Jim puts on a clean shirt and a clean pair of pants before sliding on his running shoes and leaving the house. Jim walks outside in his underpants, oblivious to the fact of the thing, for: Jim has not put on his trousers.

Jim, at some point in the day, makes some kind of remark about his "fanny". Jim announces he has a Vagina.

Jim experiences aggravation (probably at being laughed at) and announces he is Mentally Ill, he has proclaimed that he is "Mad" about being laughed at. Well, that's understandable, Jim..

The events of the day have perturbed Jim so much that he has become Pissed, he insists that he is Completely Pissed when he walks home after the events of his day, unaware entirely that he is telling us that he's blind drunk.

Probably the most forgivable thing is when Jim declines both a [hate speech] and a [slightly longer version of the same hate speech] because he doesn't realize that his British friend is first offering him a cigarette and then suggesting they try the pork dumplings.

Thus it goes Every Single Day.

"When you think about it, it makes a lot of sense," said Jim, and he was basically speaking nonsense. I turned my entire head at 360 degrees and honed in on the OrganicMan who was laying idle on a curb at my feet.

"Human Slop," I exclaimed, "have you seen this," I said to Jim, who clanked noisily towards me and halted, his head and arms spinning in all directions as they typically did.

"Why, that's a Creator," Jim reasoned, "we ought pay deference to it," and he began to vomit xeroxes from the hole in his face, several dozen sheets of paper which had absorbed a selective patterning of ink from a printing cartridge and formed a facsimile of various positive messages, "it'll appreciate that," said Jim, "when it wakes from its narcotics and alcohol induced torpor."

All of a sudden the Humans tiny eyes had opened wide and it began to make large mouth noises.

It was at that moment that I woke from my afternoon nap and found myself quite out of sorts. I called for the Housekeeper and began to berate her for the rest of the afternoon about my funny dream.

"It's very interesting," she kept lying, "what an odd dream," she would say, and various things of this nature.

"That's as may be," I would reply, "but did you know that back when I was a small boy in 2026 that we could scarce have imagined that one day we would be able to create facsimiles of the written word by the dexterous usage of printing cartridges, why," I would go on, "it puts the Gutenberg Press to shame," and 'round and 'round we would go repeating the exact same conversation until one of us became wearied and insisted we "had to leave" because our "time was up for the day."

Chapter 11

"Have you ever been to Nacogdoches?"

I was watching John Wayne on the Television when my Wife walked in and put this question to me.

"What in Gods name are you blathering about, Earlene?" I shouted, rising to my feet by aid of a pair of walking sticks, and she repeated the question as if it bore some manner of import that I ought have known off the cuff.

I followed her into the Drawing Room and found that she had been arranging cuttings from the garden on the Breakfast Table but before I could gather my wits about me to rebuke her for this, I found that she had become engaged by the Housekeeper who seemed most impressed by the clutter of rotten and rotting flora.

"I've no time for this," I shouted, and began the process of moving my entire body around on my walking sticks in order that I might undertake the tiresome and tedious journey back to my comfy chair.

Several hours later I sat down and realized that the John Wayne picture had concluded.

I began to curse.

It was at that moment that the telephone began to ring.

"Now who could that be?" I said aloud, as if making pains to hold the attention of the reader.

TO BE CONTINUED

NEXT ISSUE: JOSEPH GOEBBELS COMES TO SUPPER (AND HE BRINGS HIS FRIENDS)

before the ShortStory you must read the Advertisement for my OnlyFans: "You're just a poached guffin, you've mint sauce for blood," sometimes when we're laying in the bed the painful words of our peers from State School manifest within our old factory senses and the most we can do is curse at the ceiling whilst attempting to put the matter out mind. Now, if you've a sixpence from your Work you'd be best give it me here, for I'm PrettyGirl.

"I say Tim, have you heard the latest PopularMusic?"

Tim handed me his Woggle, "you can hold it to your ear," he explained, as if I was a simpleton.

I began to listen to the musical score and realized almost immediately that it was a crude recording of a British Woman singing "the wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round," and I handed my chum back his Woggle.

"Yes, I find it most pleasing," I lied, "but I'm recollecting narrative," I went on, "for the sake of the reader," and I pointed toward the reader, who seemed taken aback by the disturbance.

We both stared at the reader, "who are you?" I asked, and my chum, whose face was now a scowl, "what are you doing on the bus?"

Slowly we each raised our wanking hands and formed a point with a single finger, "stranger," we began to shout, over and over again until the reader became even more disturbed and sought to flee the bus all in a panic, but it was too late as the Police had been telephoned already.

I went back to my copy of The Financial Times, flicking the entire paper in a most delightful way.

"Talk about old factory senses," my chum went on, leaning in close so I could smell the crayfish on his breath, " you wouldn't believe what my Millennial Girl Boss In A Mini had me do this afternoon after CoffeeBreak," and he seemed eager to tell me, so I gave no response - knowing well that to ignore a person was to prompt their sudden interest, "I say there," he shouted, "Tim, Tim," he began to push me against the bus window and tear my newspaper from my hands, by now he was screaming and half-crying, the look of frenetic desperation and fear plastered across his face, "it was her Fanny," he was screaming, which was what we call the Vagina in England.

"Oh for Gods sake," I shouted, taking off my spectacles and causing my chum to fall silent, "you don't go one day without saying Fanny on the Public Transport," I chided him in a manner most stern, "now hand me back my newspaper," I instructed, "and let me be for the remainder of the journey."

The Wheels Upon Yon Bus, they turn in rapid speed

whilst disabled Men and Women ride atop;

their faces shine with Glee,

for of like-mind whilst on the road they're journey on to Shop,

on crack at wheel is Driverman, out of his path Young Mother hops.

The carnage spread like Peanut Butter 'cross Toasted Bread of Street,

a Man falls down for being struck, clutching his Mangled Feet.

The Wheels Upon Yon Bus, they form a blur like a chainsaw blade run right,

whilst in their wake lay broken forms, and twisted childrens bikes.

lo' on the bus oblivious are faces shone with Glee,

the very best of Finer Minds reaped from nearby Germany,

"der hunt," one says, repeatedly, whilst jabbing his finger at the window,

he's seen a Dog, he knows what's up, and he makes of it a show.

The Driverman an graduate in Marinebiology and such pursuits

but sundered by Economic force his scholarly ambition bore no fruits,

now he's gone off the road again, his MapQuest steered him wrong

and at hundred miles per hour he's driven deep into TownPond.

The bus in flames, the shining faces now terrified and a glow

with dawn of sudden mortality, to Heaven each they go.

The Wheels Upon Yon Bus, they churn water spitting up

right in the face of rescuers, algae and pond stuff,

it causes Me to splutter and to shield myself with my Muff.