"THE GRAVEYARD CHRONICLES!": EPISODE 12: "A Big Issue."

"FOR ONCE , I REALLY DID WANT A COPY........"

12:”A BIG ISSUE.”

“Out of interest comrades, how the hell are we going to pay for this?” Maude had come up with a good point – we had no money! – As she shovelled a third steak pie into her mouth.

But Max could not understand ‘Coke-a-cola’ He took several sips before declaring “It tastes like horse piss! – cold horse piss!” and was happy to drink the vinegar bottle instead “Now that wine tastes great!” He added.

Larde (who was still grinning) laughed and held up a bright red purse:” I think dinner is on our well build lady friends!” and we raised our classes to those fine generous women, well, except Max who raised the vinegar bottle and asked the stunned waitress for another round...

I returned to my seat with a copy of the discarded magazine and showed the headline story to the others; Max peered closely at the cover and said “Isn’t that Lukas?” The headline was telling the story of a remarkable ape, who could both read and write – more than Max anyway – who had been found reading in a local library, apparently going unnoticed, until an over-zealous Liberian had demanded his Library card!

“Tom, what the hell is happening here?” Maude suddenly remarked and pointed out page two of the journal, there was a story about the lack of deaths, it appears no-one had died for a least two days – anywhere in the world – there were stories of people being crushed by lorries and walking away with just a limp – a man being cremated, who leap out the box and still alight, threw himself into the nearby fountains, whilst the mourners lay around on the floor in a shocked heap.

A suicide who jumped from several bridges and buildings with total failure, finally tried to drown himself in the local pond before getting the message, he then gave up and went back to the Priest-Hood.

The civil war in some obscure African State was particularly interesting, apparently they had shot at each other for days, using thousands of rounds of ammunition, grenades and shells and were surprised to find that both sides had only managed to kill two camels and sadly, an elephant called ‘Ali’ who stopped for a dump and received a rocket up his arse – the ‘soldier’ who fired the fatal shot, swore blind that he thought it was an enemy tank!

"I GOTTA TANK! I GOTTA TANK!.....OH SHIT!"

I understand that the local Red Cross have fitted him with a pair of spectacles to prevent another jumbo tragedy. But the local’s, who were near starvation, had a great time for a week, with elephant burgers, elephant casserole, elephant stew and even elephant curry!

Unfortunately, the one who made off with the tusks was accused of ivory poaching, and not giving a share to the local warlord, so he was hung in the public square of the village – he swung about for a few days, swearing and cursing everyone, until the onlookers grew bored with this strange ‘bungee-jumper’ and went home to enjoy the last of their elephant take-away. So a quick-witted friend cut him down, and he walked away, unharmed for his ordeal, apart from a neck that was four inches longer and the urgent need to change his underwear....

A strange looking individual sitting opposite, who had also worked his way through the menu, smiled at us and raising his glass said: “Here’s to life, my fellow un-dead!” Then I realised it was Albert Einstein!

"ALBERT TRIES TO TEACH MAX TO COUNT!"

“What the hell is going on?” I then knew something really serious was happening to existence and I had a feeling that MR. Death was probably behind it.

Maude invited the great man to our table, and he explained his theory about the situation we find ourselves in – at one point using the chalk board menu, despite protests from the cook and waitress – he called it his ‘Theory of undeaditivity’ and came up with E=MC squared, meaning ‘Existence = Major Cock-up’ and if things continue unchecked, life on Earth would quickly become a Hell.

He added “Without Death, the human race is finished, it’s that simple.”

Max couldn’t quite get his head around the last statement, but we understood what Albert was saying, something had gone very wrong in the absence of Big G and Maude wondered what Brian was doing about it. “He’s in Blackpool – at the annual Donkey Parade and Gala.” Albert finished his curry and chips and added “If only we could find Florence – she would sort this mess out, but how the hell do we find her quickly?”

“I knew we should have gone to Blackpool.” Mused Maude, “How do we get to the Goddess before there’s no room left on this little planet?”

The answer came trotting through the door, it was Norman and clenched between his teeth was MR. Death’s magic thigh bone. Larde fed him a piece of pizza and patted him “What a terrific little fella, where have you been all day?” Norman was always disappearing since we died, but who really knows what dead dogs get up too?

We all looked at each other and knew what we had to do – except Max, who asked “Who the hell was that?” When Albert said his goodbye’s and left us.

I tried to explain, but it was like telling a duck about a car engine, so I just said “He’s a fucking genius, so shut the feck up.” Max nodded and asked “What’s a fucking genius Tom?” I gave up at that point as Maude giggled and Larde laughed out loud “The only thing I’ve met dumber than Max was a blank road sign!”

Larde paid the bill – it was nearly £75 – but the cashier gave Max a free bottle of turpentine after watching him gulp down the vinegar – “That’s a better vintage.” She said with some sarcasm in her voice.

