The ham-bone of an old sandwich

These are short stories and are more from the bus gang travelling south...

Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay

THE TUTU BAGUETTE COMPANY

The tutu baguette company were doing a roaring trade beside the road with everyone heading south, although quite why everyone was going south no one could say for sure, maybe it was an inbuilt instinct, or maybe it was a pressing need to get away from the desolation.

Money was a problem and no one trusted it anyway and it had become worthless mostly. Gold coins on the other hand bought their weight in goods, but were hard to come by. So barter became the main means of exchange.

The tutu baguette company were ready to branch out, for behind their stall were heaps of goods such as chickens, eggs, junk, watches, pretty things, beer, water and anything else you can think of, it was all piled up behind the stall.

Tents were going up close by dotted about with shacks too and camper vans and motor homes were staying, and there was even talk of building a school.

Yes, things were looking up for the tutu baguette company.

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A BLACK FISH

God, who had changed back into an old stick, was beating about in the bushes looking for slackers and making a noise of it hoping to drive them out, but found only an elastic entanglement machine, a black fish and three redskin Indians who were leaning up against a bush and not saying anything.

A surly distance along this croaked path and definitely up the Khyber tree God came to a door that said: “Do not open.”
“But doors are made to be opened,” said God opening the door. As he opened the door an old broom fell out; it was a broom cupboard left over from before the war and quite what it was doing in the bushes God only knew.

God shook his head and closed the door back up and decided to go play chicken with the shooting stars over in the Orion belt and leave the Earth to its fate, and anyway, the place stunk like a dead fish and someone ought to clean it up.

Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay

THE BRITISH EMPIRE MAKES A COMEBACK

Now that the Jackboot was on the other foot dust-boy wondered what all the fuss was about and shaking his head he searched around for the other one, but search as he might it was not to be found.

Hitching up his baggy pants he hobbled off to another dump to try his luck there.

Down in the Billabong where all the black-men’s ghosts had become tar feathers a bright red number ten bus, pristine and ready to go was being looked after by Hong Kong Bing who had a thing about buses but couldn’t drive them, but did start it up now and again just to hear the sound of the engine roar.

It had zero miles on the clock and ran on diesel, bio-diesel, oil, coal dust or fumes at a push and could go really fast on a long run; it was called the Billabong express for a heyday that never came, or so it had said in the brochure.

When dust-boy came along and saw the bus he was really excited and sat down in the dust to stare at it.

When the engine was started again it was as if the British Empire was making a come-back. Dust-boy jumped up and down cheering in delight but when Hong Kong Bing saw him he shook a spanner at him and made him run off.

The crowded bushes accepted dust-boy as he squeezed in, and hunkering down he stared out and waited.

Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay

BIG NEWS

A twisted knot on the radar screen was blinking and had been for a thousand years so a shovel was sent out for to bury it.

When word got to the Mona Lisa of peculiar goings on she tried to smile as you do when you receive strange news on the wireless. But she was no longer herself these days and dismissed it as unwanted ramblings.

Not so the revolution company who were all tuned in to the radio on the bus and were eagerly awaiting any news at all.
We shall have to act was the consensus and so they all discussed what they were going to do about it.

“We need a bucket of beer,” said one.

“And sandwiches,” said another.

They all applauded this and then music came over the airwaves; Let it Be, that was sung by the Beatles. This changed the tack and mellow as can be they decided to do just that.

“But we still need sandwiches,” said one.

“And beer,” said another.

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SHE’S LOST

The mind can lead you into strange places and all of them far from home, and when you get there you wonder what you’re doing and how come you listened to such drivel to take you away from where you were not so unhappy; and as you descend into it more because that’s where you are and the hole is so wet, deep and slippery you look for your wings to get you out of it, and when you can’t find them, Jesus or someone like that comes along and says: “I’ll give you some wings if you’ll believe in me.”

That’s when you say: “I don’t believe in belief anymore.”

There are many replies and answers to this but all of them come when you’re crippled and down and they are of no use to you in that pit and screaming: “Get me out of here.”

So when Blue-Jane fell off the bus one drunken night she wasn’t missed at first what with all the beer and sandwiches making everyone sleepy. But eventually the cry went up to know where she was and when they couldn’t find here they said the only thing they could: “She’s lost.”

