Wednesday, April 20, 2011

I wrote something...

...five or so years ago.

Was cleaning up/looking at some of the mess I've left on the internet, and I found this. It's fiction, not great, and clearly derivative of a bunch of people, but it also made me laugh. Posted here in the vain (heh, Freudian) hope that it does the same for you:

Goldwyn and the Orang Utan - Part One.
Goldwyn's grandmother didn't talk to him much anymore, but as she'd been dead for three years, he didn't hold it against her.

Instead, he went down every morning to the fruit trees and collected that days fruit. To you or me this sounds like it would be a wonderful way to live. Eating only the best fruit from an entire orchard, living in a house the size of a small moon and no adults to spoil it.

But as poor Goldwyn soon found out, a diet of fruit leads to painful diahorrea, the moon is only fun if you have something to do with it and adults have their uses.

One morning Goldwyn decided to be spontaneous and walk into town. However, as he had no money and no sense of personal hygiene, he was soon chased away with sticks. He sat down in the orchard and thought how painful Bibles were when thrown at you. He was about to give in to hunger and start gnawing at his own leg, when he heard a voice coming from overhead.

'I say, you, you with the six foot dreadlocks and stench of the damned. Could you be so kind as to offer a gentleman a hand?'

Goldwyn, convinced that it was god coming to finish off the job that the bible had started, ran for his life. Unfortunately his dreadlocks were six feet long, while he was only four feet long. He stepped on one and went arse over tit into a pear tree.

'Good lord, you pointed to the wrong end when you were asked where you'd like your brain situated didn't you?'

Goldwyn rubbed his head and looked up. It was a businessman. Goldwyn knew it was a businessman because of the jumpsuit and the copious amounts of orange fur. The business man looked down at Goldwyn.

'Now, are you going to help me or not?'

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