Ægidius and BOB – Chaper 1

ÆGIDIUS AND BOB -A Cosmic Odyssey

Chapter 1 – A Visitor

Ægidius Appleby lit his pipe. He looked out upon the field where the barley danced with the cool west wind. The summer had been tough, but now the harvest neared and thus also prosperity. Now he could take a well earned rest after his toil and trouble on the fields of his forefathers, which had been his vocation for the past 50 years ever since he was a wee lad. The horse was parked in its shed, the plough as well and now he was going to park his buttocks into his comfy, regular chair and listen to the news over the radio whilst he smoked on his pipe. A completely and totally ordinary, average summer’s day, the very same as it had been for the last fifty years. The only difference was that his father, Augustus, had wandered heavenwards. Augustus had before his father Octavius and before his father Jack, ploughed the fields. This was the ancestral farm where generations one after another had followed the tradition. Thus sat Ægidius as the very last member in this noble lineage and pleasantly enjoyed his rest.

His son Æneas was to follow in his footsteps. If only Æneas had not had the thoughts about a doctor’s degree or God forbid it law school. The traditions were to be maintained and preserved! The sun turned in, the murk of night fell over the canopy and the moon clocked in. Ægidius like wise turned in and waited for the sun to clock in. Thus the circle could once more continue its usual passage.

However.

The horse neighed uncontrollably outside. Ægidius arose like lightning. Grabbed his shotgun. Loaded it. Jumped into his dungarees and kicked the door open. Never had Faxy been so disturbed. In the very same motion he had kicked open the door he was greeted by a refulgence of indescribable colours. Purple, yellow and green. Everything blended together and separated. A fog of blinding colours. He could barely see Faxy nor hear its neighing as a tremendously piercing tone, an unearthly thunder dinned over the farm. The aether itself was vibrant and tonitrous. The tone itself increased in potency and then sank, reduced to the point where it sounded like that of a voice. Still imperceptibly deep. Ægidius could not fathom what the sound sounded like. His brain sped with several neurons an hour to process the information. It sounded like a voice yet it wasn’t. Not that of a human. He could sense words, but not those of any human.

The voice continued ceaselessly with a series of unconnected utterances whereto it at last approached a recognisable language as his brain had grown accustomed to this or at the every least deciphered this fulminating Stentor-voice.

“SALUTATIONS”

Although Ægidius never had heard the word before his brain recognised it in some strange fashion. Ægidius wasn’t so easily frightened though. He cocked the gun and most certainly wanted to know what this cheeky fog wanted with him and at such a discourteous hour of the day.

“Heyup!”

There went a moment and a voice tore its way through the air.

“MY MOST APPROPRIATE APOLOGIES”

The purple, yellow and green light within the blinding fog began to spin, dance and orbit each other. Their waltz had a peculiar choreography. Almost like a birth. Their astral dance became more chaotic, but it had contrarily concordance. Their dance grew tighter. Ægidius could hardly believe his eyes. The air grew humid. The heavens above him shot forth lightning. The lightning hit the fog. More lightning hit it. All of the weather went amuck in this numinous dance. Ægidius could almost see a rhythm in the lightning strikes and their contact with the light, together with the light’s humming and whirling. Curiously not a bad melody, he thought to himself. Suddenly a myriad struck down in an instant down into the fog that almost glowed so strongly that night became day. Ægidius waited patiently. The fog solidified as if embraced by a field of electricity. Behind this celestial shell he noticed that the three colours went into a union. Forming an entity of sorts. Now the shape behind this transparent, but radiant cocoon took upon itself a humanoid likeness. Legs, arms, head, an entire body, but the dimensions were monstrously huge. Ægidius witnessed how this shape now towered above him. The cocoon grew denser and denser until the light had taken a firm formation. No longer danced, but still pulsated in a consistent rhythm.

It grew even firmer and then a mighty shockwave was emitted from it. Everything around was blown away, but Ægidius stood defiantly. The field blew to and fro. Dust was whirled up. Day became yet again night. The fog of light was gone and Ægidius beheld now a creature, a purple man. 4 metres in height. His eights beamed, pulsated as the previous fog, but with a regular harmony.

