Wilbur burst into the room with POP!
"Evening boys, would you like a sandwich?" Wilbur passed Keith and Derek took one each from a plate that Wilbur offered them.
"They were made from Eric's mother in law."
Keith spluttered, "Oh, how horrid!"
"Oh I don't mind," said Eric, "there would be no point letting her go all mouldy, better to make use of her."
"So true." said Derek, as he helped himself to another sandwich.
"Well, to business them," said Wilbur. "Why are you here?"
"Derek's here about the job looking after you daughter? But no worries if you've changed your mind, I mean, your daughter is..."
"No, no of course I havn't changed my mind, I'd call my daughter in, but if she moves, she dies, come with me into her room."
Keith considered making a quick escape out of the window, but the sill was lined with more toothpicks, so he followed Wilbur and Derek out of the carrot room, and into a long, bright orange hallway of which its walls were lined with photographs and oil-paintings of hedgehogs wearing pilot uniforms.
He gulped.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Chapter 3
Keith hung up the phone half way through Wilbur's rendition of 99 Red Balloons to the tune of Cars by Gary Numan, and raced back to Derek's apartment as fast as a goldfish with 3 stomach ulsers could.
"Derek!"
Derek emerged from the cupboard under the sink dressed in a paper towel and a rubber glove.
"Yes?"
"How many times to I have to tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"How brilliant I am!"
"Twice a day would be plenty."
"I'M BRILLIANT!" Keith whacked Derek over the head with a pie slice.
"OK, I've changed my mind, just once a month will suffice." Derek stammered while shoving his arm down the waste disposal unit to relieve the pain.
"Well aren't you going to ask me why I'm brilliant?"
"Will the answer involve inflicting mindless violence on me?"
"We'll see."
"Well OK then, why are you so brilliant?"
"I have got you a job in early childhood care with a girl who needs constant medical attention, and who is the daughter of a mentally deranged woman named Wilbur!"
It was then that Keith realised his mistake, and he shoved the next door neighbours cat down Derek's throat, along with Derek's favourite pair of fluro yellow tights.
The next day was suspiciously bright and several warm breezes stopped to say hello to Keith and Derek as they made their way to Wilbur's house. Keith ignored them, but Derek was in a good mood and managed to get the number of one of the breezes named Katherine. This annoyed Keith further, as his coffee bean girlfriend, Claire, had just dumped him for a suitcase named Phil, and Keith could not work out what Phil had that he hadn't. Sure Phil had zips, and folded down for easy storage, but that was nothing considering Keith's charms and flexible joints.
As Keith pondered these facts, and was wondering if he should send the question in as a topic for an episode of Russell Brand's Ponderland, Derek stopped outside a small ham coloured townhouse named 'Kaitlin'. Keith followed Derek up the footpath while muttering, and Derek rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a slice of bread.
"Good morning." Said the bread.
"Heya, I've come about the job looking after Wilbur's daughter. I'm Derek."
"Ah Derek, come in, Wilbur said you'd be arriving. Who are you?" The slice of bread turned to Keith.
"I'm a depressed goldfish who is unlucky in love and would like nothing better than to become a gardener and impale myself on a rose bush."
"Oh yes, Wilbur mentioned you too, come in."
Derek and Keith followed the slice of bread into the house and into a large room with pictures of carrots covering every wall, and toothpicks sticking out of the carpet.
"OWWW" Yelled Keith, as he caught his fin on a toothpick.
"Yeah that happened to me when I first moved here." Said the slice of bread. "My name's Eric by the way. I'll call Wilbur for you." Eric waddled out of the room, leaving Keith and Derek stepping awkwardly over toothpicks and trying to get images of carrots out of their minds. They looked as each other and Derek started to speak.
"So Keith, you know that word you used to describe yourself the other day, what was it again? Ah yes, brilliant. Are you sure you didn't mean so stupidly delusional that people mistake you for a turnip?"
Keith picked up a sofa and threw it at Derek.
"Derek!"
Derek emerged from the cupboard under the sink dressed in a paper towel and a rubber glove.
"Yes?"
"How many times to I have to tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"How brilliant I am!"
"Twice a day would be plenty."
"I'M BRILLIANT!" Keith whacked Derek over the head with a pie slice.