"A BETTER VINTAGE THAN SARSON'S VINEGAR?"

That’s when Maude noticed Mr. Boggle wandering past the café window, he stopped and viewed the whole scene with some bewilderment and shouted; “What the f**k!” Several Police Officers looked him up and down, then shrugging their shoulders, went back to beating up the local natives.

He disappeared into the local cinema, which was showing; ‘Here Comes Mr. Jordan.’ We gathered in the toilets and gripped the bone, all we could think of was the Goddesses’ name and so we shouted “Florence! Florence! Florence!”

The door on the nearest cubicle flew open and a large, angry old lady with striking blue rinse hair stuck her head out and dropping a large black vibrator on the tiled floor, shouted “What the bleeding hell do you want? – Can’t a lady have some peace in this shitty world!”

Then fainted, as we disappeared before her eyes, she had also dropped a copy of the raunchy magazine “Donkey’s & Spin Dryers” upon the floor – it’s strange what seemingly respectable OAP’s indulge in whilst using the toilets of a backstreet café!

Max said simply “The poor old lady has lost her torch and comic.”

He really does have a lot to learn about being alive………

The canal was really cold and wet, but we managed to get free of the murky, smelly water and sit on some steps leading up from the waterway, a passing tourist canal boat sounded it’s horn several times and people waved from the decks – I put my jacket around Maude and the show was over – but I had to admit, she could have won any wet tee-shirt contest – alive or dead – the expression ‘Scammell wheel nuts’ spring to mind, unusually for Max, he even commented on them “They remind me of the door handles on the gates to the Coliseum….” He sighed with some nostalgia in his voice, followed by “Ouch! Oh bugger!” As Maude kicked him straight in the testicles – well, she didn’t have any stones to hand.

We tried again: “Florence! Florence! Florence!”

A passing Ice-cream salesman, peddling his cart slowly and deliberately, shouted in perfect English: “Of course it is! The canals are a real bloody clue you numb-nuts!”

Then he cycled straight into the filthy water with a look of astonishment on his face, as we disappeared - Revenge is always best served cold……and wet!

Somehow we had appeared in an episode of ‘The Magic Roundabout’ – Larde was fighting with Brian, who tried to take his tin of lager and was shouting “This is a children’s show you nobhead!” Norman was attempting to shag Dougal and Maude was having a cat fight with Florence – My money was on Maude – no contest!

"FRIENDS OF YOURS, FLORENCE?"

Dylan was smoking a reefer of epic proportions and having an in-depth discussion with Ermintrude - about Nuclear physics and shopping. The audience of young children was all cheering and clapping – kids grow up quick these days because I heard a few shouts of “Look at the hooters on that tart with the skirt up her arse!”

I was arguing with Zebedee, who smacked me over head with Florence’s handbag and shouted “Time for bed – you stinking gits!” But we managed to gather by a stunned camera man, and shout: “Florence! Florence! Florence!”

The burly camera-man said “Yes?”

You living really are, a strange fucking bunch……..

But it was Third time lucky!

We knew we had arrived in Florence’s Palace because of the all the bloody banana trees around the place, then realised that the Goddess must have been about five hundred feet tall and we, in comparison were the size of ants!

"THE GODDESS FLORENCE - AT LAST!"

She peered down at us and adjusted her glasses – she looked like Joan Crawford! “My word, I’ve had no human visitors for a while and what can I do for you little one’s?” She certainly lived up to her reputation; she was kind and gentle and listened carefully as I shouted about what had happened. I was quite hoarse when I finished and could barely whisper.

But she tapped her head, clearly thinking and said simply “I’ll deal with that, but George is not going to be happy about Brian, Oh dear me, another family row.” I had no idea that Big G’s real name was ‘George’ – death’s a funny old thing – you learn something new every day!

Florence sat down at her simple, dark wooden desk and scrutinised the screen of her Commodore 64 - I was amazed at finding another one that still worked, though this one was slightly bigger! - She tapped away for a few minutes at the keyboard and then sat back with a big smile on her face

“Now that’s one old Commodore 64 I really would like to have a connection with!”

The Ghost Writer.

"Well little ones, I've returned the dead back to their afterlife’s and the collectors are now out in force, picking up the escapee's, that's an interesting one, a Catholic Priest was just made Pope and fell apart during the ceremony, looks as if he fell from several buildings, by the state of his remains, never mind just one - and he's all wet!"

She was about to say something else, when her attention was drawn back to her monitor - she tapped the screen with her glasses and frowning, said: "Tut! tut! MR. Death will find himself unemployed after this little farce, can't have the jolly old dead mixing with the living, it gives Georgie a bad name with the other players."

I knew then it was all just a game to them, what a bugger!

That's when we realised we were back to being dead.

Maude allowed the tears to run freely down her face, but said nothing, whilst Larde just nodded and gave me a knowing smile, taking a well deserved swig from his tin.