Ear, nose and mouth had it. A glowing tuxedo of yellow and green nuances clothed this visitor. The man removed some of the dust from his tuxedo. Sighed and utter yet another word.

“VERY WELL”

Ægidius was somewhat impressed by the waltz of light and next this strange guest’s appearance. HE took his pipe out of his mouth. Didn’t quite know if he should use his gun.

“I AM DENOMINATED B100B, BUT DUE TO ANIMADVERSION OF INCOMPATIBILITY WITH THY CURRENT CEREBRAL COGNITION, CANST THOU REFER TO ME AS BOB”

Ægidius smoked his pipe and said now slightly suspicious:

“What the devil be ye gibberin’ on ’bout, beetroot?”

BOB was about to speak, but was stopped by Ægidius whose indignation had grown:

“Ye dash down to me farm, be a-glowin’ brighter than New Year’s Eve, ruin me bleedin’ fields and have the soddin’ cheek to think that us be chums? Damnation-and-blazes to it all! What be ye a-wantin’ of me?”

BOB stood a while. Then a mysterious buzzing was heard from his head. Eyes lit.

“A PERTINENT SCISCITATION, ÆGIDIUS JULES HILDEPHONSE APPLEBY!”

Ægidius had never had many visitors at his farm aside from O’Frederick from the city who habitually delivered horse fodder. This giant didn’t look like any of O’Frederick’s lads.

“Sciscitation? Question? Think ye be a-foolin’ me with yer mighty words, clever-sides?”

“MY MISSION IS PACIFIC, NOT ANTAGONISTIC, ÆGIDIUS JULES HILDEPHONSE APPLEBY. PLEASE WITH THY PERMISSION ALLOW ME TO BE MAXIMALLY PAUCILOQUENT AND MINIMALLY GRANDILOQUENT AS SUCH COMMUNICATION OBSTRUCTETH THE DIRECTIVE”

The giant stood still for a moment and then his eyes shone polychromatically.

“ÆGIDIUS JULES HILDEPHONSE APPLEBY, THY PLANET HATH BEEN ELECTED. IT IS THE INTERGALACTIC PLURALITY THAT HATH DESIGNATED ME AS REPRESENTATIVE”

It took Ægidius a brief time to understand the words. Sounded a wee bit clandestine. Intergalactic. Plurality. Sounded like something municipal. What did the municipality want with him? He had harvested fields the right way, hadn’t he? He did mention planet though. The giant made no sense.

“Representative for what?”

“THE PROMOTION OF THE TECHNOLOGICAL EVOLUTION AND FURTHERANCE OF INFERIOR SAPIENT ORGANIC CONSTRUCTS’ CIVILISATIONS”

“In English, Sir Gobsworth”

“MY MOST APPROPRIATE APOLOGIES! I MISANALYSED THY CEREBRAL VOCABULARY. WE ARE SEEKING SPECIFICALLY TERRA-01 TO ASSIST IN ITS TECHNOLOGICAL EVOLUTION”

“Where ‘cham in this’n equation?” asked Ægidius”

“ELEMENTARY, THOU ART A SENEATOR FOR THY PLANET” said BOB.

“Senator? That be a-smellin’ o’ politics. Why it be me, hm? Why has the municipality send ye?” asked Ægidius.

“PSYCHOSOMATIC AS WELL AS PSYCHOSOCIAL ANALYSES AND CALCULATIONS OF THY CIVILISATION’S CEREBRAL AS WELL AS CULTURAL CAPACITIES THUS IT WAS CONCLUDED THAT VERILY THEE WERT THE OPTIMAL CANDIDATE” said BOB.

“Who did this? ‘Tis a wee bit too technical for the municipality. Methinks it a mistake” said Ægidius and had in the most curious way found an interest in talking with the stranger.

“IT IS A RARITY FOR THE TRANSUNIVERSAL PROFUNDITY OF THE INTERGALACTIC PLURALITY TO MISCALCULATE. ONLY ONE OUT OF

540.305.304.405.505.505 CALCULATIONS HATH BEEN A MISCALCULATION.”

”I see, so..?”