"OK, I've changed my mind, just once a month will suffice." Derek stammered while shoving his arm down the waste disposal unit to relieve the pain.
"Well aren't you going to ask me why I'm brilliant?"
"Will the answer involve inflicting mindless violence on me?"
"We'll see."
"Well OK then, why are you so brilliant?"
"I have got you a job in early childhood care with a girl who needs constant medical attention, and who is the daughter of a mentally deranged woman named Wilbur!"
It was then that Keith realised his mistake, and he shoved the next door neighbours cat down Derek's throat, along with Derek's favourite pair of fluro yellow tights.
The next day was suspiciously bright and several warm breezes stopped to say hello to Keith and Derek as they made their way to Wilbur's house. Keith ignored them, but Derek was in a good mood and managed to get the number of one of the breezes named Katherine. This annoyed Keith further, as his coffee bean girlfriend, Claire, had just dumped him for a suitcase named Phil, and Keith could not work out what Phil had that he hadn't. Sure Phil had zips, and folded down for easy storage, but that was nothing considering Keith's charms and flexible joints.
As Keith pondered these facts, and was wondering if he should send the question in as a topic for an episode of Russell Brand's Ponderland, Derek stopped outside a small ham coloured townhouse named 'Kaitlin'. Keith followed Derek up the footpath while muttering, and Derek rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a slice of bread.
"Good morning." Said the bread.
"Heya, I've come about the job looking after Wilbur's daughter. I'm Derek."
"Ah Derek, come in, Wilbur said you'd be arriving. Who are you?" The slice of bread turned to Keith.
"I'm a depressed goldfish who is unlucky in love and would like nothing better than to become a gardener and impale myself on a rose bush."
"Oh yes, Wilbur mentioned you too, come in."
Derek and Keith followed the slice of bread into the house and into a large room with pictures of carrots covering every wall, and toothpicks sticking out of the carpet.
"OWWW" Yelled Keith, as he caught his fin on a toothpick.
"Yeah that happened to me when I first moved here." Said the slice of bread. "My name's Eric by the way. I'll call Wilbur for you." Eric waddled out of the room, leaving Keith and Derek stepping awkwardly over toothpicks and trying to get images of carrots out of their minds. They looked as each other and Derek started to speak.
"So Keith, you know that word you used to describe yourself the other day, what was it again? Ah yes, brilliant. Are you sure you didn't mean so stupidly delusional that people mistake you for a turnip?"
Keith picked up a sofa and threw it at Derek.
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
~Chapter 2~
Keith knew that the only way Derek was going to earn any money was if he got a new job. Unfortunately, Derek had only one known talent, which would have to be the basis of all work he applied for. Derek's one talent was fast-forwarding exciting scenes on movies, and he prided himself on his remote handling techniques. He often invited the family of pineapples from next door over to watch his extraordinary talent, but sadly, everytime he called, Mr Pineapple had just died and Mrs Pineapple and their 3 children had to go to his funeral. Mr Pineapple used to sneak out of his own funeral when no one was looking to come and watch Derek, but Mrs Pineapple caught him once, and he never came back again.
Keith wondered what sort of career would require fast-forwarding techniques on exciting parts of movies. Then it came to him... early childhood care! All mothers wanted to leave their children in the care of a man who wouldn't let them watch anything that displayed violence, emotional music or close up shots of peoples eyes! To reward himself for his sharp thinking, Keith flushed himself down the toilet.
Two months later, Keith returned to Derek's apartment in erotic southern Kent, to find Derek in a state of despair.
"What's up old bean?" said Keith.
"Oh my orange's trousers, why? WHY?
"Eh?"
"I've just realised what a stupid name for a goldfish Keith is!"
"Yes, yes. I knew that, why do you think a good looking fish like me doesn't have a girlfriend?
"You're not good looking, you're bald and suffer from acne. EW."
"Firstly, raisins find baldness attractive. Secondly, its not acne, its dandruff."
"So you're into raisins?"
"No..... I'm just saying that they do."
Derek shaved his eyebrows off.
"Well if you say so, I'm headed for the Raisin Roofs Nightclub. You coming?"
"No."
"I'll bring you home a hot raisin."
