and another excerpt from TONE.'s nebbing notes.

24/12/13 - Part B

...When Kieron told his Dad about what had happend to him and his, erm, scooter, he smiled. This was the wrong reaction I felt, but then he passed him a massive present. He said that he could have it early cos of what had happened outside Fidl. He also said that Santa wouldn’t mind.

Kieron opened it and screamed! Inside was his favourite teddy, which his Dad must’ve bought from eBay, and the, erm, remote controlled helicopter that he wanted so much.

He hugged his Dad, and took his presents outside to fly in the garden, even though it was getting quite dark and quite windy. Before lift off he strapped his teddy onto the, er, bottom bit of the chopper. He used duct tape cos it’s, erm, quite strong I think. 

Kieron placed it in the middle of the lawn and began counting down from ten. On one he pushed the lever things up and the helicopter zoomed into the air and hovered there for a second, before, er, being caught in a gust of wind and blown over the fence.

I chased it to see where it had gone. I wasn't expecting to see what I saw next!

...

Leroy took a sharp left at the foot of the slope, nearly toppling us over in the process. The disgruntled guard attempted to mimic our manoeuvre, but skidded his wobbly scooter head first into an overgrown clump of brambles across the road. 

Our mobility scooter slumped to a standstill outside the park entrance. Exhausted, it let out one final hiccup before its front wheels fell off.

I made sure not to touch Leroy’s clothes as he gave me a careful hand out of the basket. He must’ve noticed my clenched fists cos he queried: “W'eh, you wun't be wantin’ to punch me now would you pal? Are you really that peed off wi’ me?”

“Of course I’m not... No, I’ve been bringing things to life...” 

“Again!” Leroy butted in. “Chuffin’ 'ell Major pal, you really need to stop doin’ that. The flat in’t gettin’ any bigger you know.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I'll tell you all about it later, but first you should give that printer back.”

“W’eh, don’t know bout that. It’s a good one. And besides, I’ve not done owt that bad. It’s not like I’ve hurt anyone have I pal?”

“Yes you have!” I said pointing at the guard who was now untangling himself from the brambles.

“Well I reckon it’s their fault at the shop. They shun’t leave them sticker guns hangin’ bout should they eh?... But if it’ll make you happier I'll give it back pal.” 

Leroy began waddling over to the now de-brambled giant with the clear anger management problems. Smoke seeped from the balding behemoth as he clocked Mr. Leroy Craddock coming towards him. The brute stomped up to Leroy and picked him up by his braces. The printer crashed to the floor and his nose intimidatingly touched Leroy’s. 

Leroy turned to me. “W’eh, think this is the temper that his manager we’re on bout. This guy’s hospitalised folk you know...”

I started to panic. As much as Leroy’s a blinking idiot, I didn’t want him to get hurt. A sense of urgency washed over me like a tide of lava engulfs a tied up puppy. I knew anything I did would result in something coming to life, but doing nothing would potentially end in death!

The guard lifted Leroy up higher. His quivering white fist poised with murderous intent. 

I picked up the closest thing to me, a brittle black plastic bag filled with dog doo, and threw it with all the might I could muster. Before the poo bag found itself stuck in the security guards ample esophagus, I heard him fart out: “And they said I wun’t amount to owt!...”

The brut dropped Leroy and tumbled backwards back into the brambles. Leroy had picked himself up by the time I ran over to him. 

“Are you alright?!” I asked him.

“Oh aye. You?”

“Wha’, course I’m alright! I wasn’t the one who nearly got pummeled.”

“Who nearly got pummeled?”

“Never mind... Sufferin' succotash, the guard!” 

I leant into him and asked if he could hear me, but to no reaction. “Leroy, he’s dead! I killed him! I choked an innocent man with a poo bag!”

“Oh well... Least we’ve oursen’s a printer now pal...” Leroy said whilst reaching for the battered box.

The clouds seemed to swell around us, somehow mirroring my internal dread. A gust of Winter wind nearly blew Leroy over in mid crouch. Then the ozone slicing sound of whirring helicopters cut through the landscape.

“The police, they’re coming for me!...”

My eyes forced shut as a second gust slammed into my mush, but this time it brought along with it a searing pain in my cranium. I opened my peepers to see, drooping just above my brow, a replica remote control Apache fighter helicopter with a teddy bear gaffered to it. 

“Here we go pal... Oohf, takes me ages to pick stuff up off dog shelf these days. There’s got t’be some sort of JML thing for it...” 

“Erm, Leroy. I’ve got a helicopter in my head.”

Leroy looked up with the battered printer box swaddling his tiny torso. “Oh aye, you should take that on’t TV that. Quite a talent pal.”

A third gust whipped the printer from Leroy’s weighty grip and snapped the body and bear from the toy helicopter, leaving one of its blades submerged in my swollen grey matter. The printer landed in my arms.

“Wait a minute... it didn’t come to life. The box, it didn’t come to life! Look Leroy look!”

TONE. flew up to us. “Erm, hello Major, Leroy, what are you two doing around here?”

“I’m fixed TONE., I didn’t bring it to life look.”

“That’s good." TONE. replied, politely but perplexed. "Oh, and you’ve got a new printer. We, er needed one of them.”

“We sure did, yes...” I said just as the box collapsed in my hands and the printer plummeted to the pavement, smashing into a dozen tiny pieces. “Come on everyone, lets take it home...” I said in a gleeful delirium, obliviously treading into the broken grey plastic.

...

So what have you learnt from this tale? That stealing printers and choking nasty security guards with an old poo bag is okay? Hopefully not. 

For clarity, it turns out that Wayne, the security guard in question is fine. I mean he’s totally blind now, but he’s alive. Apparently an old lady found him and rung for an ambulance. Not sure what happend to the poo bag mind.

TONE. went back to that Kieron kid’s Dad and told him about the helicopter. Apparently he's going to take it back to Argos and claim it came out of the box like that. Which coincidentally, is just what Leroy did with our smashed up "discounted" printer. Now we've got a brand new one, and Leroy even gave the money he saved to his favourite charity, 'The Clothes for Naked Mole Rats  Society'.

And what about me? Well, when I finally came round from my helicopter blade in the cranium delirium, I realised that I can now control my powers. The broken blade acts as a switch you see. When I flick it up, it squashes the right side of my brain down, turning from the creative side, to the creation side. Flicking it down reverses it back to default. Mr. Howler told me so, he used to be a quack, and I’m not being disrespectful when I say that, he was an awful doctor. How do you think he ended up in Fakemoor, hmmm.

Anyway, here's a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy Nude Year from all of us at 'Major Gubbins'. 

All the best,

- Major Gubbins