”THE CALCULATION OF THE OMNIVERSAL VERACITY. BUT THIS IS IRRELEVANT. THOU SHALT EXPEDITIOUSLY BE TAKEN TO THE HEAD QUARTERS OF THE PLURALITY”

Now Ægidius was thinking that he was rarely on holiday. Last time it was the local beach. Plurality. He could need a break from his usual job.

”Tell me. What be a-happenin’ with me fields?”

”THE MUNIFCATION OF THINE AGROCULTURAL RESOURCES SHALL NOT BE A SOURCE OF TROUBLANCE . THIS STELLAR REGION WILL BE TEMPORALLY STATIC WHILST WE ARE IN THE COURT OF THE PLURALITY” said BOB.

”Static..?”

”EH… TIME STANDETH STILL”

”Why in the blazes, be ye not a-sayin’ that afore then!?”

”THE COMMUNICATION DIRECTIVE STATETH THAT A REPRESENTATIVE OF THE PLURALITY MUST EXPRESS THEMSELVES WITH MAXIMAL PRECISION AND WITHOUT SEMANTIC AMBIGUITIES. I AM CURRENTLY COMMUNICATING WITH THEE ON PAUCILOQUENCE LEVEL 2”

”So what? Ye says I be dumb?”

”OBJECTIVELY I AM COGNITIVELY SUPERIOR, BUT HAVE NOT A COMPARABLE PHYSIOLOGICAL STRUCTURE”

“So that be a yes”

The conversation could have gone on for all eternity,but Ægidius was quite inquisitive, but he had to have his sleep.

“Tell me, how long be this trip a-takin’, Ribena Bob? ‘Cham needin’ me dear sleep”

BOB stopped and his face changed itself with a great deal of contorting and stretching to an inexpressive one to one, that if you had a whole lot of fantasy, a smile. This could hint towards BOB being happy.

“FASCINATING. YE SAPIENT ORGANIC CONSTRUCT NEED OF COURSE NOCTURNAL PSYCHOSOMATIC REVIVIFICATION. FEAR NOT! OUR TRANS-DIMENSIONAL PASSANCE INFLUENCETH NOT THY PHYSIOGNOMY THUS NOCTURNAL REVIVIFICATION IS NOT ANATOMICALLY OBLIGATORY”

“To wind wi’t. ‘Cham ready. Ain’t be happin’ much out here. When be we a-goin’?” said Ægidius.

“HM. I MUST JUST PERFORM AN ATOMIC ANALYSIS OF THY COMPOSITION. PLEASE, WAIT A MOMENT” BOB once more shone violently. Ægidius was now not so amused that this entire lightshow was going to happen again and yet another portion of his fields was going to vanish. His worries were unfounded though. Bob’s effulgence cast itself on Ægidius who now himself sparkled. It was unusually painless. Tickled a bit.

The effulgence vanished from Ægidius and returned to BOB. BOB’s eyes went through several nuances where after an odd melody, “ze-ding-ding-brum-dang”. Quite like that of a modem of yore. BOB’s mentality was quite obviously of the audible sort.

“MY MOST APPROPRIATE APOLOGIES FOR THE NOISE. WE, WOBBALONIANS FROM WOBBALON 7 POSSESS AN EXOCORPOREAL ANATOMY”

Again sounded the melody. Ægidius lit his pipe. It had to night even though morning could any moment break. The horse seemed to enjoy it. BOB noticed the horse.

“MY MOST APPROPRIATE APOLOGIES!”

Ægidius was puzzled for a moment over the sight of BOB silently walking almost floating towards the horse. Immediately BOB started small-talking with the horse. Strangely Ægidius could still understand BOB and now also the horse, whom apparently spoke very highly of Ægidius.

“I toil ‘n’ toil for ‘im, but I’m not one to complain as long as I get my grass to chew’n day by day by day by day so I ain’t one to complain, nope, I’m pretty satisfied with my lot in life. Yup, yeah. Just yesterday I was ploughing to and fro, to and fro, to and fro, to and fro..”

BOB seemed to find this unnaturally interesting, an insight into a terrestrial organism’s life. Even the monotony was captivating. The patterns. Those he found captivating indeed.

“FASCINATING. QUITE SIMPLY FASCINATING! SUCH REDOUBTABLE MONOTONY. EVERYTHING IN THE OMNIVERSE IS IN RUDIMENTARY CHAOS. BUT HERE. LO, HERE IS MONOTONY. COSMIC ORDER. MONOTNY!”