"OK. Make sure its not a sultana."
"See that's your problem. You're too picky."
And with that, Derek poured a bottle of vinegar over his head and sauntered out of the room, singing the titanic theme song.
Keith briefly wondered if Derek was right. Nah. If he was picky, he wouldn't have gone out with Ron, the sealion from upstairs. Keith blew a bubble and sat down at Derek's kitchen table to think over what he was going to do about Derek. He picked up a newspaper and flicked through to the job section. His eyes settled on a small advertisement in the top right corner.
Is your carpet talking to you? When you walk on it, does it complain and try to trip you up? If so, you need to call The Reading Plumbing Society. We promise to........'
NO! He must not get distracted! Keith found another advert, and dialled a number.
"Good morning Wilbur." Chimed a posh, breezy, lady's voice.
"Hello?" mumbled Keith into the phone.
"Have you got anything to say Wilbur, or are you just calling to check if you're still breathing?"
"Um. Hi I'm calling about the job in the paper?"
"But Wilbur, you live here? How are you supposed to look after the children if you live in the same house as them?"
"See, there's your problem. I'm not Wilbur."
There was a pause on the end of the line.
"Ahh."
Another pause.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Oh well thats probably because I'm Wilbur."
"Yes. That would explain it."
"Mmm."
"Is it short for anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Its just that... Well... You sound rather..."
"Feminine? Yes I get that a lot when people find out my name. I don't see why. Wilbur is a unisex name."
"Of course."
"So you're calling about the job?"
"Yes, but not for me, it's for..."
"DING DONG"
"Um, its for my friend."
"I absolutely agree, but aren't you a little young to be having friends?"
"Am I?"
"I'll let you off this time." Wilbur sighed. "Well I need someone to look after my daughter every second."
"Every second what?"
"Every second or she will die."
"Ah."
"I presume your friend has proficient medical knowledge?"
Keith had a split-second decision to make. Wilbur's daughter's life, or a new fish-bowl? The choice was easy.
"Yes, of course. He used to be a fully qualified specialist with his own practise in Los Angeles before he was promoted to a postman in Kent"
"Oh that's wonderful! My husband is a surgeon, but he has always wanted to be a postman!"
"Derek is a hard worker, that's for sure."
Meanwhile, Derek was demonstrating his fast-forwarding skills to a group of gorgeous giggling raisins, while downing 7 bottles of Belgium rum in 7 minutes. Oh the joys of multi-tasking.
Keith wondered what sort of career would require fast-forwarding techniques on exciting parts of movies. Then it came to him... early childhood care! All mothers wanted to leave their children in the care of a man who wouldn't let them watch anything that displayed violence, emotional music or close up shots of peoples eyes! To reward himself for his sharp thinking, Keith flushed himself down the toilet.
Two months later, Keith returned to Derek's apartment in erotic southern Kent, to find Derek in a state of despair.
"What's up old bean?" said Keith.
"Oh my orange's trousers, why? WHY?
"Eh?"
"I've just realised what a stupid name for a goldfish Keith is!"
"Yes, yes. I knew that, why do you think a good looking fish like me doesn't have a girlfriend?
"You're not good looking, you're bald and suffer from acne. EW."
"Firstly, raisins find baldness attractive. Secondly, its not acne, its dandruff."
"So you're into raisins?"
"No..... I'm just saying that they do."
Derek shaved his eyebrows off.
"Well if you say so, I'm headed for the Raisin Roofs Nightclub. You coming?"
"No."
"I'll bring you home a hot raisin."
"OK. Make sure its not a sultana."
"See that's your problem. You're too picky."
And with that, Derek poured a bottle of vinegar over his head and sauntered out of the room, singing the titanic theme song.
Keith briefly wondered if Derek was right. Nah. If he was picky, he wouldn't have gone out with Ron, the sealion from upstairs. Keith blew a bubble and sat down at Derek's kitchen table to think over what he was going to do about Derek. He picked up a newspaper and flicked through to the job section. His eyes settled on a small advertisement in the top right corner.
Is your carpet talking to you? When you walk on it, does it complain and try to trip you up? If so, you need to call The Reading Plumbing Society. We promise to........'
