Lending A Hand (or two)

Here's a little story about the old and the new, beginnings and endings, oils and oils, palms and babies, and life on the factory floor...

On The Outside

[ THE SHORT STORY 'ON THE OUTSIDE' WAS FIRST PUBLISHED ONLINE BY DARKRUN REVIEW. IT IS A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER/COMEDY/ACTION/SUSPENSE COP-STORY MYSTERY.

MOVIE RIGHTS ARE STILL UP FOR GRABS. ANYONE?

WARNING: CONTAINS NUDITY (IN WRITTEN FORM ONLY) ]

if you didn't click on the link above for the story don't worry, you haven't missed out, there's still time to read it - simply click here.

He whom never existed

For as long as he could remember, he didn't exist.

Never had.

He was Roger Skwishskoft. Or, at least, that's who he assumed he was had he existed.

An Easter (cotton)Tale

I approached the door to the house through the path from the front gate that was unhinged. It was quite the unnecessarily long sentence to do so but we got there in the end. The yard was overgrown with weeds, yet barren of grass with the earth littered with holes.

I rapped on his door with a consciously friendly beat. It worked. He opened the door with a wobbly smile and we exchanged pleasantries (ie. pleased to meet you; nice tie; I like the holes in your yard; and so on).

The Morning After

A blinding light pierces through the worn curtains that are my creased eyelids. Through the green fog floating about my brain I take my time to surmise that it must be 'tomorrow' at 'some time' in the 'day'.

The Sun's rays that have cruelly taken the opportunity to enter the room as it noticed the usual defence mechanisms have not been drawn across the windows form needle-like objects as it continually inserts itself into the back of my brain through my eyeballs. Though that sentence may seem long, confusing and painful to read, it is not due to the writer's inept writing skills (though they don't hurt) but a clever metaphor (or whatever it's called) for what it was describing.

The Heat In The Kitchen

I walked into a melee in the kitchen. The appliances were bickering again. 

Apparently it all started when the pot called the kettle black, and the kettle took offence (it preferred the term 'onyx').

Australia Day Long Weekend Part 2 - Don't Drink The Water

(Continued... 
note: if you haven't read Part 1 click here or this will make even less sense than it actually does)

Next thing we know it's Australia Day and we're hungover.

Each year we celebrate all that is Australia Day by being hungover, blowing up the mini outdoor pool, filling it with water as we cook the bbq, restock the Esky (chilly bin, cooler, box to keep the beer cold), shoo some flies, paint our faces with zinc, apply fake Australian sticker tattoos and turn on the radio to listen to the inaugural Triple J Hottest 100.

Australia Day Long Weekend Part 1 - Fly-Shooing, Thigh-Slapping, Head-Shaking, Sweat It Out

As the post-Christmas/New-Year-Holiday-depression roots itself into my work scenario and, as I'm cussing myself (quite loudly and, if I do say, unnecessarily crudely too) at having wasted my holiday not coming up with a brilliant idea on how not to have to go back to work again, the Australia Day holiday approaches. Here to save the day of every hard-working Aussie with the simple dream of never having to work a day in their life again. At least for a day. You bloody beauty.

Bringing in the New Year - Salutations and Salivations

[ THIS WAS PUBLISHED ONLINE BY INTERNATIONAL LITERARY ONLINE JOURNAL QUEEN MOB'S TEAHOUSE AS 'SOMEBODY BRING IN THE NEW YEAR' ]

Preface: Please bear in mind* this article was intended to be read on New Years Eve, though it was written in early 2015. One of my New Year's resolutions is to be less distracted by shiny objects, and more inclined to manage my time better (and less inclined against the bar most nights). 
Time machine not included.
(*During a successful 14 hour neurological surgery the bear was removed by TV doctor, Dr House. Though not a real doctor per se, he has a delightfully funny bedside manner which was worth the risk)

As the last day of 2014 dawned upon us, friends were heard to shriek "AGH! A cockroach!!", for there was a large cockroach making it's way across the seafood buffet.

Religious Semantics / Sermontics

I wasn't on a mission from God, I was on a mission from the Pope.

In recent years, thy religious master hadn't many servants to call upon as, despite Jon Bon Jovi's call to "keep the faith", people hadn't. At best, they'd misplaced it.

Like a popular gay cowboy in the 30's through to the 60's, the numbers had been Wayne-ing.

Regular drinking of alcohol can prolong your life (and can ferment your body afterwards)

'On the Tiles' by Ron Acme.
An artist's impression of L.A.P.D Homicide
Sergant Roger Murtaugh after a night out.

As the famous singer sang, "I've got a hangover, wa-oh-oh. I've been drinking too much fo sho" (assumedly Pavarotti?).

But did he? Drink. Too much?

Some people say I drink too much - my mum, wife, doctor, boss, my dogs, Lindsay Lohan, my liver - while other people say I don't drink enough - me, David Hasselhoff, my 'mates' that don't know my name at the pub, drunk me. But one thing is for sure; the evidence is inconclusive.

Be(a)st meal in town - Dinner with Dickens

< The following story has been published by Centum Press in One Hundred Voices: Volume II (use my 10% off discount code 100V2V37) in some form or another, and is also available to order via Amazon >

When I received an invitation to a dinner party o'er the wire from Dickens I had trouble containing my excitement (I eventually tied it to a chain connected to the maple tree near the back porch). It was fair to say I had great expectations of what was to come.