“Cham’n’t a-gettin’ anythin’ of ye just said. Can’t we just be goin’” complained Ægidius impatiently.

“MOST CERTAINLY. PARDON ME. MY MOST APPROPRIATE APOLOGIES. POSTHASTE” said BOB and pulled a small silver orb from his rainbow-glowing tuxedo after which it started floating.

BOB let forth a eerie vibration from his interior and the ball vibrated accordingly. Now began both Ægidius and BOB shaking. The earth shook even though that was no earthquake. The skies were gleaming. Day and night occurred simultaneously.

“What in the blazin’ bloody of hells be a-happenin’!?” shouted Ægidius.

“MOLECULAR TEMPORAL HARMONISATION. A TRANS-DIMENSIONAL SHORTCUT TO THE PLURALITY” said BOB.

“That sounds.. kinda nice.. methinks?” said Ægidius and lit his pipe, but the very moment his match struck fire the fire shone with a light of a multitude of colours almost like Christmas lights. And then it happened

“VERY WELL”

Everything howled around their ears and the ball absorbed both of them. Both were stretched to unfathomable lengths across cosmic latitudes. Around him he could see phantasmagorical visions. Nebulae. Worlds orbiting impossible constellations. Myriads of eyes peering at him, beholding him from the forbidden beginning of times. His mind was almost torn asunder. But it did not. Suddenly he felt squashed. His entire being, body and essence compressed to an infinitesimally minute point. Less than a particle and then instantaneously they were there. The Plurality.

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Reges Mundorum

REGES MUNDORUM? – First contact
(Written 05 – 03 – 2015)

Sky, vast, fast and firm
Buzzing little mankind
Look up in awe, squirm!
Far beyond the cloudy scope
Transcending the familiar blue
Therein lies our biggest hope
Tho’ if they be of minds
————————- cool and unkind
What leave we to past generations
————————————-behind
Best then to leave man’s starbound shout
—————————————- on mute

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Benchdweller (Danish Version)

Here is the original Danish version that Benchdweller is based off. Wrote it originally as part of a writing project for a university course, but soon grew into this short story.

Bænkebo – Som en vandrende Stjerne

Der var engang en bænk foran et indkøbscenter. En ensom mand lå der. Vinden kildede hans skæggede ansigt. Morgenlyset gennemtrængte hans øjenlåg noget så skarpt. Solen, den fandens til pralrøv, altid tidligere oppe end ham. Men han havde nu fået en god nats søvn. Månen var dog, mente han, en bedre kompagnon.

Langsomt rejste han sig, strakte sig og gennemsøgte sin sæk der lå ved siden af bænken for at få sig en tår vand. Flasken var som altid fuld. Vanskeligt blev det at finde flasken, da hans øjne var nyligt blændet af morgenhilsenen fra før, desuden havde han glemt hvilken flaske der var hvad i. Drikken syntes at være sælsomt gylden. Han tænkte at det kunne være en øl eller måske sågar æblejuice. Selvom om dens odør var noget så rædderlig så skulle han jo ikke klage. Måske var den en anelse for gammel? Pyt skidt. Han drak den. Smagen var hæslig og bitter, dog underligt nok familiær. Instinktivt spyttede han ikke bare de gyldne dråber ud, men også adskillige fæle ord vedrørende forplantningens mirakler og dets inkongruente og tvivlsomme forhold til den indtagede væske.

Det var ved at blive det tidspunkt på dagen, hvor han ville vandre fra skraldespand til skraldespand i nærheden af indkøbscentret efter proviant. Folk var så letsindige når det kom til deres mad, men ganske gavnligt syntes han nu selv det var. Han samlede sine egendele i sækkene og afsted drog han på sin regelmæssige tur.

Hans første destination var bageriets bøtter, men der var intet at finde der. Nuvel, hen gik han så til supermarkedet, ”der måt’ jo vær’ nog’t der,” tænkte han. Han fandt en pakke halvspiste morgenbasser og uden videre tøven åd dem, ”æ’ så ring’ endda”. ”Der måt’ sgu vær’ mer’ at find’ ind’ i æ center”, tænkte han. Og med den overbevisning færdede han, gadens utrættelige lykkejæger, ind i denne forbudne have af opulens, tindrende butiksvinduer, rovgerrige kunder og skidegod ædelse.