NO! He must not get distracted! Keith found another advert, and dialled a number.
"Good morning Wilbur." Chimed a posh, breezy, lady's voice.
"Hello?" mumbled Keith into the phone.
"Have you got anything to say Wilbur, or are you just calling to check if you're still breathing?"
"Um. Hi I'm calling about the job in the paper?"
"But Wilbur, you live here? How are you supposed to look after the children if you live in the same house as them?"
"See, there's your problem. I'm not Wilbur."
There was a pause on the end of the line.
"Ahh."
Another pause.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Oh well thats probably because I'm Wilbur."
"Yes. That would explain it."
"Mmm."
"Is it short for anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Its just that... Well... You sound rather..."
"Feminine? Yes I get that a lot when people find out my name. I don't see why. Wilbur is a unisex name."
"Of course."
"So you're calling about the job?"
"Yes, but not for me, it's for..."
"DING DONG"
"Um, its for my friend."
"I absolutely agree, but aren't you a little young to be having friends?"
"Am I?"
"I'll let you off this time." Wilbur sighed. "Well I need someone to look after my daughter every second."
"Every second what?"
"Every second or she will die."
"Ah."
"I presume your friend has proficient medical knowledge?"
Keith had a split-second decision to make. Wilbur's daughter's life, or a new fish-bowl? The choice was easy.
"Yes, of course. He used to be a fully qualified specialist with his own practise in Los Angeles before he was promoted to a postman in Kent"
"Oh that's wonderful! My husband is a surgeon, but he has always wanted to be a postman!"
"Derek is a hard worker, that's for sure."
Meanwhile, Derek was demonstrating his fast-forwarding skills to a group of gorgeous giggling raisins, while downing 7 bottles of Belgium rum in 7 minutes. Oh the joys of multi-tasking.
A story of two weirdo's ~ Chapter 1 ~
Derek was a postman. He didn't like to admit it to his friends, but there was no denying the fact. He had wanted to be a postman, a long time ago, mostly for the glamour of it all. But post and glamour go together like pickled olives and glazed windows, and only celebrity postmen, like Postman Pat and Oprah get to see the glamourous olives through the glazed windows, all the other postmen can only dream that one day, the landlord will get so fed up with the mess that they make in their apartments, that he will hire a maid to clean it up, and that she will draw the curtains so that they can see out and let the preserves shine in.
To try and achieve this, Derek hadn't cleaned up his apartment since the postman's strike in '82. What he didn't realise was that the comparison was only a metaphor and that he had no chance to ever become anything more than a newspaper boy. His goldfish, Keith, knew this, but didn't like to tell him incase Derek killed himself and never bought Keith his promised goldfish bowl. At the moment, Derek was on such a low salary that he couldn't afford a bowl and Keith was currently living in a pool of water collected on a leaf that Derek had stolen from the local botanic gardens. This was particularly upsetting for Keith as his one dream in life was to take Freddie Mercurys place in Queen and he had recently purchased a drumkit to practise his rhythym, but becasue of his cramped living conditions, he had nowhere to store it. Keith read home and garden magazines, and had his eye on a two story bowl with an easy care garden and vegetable patch out back, but Derek's inability to earn had Keith in a McFlurry. To reach his dreams, he must first help Derek earn over half his body weight in notes. But how?
To try and achieve this, Derek hadn't cleaned up his apartment since the postman's strike in '82. What he didn't realise was that the comparison was only a metaphor and that he had no chance to ever become anything more than a newspaper boy. His goldfish, Keith, knew this, but didn't like to tell him incase Derek killed himself and never bought Keith his promised goldfish bowl. At the moment, Derek was on such a low salary that he couldn't afford a bowl and Keith was currently living in a pool of water collected on a leaf that Derek had stolen from the local botanic gardens. This was particularly upsetting for Keith as his one dream in life was to take Freddie Mercurys place in Queen and he had recently purchased a drumkit to practise his rhythym, but becasue of his cramped living conditions, he had nowhere to store it. Keith read home and garden magazines, and had his eye on a two story bowl with an easy care garden and vegetable patch out back, but Derek's inability to earn had Keith in a McFlurry. To reach his dreams, he must first help Derek earn over half his body weight in notes. But how?
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