Max fainted in despair and was woken by Larde kicking him in the testicles.

I patted Norman and said, "It’s time to go home I think."

The Goddess thanked us and then pointed out that Dogs are not allowed, but said Norman was so cute, she wouldn't do anything about it, but had to be persuaded to leave Larde in this afterlife, looking suspiciously at him and saying: "Are you sure? I don't remember George making anything like that!"

"FLORENCE'S HEAVENLY CHOIR!"

Florence returned us to the Jewish cemetery, with a reward for our efforts in saving existence from a fate worse than no deaths - we all sat on the steps of the ‘Old Gentleman’s’ crypt and shared the banana’s between ourselves………

“We’re dead again.” Sighed Maude, her arm through mine and her head resting against my shoulder: “It was great while it lasted, just a close encounter with life and now it's gone.” She added, and started to eat her banana, which drew quite a large audience of dead males – until several handfuls of stones drove them off.

“You bogging dead perverts!” Maude was not impressed by being dead again and unable to enjoy a private moment with her banana. “Ouch!” Larde and I received several rocks on our heads for my comment, despite me explaining that’s not what I meant.

"Time for bed.” As that bouncing twat would have said, had Larde not shoved his fist in his gob – I understand that he’ll be able to speak again, when his teeth are replaced.

But Big Boy Frank had returned, and a few feet behind him trailed Lukas, they had news about the impending visit of the Angel in Charge to our little cemetery we call home.

Lukas admitted he had a strange dream about being thrown out of a Library, whilst Big Boy Frank thought that several ‘Lifer’s had actually spoken to him – thinking he was chuck Norris – “But that can’t be right Tom.” He confided to me; “That would mean I was alive again and that’s impossible.”

I smiled and said nothing; it appears that both the living and dead believed the whole episode to be just a dream – actually nightmare would be more accurate.

“Oddly enough, I had a strange dream as well: I dreamt that I was selling hot dogs at a football match, but I was stark naked except a pair of riding boots and a top hat!

It appeared that no-one actually wanted to buy any… a real weird dream… or was it?”

The Ghost Writer.

That can wait for another message, the team is exhausted after being dead, then alive, then dead again, it plays havoc with your sleep patterns, so I threw myself across Rebecca Hasbein (1815 - 1860) the grave that is - not the person - she's a right stuck up bitch, but she can't say anything about me sleeping on top of her because I know about her and the 'Rabid Rabbi'.

"MISS MARGARET PRATSTINK - LARDE'S FRIEND!"

It was too late for Larde to return home to the Municipal Cemetery, so he had settled on top of Miss Margaret Pratstink (1799 – 1841) and oddly enough she didn't complain about it – she tucked him in with a big grin on her face which looked like it had been battered with a brick, to say she was 'ugly' was an insult to ugly buggers everywhere, If being ugly was a virtue, then she would be a bloody Saint.

But she clearly had taken to Larde, so both Maude and I knew she wasn't just grim to look at, but obviously quite insane as well.

Max found himself a cosy tomb by the rear gates, the owner had been collected years ago, so it was perfect to squat in, the former resident must have been a fat git because the coffin was huge, and Max admitted he could rent the spare space out to passing spirits – a sort of 'B & B' for the dead.

He decorated it with some old bottles that he found interesting, a toilet roll holder in the form of a clown, several empty sardine tins (he liked the pictures of fish on the cans) and a photograph of someone else's Mother.

"SOMEONE ELSE'S MOTHER!"

He was quite happy and content to have a real home now; “That bloody Jar was far too small, you could never have friends over!” He spoke with some joy.

Maude and I both looked at each other, and said simultaneously: “What friends?” He sulked for some time, and then cheered up when Maude gave him a Victorian decorated toilet seat for his new home – it was embellished with Angels and mythical animals – the Victorians had really strange tastes!

I dreamt of Maude in a rabbit suit throwing Easter eggs at me, and then I was running naked up the High Street, pursued by large, pink lorry wheels and half a dozen scantily dressed young women carrying buckets of custard....

Then suddenly, an angry headless lady appeared, cursing me and trying to smack my head with a framed picture of Queen Victoria – the portrait was singing songs from the 'Sound Of Music' and smoking a pipe.

"WE ARE NOT AMUSED!"

I awoke with a start – Norman was sprawled across me, dreaming and twitching - Yes, we were still both dead – bugger!

Ruth Thudstein was passing and stopped, she smiled and asked: “What the hell does 'nipples like a blind cobbler's thumbs' mean Tom? - You were shouting it out in your sleep.” I declined an answer and pretended to go back to sleep – Songs from the 'Sound Of Music'? Smoking a pipe? Queen bloody Victoria?

I was going insane or being dead was finally getting to me...

Bye all – and remember that old saying, ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’ – except the ones in the bush don’t shit through your fingers!