Han spankulerede rundt omkring butikkerne. Hamburger, det lød sgu lækkert, men en kende dyrt, så skulle han vel bare vente på at folks frådseri kom ham til gode for jo mere de åd des mættere blev de og dermed mere ædelse til overs! Runden fortsatte. Så måtte de gode folk vel snart begynde at blive griske med at købe hambugere tænkte han. Endnu mere spændstigt gik han frem og tilbage. Han satte farten ned, ventede ved barens toiletter, og besørgede sig. Han gik igen frem og tilbage foran burgerbaren hvor han kunne se at folk glædeligt mæskede burger efter burger i sig. Mon der nu ikke bare var én der var lidt for fornuftig og ville fortryde sin hamburger?

Næ!

Folk var tilfredse med deres spise. Så gik tur hen til pizzastedet. Samme vandretur frem og tilbage, men det gav nu pote. Folk var aldeles dydige med deres sundhedsreglementer eller rettere sagt fornuften kom trillende efter at de havde bestilt deres mad. Som en høg vågede han nu over dem. Hans øjne fulgte pizzaens færd fra vindue til skraldespand. Listigt sneg han sig om bag pizzastedet og nuppede sig sin aftensmad.

Al den salt og fedt gav ham den voldsommeste tørst efter noget sødt at drikke, heldigvis var der et par få dåser cola at finde samme sted. Han tøvede lidt, men drak den alligevel. Sødt smagte den, end ikke den mindste eftersmag af bitterhed at ænse. Kvalmen fra den gule, spøjse drikkelse og lidt for megen pizza begyndte at vise sig. Ansigtet skiftede kulør. Ned var drik og pizza gået og op fór de igen. Mødig fra sin ørlen og vandren gik han tilbage sit hjemmelige bænkebo.

Natten sank sig og ligeledes sank han ned på sin bænk. Et stykke småbidt pizza og to dåser af suspekt cola var hans aftensmad. Hans morgenmad var resterne fra nogle morgenbasser. ”I det mindste smagt’ æ cola – og’ selvom den var en anelse gammel – æ’ særlig hæslig”.

Et tusindtal levende ædelstene strøet henover hvælvingen viste sig. Månen opsteg blandt dem skysvøbt. Manden var i dens audiens. Den hilste manden på bænken og manden vinkede tilbage, de ønskede hinanden en god nat og så sov han.

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Benchdweller (A Rewrite)

Benchdweller – As a wandering star.

There once upon a time was a bench in front of a shopping-centre. A lonesome man laid there. The wind tickled his bearded face. The early light of the morning sharply penetrated his eyelids. The sun, damned braggart, always earlier up than he, but he had had a good night’s sleep. The moon was however, he thought, a better companion.

Slowly he rose, stretched and searched through his sack that lied beside the bench to get himself a drop of water. The bottle was as always full. It proved tricky to find the bottle as his eyes was newly blinded by the matinal greeting from before, furthermore he had forgotten which bottle was which. The drink appeared to be unusually gilded. He thought to himself that it might as well be a beer or perhaps apple juice. Even though its scent was oh so ghastly then he wasn’t the one to complain. Maybe a tad too old? Never mind. He drank it. The taste was horrible and bitter, though strangely familiar. Instinctively he projected not only the golden drops out, but also several foul words pertaining to the miracles of reproduction and its incongruous and dubious relationship with the imbibed liquid.

It was becoming that time of the day, where he would wander from bin to bin near the vicinity of the shopping centre in search for food. People were so frivolous when it came to their food, but much to his own personal avail he thought. He gathered his belongings in the bags and off he journeyed for his regular wanderings.

His first destination was the dumpsters of the bakery, but there was nothing to be found. Very well, t’wards the supermarket he went, “there oughta be som’thin’ thar,” he thought to himself. He found a packet of half-eaten doughnuts and without much hesitation he scoffed them. “Ain’t ‘alf bad methinks,” he thought. Thus with that conviction he fared off, the indefatigable prospector of the streets towards the depths of this Eden of opulence, scintillating windows, ravenous customers and bloody good grub.

