Rankinesque
Feb. 17th, 2004 11:33 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
load-of-flannel.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
just_writingJust a go at the stylee....
William Harold Jupiter Venus Wilkins (whose parents were hippies and hadn’t really liked him much) stared down at the fetid dark substance floating in the Styrofoam cup before him. He prodded at the viscous liquid and watched sadly as the tip of his patented (but useless) stirrer drooped and wilted under the influence of the lava like liquid.
‘This’ lamented William ‘is not coffee.’ He stared at it for a few seconds more before rising to his feet in indignation.
Screams followed instantaneously for William was employed as the driver of a public bus, red in colour and two storeys high, pride of London and symbol of patriotic pride, but not, sadly, intended to be piloted by those either distracted by the quality of their coffee, or indeed by those standing upright.
‘Argghhhhh!’ screamed William as the bus mounted a kerb and the pseudo-coffee leapt out of the cup and splashed upon his nether parts clinging like napalm and a-boiling of his delicates.
‘Bugger!’ quoth he again as the bus struck the shelter scattering old women and Safeway’s carrier bags to left and right. Grapefruits and assorted citrus products (including a solitary kumquat) rolled across the three lanes of the Seven Sisters road.
‘Shite!’ cried he as a car swerving, then flying into a skid, to avoid an errant pineapple loomed ever larger in his windscreen.
The world went black.
Well actually it didn’t, the world stayed the same colour as it had been a moment before, but from Williams point of view black was the colour of the moment. He floated happy among his myriad thoughts, passed before him a succession of jobs that he had failed in due to momentary lapses of concentration. The time he’d been a signal man on the railway lines just before the derailment in 1998, his sojourn as a janitor at a certain ICI chemical works and that unfortunate incident on the Piper Alpha Oil Rig. Finally of course there was his new job as a bus driver, one that couldn’t possibly go wrong at all, one that…
‘Argggggghhhhhhhh!’ cried William again, utilising slightly more ‘g’s and ‘H’s than usual. The world went white (though the cause of his cry was in-fact the pain from his nether parts). A siren stared down at him. She was blonde and lithe and of about the age of nineteen, she had lovely eyes and shapely woman parts, two of which were on fine display as she lent over him looking concerned.
‘Stop looking at my tits you wanker’ she said, and followed up with a hefty slap about his chops.
‘As you wish.’ said William, another slap followed
‘And don’t use cheap lines from the Princess Bride on me either.’ murmured the vision of beauty and slapped him again for good measure.
‘Oh dear.’ said William and threw up down the young woman’s ample cleavage…
William Harold Jupiter Venus Wilkins (whose parents were hippies and hadn’t really liked him much) stared down at the fetid dark substance floating in the Styrofoam cup before him. He prodded at the viscous liquid and watched sadly as the tip of his patented (but useless) stirrer drooped and wilted under the influence of the lava like liquid.
‘This’ lamented William ‘is not coffee.’ He stared at it for a few seconds more before rising to his feet in indignation.
Screams followed instantaneously for William was employed as the driver of a public bus, red in colour and two storeys high, pride of London and symbol of patriotic pride, but not, sadly, intended to be piloted by those either distracted by the quality of their coffee, or indeed by those standing upright.
‘Argghhhhh!’ screamed William as the bus mounted a kerb and the pseudo-coffee leapt out of the cup and splashed upon his nether parts clinging like napalm and a-boiling of his delicates.
‘Bugger!’ quoth he again as the bus struck the shelter scattering old women and Safeway’s carrier bags to left and right. Grapefruits and assorted citrus products (including a solitary kumquat) rolled across the three lanes of the Seven Sisters road.
‘Shite!’ cried he as a car swerving, then flying into a skid, to avoid an errant pineapple loomed ever larger in his windscreen.
The world went black.
Well actually it didn’t, the world stayed the same colour as it had been a moment before, but from Williams point of view black was the colour of the moment. He floated happy among his myriad thoughts, passed before him a succession of jobs that he had failed in due to momentary lapses of concentration. The time he’d been a signal man on the railway lines just before the derailment in 1998, his sojourn as a janitor at a certain ICI chemical works and that unfortunate incident on the Piper Alpha Oil Rig. Finally of course there was his new job as a bus driver, one that couldn’t possibly go wrong at all, one that…
‘Argggggghhhhhhhh!’ cried William again, utilising slightly more ‘g’s and ‘H’s than usual. The world went white (though the cause of his cry was in-fact the pain from his nether parts). A siren stared down at him. She was blonde and lithe and of about the age of nineteen, she had lovely eyes and shapely woman parts, two of which were on fine display as she lent over him looking concerned.
‘Stop looking at my tits you wanker’ she said, and followed up with a hefty slap about his chops.
‘As you wish.’ said William, another slap followed
‘And don’t use cheap lines from the Princess Bride on me either.’ murmured the vision of beauty and slapped him again for good measure.
‘Oh dear.’ said William and threw up down the young woman’s ample cleavage…
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