“Not on my watch,” said See-through Mary and after dressing up in her armour began the search for her revolutionary buddy.

Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay

IN LOVE TO A MAN

The Norse gods out on a tumble were making whoopee and right happy about it they were as they tumbled.

When they came across the hole with Blue-Jane in it and screaming blue murder they all to a man fell in love with her and in no time at all had pulled her out of the hole she was in and began to tickle her pink.

This was all too much for Blue-Jane and off she ran followed by the Norse gods yapping at her heals and still making whoopee.

Far over the land she ran with the Norse gods behind her, and many songs were sung of it, and a legend sprung up, and even a shrine was made, until one day, jumping back in the bus she was gone, leaving the Norse gods far behind in love to a man.

So when the hand strikes twelve it will be three and three thirty hours past anything you can imagine so stay in your seats until the intermission comes to blow you away.

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THE HAM-BONE OF AN OLD SANDWICH

The obfuscation of a curious beginner cannot be blamed on them and is nothing to be desired unless they’ve been at the sugar and then watch out.

Similar to this cat’s whiskers of a thing the ham-bone of an old sandwich will not make you rich no matter how hard you try to sell it; but there are many who can be fooled with fool’s gold and will buy it, and sometimes at any price to be paid back later in instalments.

Some say shame on these ones for taking advantage of the unwary and poor sheep-like souls who will fall for anything so long as it’s wrapped up in glitter; while others say shame on the sheep for being so unconscious and so easily taken in.

The new thinking on this has come to the conclusion that it is those ones who see through the deceit and corruption to do something about it and to stop making excuses that it has gone too far and nothing can now be done to change it.
End of news broadcast.

“That’s the news over for another day,” said See-through Mary reaching over to the radio and flicking through the channels to find some music.

The bus wobbled a little bit at this but then settled down as normal.

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SPLUTTERING

“We must be getting close by now,” said the captain spluttering into his tea.

“Close to what?” said Blue-Jane looking up.

“Well the end of course,” said the captain spluttering again.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” said Blue-Jane.

“You wish I wouldn’t do what?” said the captain spluttering some more.

“All that spluttering, it’s getting on my nerves.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the captain and took his half finished tea down to the other end of the bus.

“It’s not supposed to be about the arriving, it’s all about having fun on the journey,” said Blue-Jane to the captain’s departing back.

“He’s a cranky old sod these days isn’t he,” said one of the lads to Blue-Jane.

“I heard that,” said the captain becoming quite lost among all the seats at the back.

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KICKING THE BUS

Sometimes things just won’t work no matter how hard you kick them and it is for this reason that the Handy Andy was made to kick things for you.

It can be left on all day and will not stop kicking until you turn it off and comes with size nine boots polished to perfection; and as a special bonus a cup of coffee is thrown into the bargain to be drunk at your leisure while you watch the Handy Andy at work. Free boot polish comes as an optional extra.

See-through Mary threw the old pamphlet on the ground and gave the bus another kick for good measure.

“Should have got one of those Handy Andy things,” she said and walked off to join the others who were waiting for her final appraisal.

“We need another bus,” she said to the company hunkered down around the camp fire.

This was not good news.

“We need a new bus then,” growled the captain and tried to hide his splutter by turning his head quickly so that the splutter came out sideways.

“Any ideas anyone?” said Blue-Jane, gazing around the company who were all shaking their heads.

One hand came up timidly and everyone stared at it as if it was some strange weed flourishing in their midst and seemed to have knocked the nail on the head of what everyone was thinking.

“Yes?” said Blue-Jane pointing at the hand that was now shaking like an old toadstool on mushrooms.

“I saw one bus three miles back four hours and thirty seven minutes ago, and it had forty three seats, six wheels, one steering wheel, thirty five windows, one door...” said the idiot savant still with his hand in the air.

“Put your hand down now,” said Blue-Jane, “and stop counting.”

“We can’t all trudge back but someone is going to have to go get the bus,” said Blue-Jane looking round at them all.

“I’ll go,” said See-through Mary.

“Good, and take some of the lads with you, just in case,” said Blue-Jane.

See-through Mary picked some lads for the trek and then set off without anything more being said.

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