He strutted about the shops. Hamburger, that sounded bloody lovely, but rather dear, so all he needed to do was the wait for gluttony to be of advantage to him for the more the people ate, the more satiated they became the more grub there was left! The rounds continued. Now people had to start becoming more avid with buying hamburgers, he thought to himself. Even quicker and more tensed he wandered back and forth. He slowed down, waited by the toilets of the place, then did his business. He went yet again back and forth, in front of the burger place, where he could see people happily munching burger after burger. Couldn’t there at least be one who was just a bit sensible and regretted their hamburger?

NOPE!

People were content with their dinner. So he went towards the pizzaria. Same perambulation to and fro, but now it paid off. People were exceptionally virtuous with their dieting or rather sensibility came trickling forth after they had ordered their meal. Watchful as a hawk he monitored them. His eyes followed the pizza’s course from window to dumpster. Surreptitiously he sneaked behind the back of the pizzaria and snatched himself his supper.

All the salt and fat had given him the mightiest thirst for something sweet to drink, luckily there was a couple cans of soda to be found the same place. He paused, but then proceeded to drink it. It tasted sweet, nary the slightest aftertaste of bitterness to be noticed. The nausea from the yellow, funny drink and too much pizza was beginning to emerge. The countenance shifted in colour. Down was drink and pizza and up they gushed. Weary from his puking and wandering about, he went back to his homely bench.

Night descended and so did he upon his bench. A small piece of bitten pizza and two cans of suspicious soda was his supper. His breakfast was the leftovers from some doughnuts. “Least the soda tasted – tho’ quite owd – not as ‘orrible”.

Thousands of living sapphires strewn across the firmament appeared. The Moon rose amongst them in nebulous majesty. It hailed the man on the bench, who waved back, they wished each other a good night sleep and then he slept.

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Christmas and New Year’s Update

Thing have been moving slowly over on my end. University being the great consumer of my time with imminent exams and at the same time preparing for Christmas, buying the presents, food, drinks and generally trying to get into the cheerful spirit of things can get stressing. As you have no doubt seen then I have posted an old Christmas poem, but promised at the same time to post most or at least parts of a new poem that it is in works.
Expect it some time in the subsequent week after the posting of this blog post.
I hope that you all have had or are having a joyous season and may the new year be the beginning of a brighter future, because 2016 has been pretty much one downer after another.

Ace

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Nick drops by

Here’s a Christmas poem I wrote a while ago. Basically a parody on the classic A Visit from Saint Nick by famed American poet Clement Clarke Moore. Please forgive the lack of metre in this poem as I suppose the lack of one to convey the clumsiness of the main charitable guest himself, but also due to the fact that I was experimenting back then, for those of you who want a more orderly poem rest assured that I’ll be publishing one shortly.

Nick Drops By – A Christmas Visitation:

‘Twas the nocturnal time afore Yuletide
Not a rodent stirred nor cried
Socks, trousers and pants by the stov’
Soaking wet it dampen’d the ember’s glow

The kids crammed into a single warm bed
With hopes of presents by the tree’s stead
Pa’ and ma’ sleeping lightly in their room
Trying to escape workin’ day gloom

A banging and thud was heard from the yard
Then a tremendous boom large and hard
I sped from my bed towards the window
Curtains open’d and I wanted to know

The glow from the lanterns lit the night
Into darkness I peer’d and what a sight
A carriage drawn by several dreary ‘deer
What was this and why was it here?

A swollen man cramped into the seat
‘Twas Father Christmas that I might greet?
He lashed out his whip and slapped them with flout
Roaring foul words and spewed all of their names out

”Cometh  Farter, on Filth!
Now Shitter and Belcher!
Haste Vomit, on Putrid, hie, hie, Chunder and Squelcher
Above to the roof! Ye rotten cretins, haste!
Hurry, hurry! I have no bloody time to waste!”

