Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Fast Tells Chair How To Sound.

I was smoking a long cigarette in the aquarium car park patiently waiting for my dear friend Louis the Lost One to find the aquarium car park. He was asking every lionfish, seahorse and filtration system but none of them knew. ‘I am imprisoned in a glass box!!’ one of them screamed at Louis' crumpled Hungry Jack’s uniformed self.

As I was drawing and doodling, scribbling and scrawling on a marine-themed placemat I had found on the Bubble Gum Strewn Bitumen, I spotted a Young Man From My Chequered Past floating towards me on a whim. He was an ex-colleague of mine from when I used to work back in the 16th century as a Humble Craftsman. He caught me once bragging about my whittling skills and could easily have exposed me as the Occasionally Arrogant Craftsman that I truly was, but chose not to as his heart was large.

I enquired unto him, ‘Sir, what is this whim you drift by me on and where does it take you on such a glorious day?’ but it came out as, ‘What the f**k you doin’, kid?’ with a rude hand gesture, because he had brushed past me, jarring my elbow and ruining my tear-stained biro portrait of Louis’ crumpled Hungry Jack’s uniform. (I missed him deeply.)

The young man recognised me from a few television commercials I’d done in recent years. (Obviously I’d left little impression on him personally.) One for ‘Chunks O’ Chicken’ where I was dressed as a burnt chicken wing and recited a few lines from Charles Chicken’s ‘Great Tray-Roasted-Chicken-With-Potatoes-And-Garlic-Gravy-Spectations’:

“My father's family name being Parmesan Crumbed Chicken, and my Christian name Healthy Chicken and Vegetable Sausage Rolls, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Chunks O’ Chicken. So, I called myself Chunks O’ Chicken, and came to be called Chunk O’ Chicken as I was a singular unit.”

He also recalled in great detail an advertisement promoting the struggling WRI (Walrus Racing Industry), which I had not featured in, but it turns out we had both enjoyed thoroughly. It featured the hilarious Waldron the Walrus, and in the background a collection of depressed looking walrus racing punters whose walruses had been scratched for illegal tusk extensions.

While reflecting on my stellar small-screen career, I noticed the young man had a little dolphin tucked under his arm. ‘Oh, it’s just a picture of a dolphin’, he said, noticing that I had pulled out my monocle for a closer look. ‘I’m going to take it home and stick it on a tee-shirt. Then I’ll have a tee-shirt with a picture of a dolphin on it.’ His second statement was eerily consistent with the first.

I raced off with him towards his home/tee-shirt factory to print out some Missing Persons Tees regarding my dear friend Louis - this was a regular occurrence - and on the way, buy some of Chunks O’ Chicken’s famous Deep Fried Chicken Noodle Soup On A Stick With Extra Parmesan.
The aftertaste of this concoction was Extraordinary.

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