In the same manner as a rocket he dashed on
If hapless bird met the carriage, in crimson mist gone
And onto the rooftop the bulky wagon fluttered
Full with treats and the pilot, whom words of rage uttered

A terrible din echoed from the roof
The sound of driver and hoof
I cowered in a corner out of fright, into a ball I did roll
Father Christmas came bursting down the chimney hole

His furry garbs were filled with ash and grit
The dusty hobo sat on his arse, arose and did spit
He reached into his pockets cruddy and begrimed
Was this the jolly potbelly to whom merriment chimed?

Furiously drunk his eyes they gleamed
Malodourous hygiene from his armpits beamed
His mouth hollow with a single tooth, small and lone
His beard fill’d with dead vermin bone

The room still filled with black and ashy air
Darkened further by the smog from his pipe, kindl’d by flare
Suddenly his face cring’d into yearning torment
The festive fatso piss’d into the fireplace and did lament

The bulging burglar turn’d around and gave me a stare
I shriek’d in terror by this sudden surly glare
He fart’d loudly and soon donned a smile
Alas, fear had taken over me for a while

He scratched his arse and began his seasonal toil
Forth from his pockets came dubious treats in foil
Thus he stumbl’d back into the wettened fireplace
Twist’d his nose, off he soared fartingly with great pace

Strenuously he squeezed his giant gut into the tiny seat
Cracked the whip and off they went, this motley fleet
Afore he vanish’d from my field of view
He bellowed: ”Happy bloody Christmas from me to all of you!”

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The Fellow and the Bench

Comment: The story has been update a tad based on criticism from readers. Mainly parts have been expanded and revised.

There was bench in front of the mall. A lonesome man laid there. The wind caressed his bearded face. Light dawned on his face and sharply it pierced his eyes. Begrudgingly he greeted the sun. Damn braggart, he thought, always earlier up than he. Still, he had rested well. At least the moon was far friendlier a companion.

Slowly he rose, pandiculated and searched his bag besides the bench for a sip of water. The bottle was full as always, but his eyes were still slightly dimmed by the matinal salutation from before and he had forgotten which bottle was labelled which. The drink seemed strangely golden in colour. He thought it might as well be beer or perhaps even apple juice. He wasn’t really the one to complain, though the odour was quite foul. Perhaps a tad too old? Never mind. He drank it. The flavour was grim, bitter. Strangely familiar. By reflex he spat it out again and foul words pertaining to the miracles of reproduction and its incongruous and dubious relationship to the imbibed substance were heard.

It was about that time of the day that he would roam the bins around the mall for resources. People were too careless about their food, much to his fortune though. Off he went for his regular rounds. Gathering his belongings in the bags.

His first destination was the bins of the bakery. Nothing there. Then the supermarket, must be something there, he thought to himself, found a package of half-eaten crumpets. Scoffed those. Perhaps more stuff was available within the mall itself, ever the prospector he journeyed into the vast, opulent Shangri-La of scintillating shops, rapacious customers and lovely grub.

He wandered around the shops. Hamburgers, sounded bloody tasty, but also a tad expensive, so all he had to do was wait for folk’s gluttony was to avail for him. Onwards he went. Now the good folks ought to become extra ravenous with buying burgers, he thought. Even quicker he wandered back and forth. Then he slowed down. Waited by the burger place’s toilets. Did his business. Strutted about again back and forth in front of the burger place, could see that people happily munched their burgers. Perhaps there couldn’t be one person in there who was a tad too sensible and would regret their hamburger?

Nope.

People were satisfied with their dining. Thus the trip went to the pizza place. Same wandering to and fro, but now it paid off. People were surprisingly virtuous with their dieting schedules or that is to say that reason came trickling forth after they had ordered their dinner. As a hawk he watched over them. His eyes followed the pizza’s journey from window to dustbin. Surreptitiously he sneaked behind the pizza place and snatched himself a bite for tea. Luckily a few cans of half-drunken coke were also available as he fancied himself thirsty. Feeling slightly nauseous from the dubious drink from before and too much pizza, he made way back to his homely bench.

As night fell, so did he on the bench. A piece of bitten pizza and two cans of dubious coke was his tea. Breakfast was bits of crumpets. At least the coke though aged didn’t taste especially foul. The moon rose, robed in nebulous majesty, it hailed the man on the bench, he greeted him in return, both wished each other a good night and then he slept.

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