Gordon and The Bish Go On Holiday: Part One
by Shoe
Never has the Inner Cyberian World Viewpoint looked more beautiful. Everything is coming up roses in public park gardens and out of the way places rose gardens take form. Rose bushes in planter boxes the full length of city streets droop roses in full bloom. In suburban Inner Cyberians’ front, side and back yard gardens roses bloom widdershins.
Gordon O’Donnell and the Bish are getting away from it all for a few days. They are going to Space World in the Outer Cyberian galaxy. They have a Cyberian Ogle Map.
“Should be a blast” the Bish says. The Bish is talking a holiday.
“Who’s got the tickets,” Gordon huffs and puffs. The Bish has a way of getting Gordon to carry the luggage and yes, yes, yes Gordon has talked the Bish into an old fashioned trip in a rocket space ship. Checkpoint Charlina pats them down.
Each is wearing underpants three pair deep on the outside of their shared economy travel rocket space ship suit.
“Going for just a few days then?” Checkpoint Charlina asks and chortles “No room for anything more in your travel cases. All the Hawaiian shirts.” She consults a check list. “Gordon O’Donnell. Institute of Pigs Arms Higher Thought. Physicist? The Bish? You sure?”
Gordon and the Bish vigorously bob the head of their rocket space ship suit.
“Get out of here,”
“One thing, Gordy,” the Bish remarks “is perhaps a few too many Trotters’ Ales before we left.” They are waddling across the rocket space ship station tarmac towards the base of a vertical ladder up the side of a rocket space ship.
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The lurid plastic clown floating above the ticket gate behind them beckons on one hand, ‘Come this way’ elongated plastic arms flailing and ‘See you’ on the other.
Gordon and the Bish remember and turn and wave. Having worked up enough volition to walk forwards instead of both toppling backwards, negotiating between themselves a complete turn and a half reverse spin to wave seems an irrational response to a plastic promotion floatie.
They reposition themselves (it’s a struggle) and climb the ladder.
“Are we there yet,” the Bish asks as they tumble into the rocket space ship. They find the modular cot allocated to them.
“Yes,” says Gordon, “We’ve arrived. Like the brochure says. In one piece.”
The face of the Bish is a picture. Gordon takes a close up.
They scrabble out of their modular cot and waddle backwards to exit. They are a tight fit stepping out through the door onto the top rung of the descent ladder.
Below them at the base of the ladder Business Class is emptying of Business Class travellers. Once, after a perilous climb down I must say, they are on the tarmac of the Space World Rocket Space Ship Station they follow a squiggly black felt pen outlined arrow trail.
A stowaway toad in racing colours sprints past them with a scrap of muddy stretch knit cotton tee held high as a freedom flag.
“Takes no time.” The Bish is all admiration.
“Fast toad,” Gordon comments.
“No. Us, Gord. We’ve only been gone a minute.”
“The travel advisor said it would only take a minute, Bish.”
“Thought she meant the paper work. The paper work took such a long time.”
Gordon says with a smile, “We have been uploaded, Bish, at the rate of 1,000 cyberbits per second.”
No time for the Bish to raise improbability as a subject with an atomic scientist who is not yet connected to the NBN. Gordon raises the importance to them both he has urgent need of a rest room.
They do find a rest room and change into cazh. They use the conveniences and discard their rocket space ship suit. Gordon smoothes his Hawaiian shirt front. He
scrutinises the Bish. “How do I look?”he asks. “You’ll pass,” the Bish assures Gordon.
The main lane gambling saloons and alleyways of Space World entice with flashing neon moons.
GUARANTEED TO WIN!
So Gordon and the Bish being strapped for cash throw cyber coin at machines throwing cyber coin into space on a screen on the machine. They ride the Big Zipper up and down and up and down. The Bish barfs. Gordon wears some of the Bish’s barf. They buy Spinning Space Sugar on sticks and lick and pick off with their fingers dollops of Spin and eat Space Dogs on sticks. Gordon barfs. They find the Science Academy by following the crowds and see the new movie Climate Science Denial And The Great Big Federal Government Loud Gas Bag Who Is. They have a cup of Space World covfefe after the movie and find a rest room.
WIN WIN!
Then it happens. They see a pub. No word of a lie Gordon and the Bish decide to seek the solace of a pub.
The already boozed toad is calling loudly for immunity at the bar. He sings,
although badly: ‘O, my old man’s a dustman, I knowww becos he wears a dustman’s hat.’
“Not a toad!” exclaims the Bish.
“You don’t recognise him? It’s the toad, Bish. Might not be any others in Outer Cyberia. Let’s be optimistic. Where will we sit?”
As luck would have it, two empty bar stools alongside the only toad leastwise on a bar stool they have ever seen is their option or stand. The place is packed.
“Never shaw my old man again after that,” the toad says, doleful. He rolls his eyes, “He disappeared. Everyone’s ignoring me.”
“No more for you.” The bar tender rolls her eyes. She turns to the newcomers and asks the embarrassing question, ‘You blokes know this toad? Sez he knows you’.
“No.” Gordon and the Bish order a bottle of House tequila the same as at home by any name with salt and lemon. They start knocking shots back straight.
“Youse never bought me a drink,” the toad slurs and his eyes roll. He sings in his fashion, ‘I know a dark secluded place’. He crumples headfirst onto the bar and falls asleep. The bar tender has had her eye on him. She briskly strides from the other end of the bar and picks the toad up. The toad is unperturbed. He snores loudly. The bar tender steps on the pedal of a stainless steel pedal dustbin she has handy and drops the toad in. She releases the pedal and the dustbin lid clangs shut.
“Done and dusted,” a group of patrons chorus.
To be continued…
Written by Christina Binning Wilson 2017
Therese Trouserzoff said:
‘Shoe, you know those people whose lips move when they read ? When I read “volition” I swear I could taste marzipan.
And I was delighted with the vintage photographs and out of this world content !
Cheers, Emm
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honshades said:
These photographs on this Part One of this episode and layout … except I sent one of Brian Toldme … are the work entirely of my new Editorial department and sub-editorial is otherwise what it has to be I suppose because you are Our Boss, Boss. I feel beholden to think HOO can be given some humongous raise for the hilarious work he is doing delivering the Pigs Arms Graphics in a frothy condition. It amuses me no end to trust in his excellent judgement. Overlooking by the way but not blindly some claims of his lifting some items without acknoweldgment have been made by the Manager of the Pigs Arms Nathan Rees Memorial Ballroom discotheque.
Don’t know how I knew how to spell discotheque. What an utterly pleasingly reediculous word.
I think when you tasted marzipan, Emm it is likely you were anticipating the Show at Space World. Thinking of the long displays of cakes in glass covered cabinets contributed by women, mostly, in cities and rural and regional districts. Marzipan is the icing on the cake. Yes, volition has a ring to it and I appreciate your thinking fruit cake.
Seems like we have customers and that HOO will be uploading Part 2 very soon to meet the public interest we have generated between us on this occasion, Emm. Bring a plate and a big spoon.
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Mark said:
What a hoot. 🙂
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Big M said:
Yes, bloody funny, and the toad was rightly relegated to the Bin.
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Mark said:
Furkin oaf.
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honshades said:
Part 2 coming up soon. It’s with the publisher.
Writing the story took way longer than anticipated because the toad stowed away, Big M. I was well into the story I was originally writing. Quite piled up in it I was.
Don’t get me wrong. The toad was no trouble. He fitted right into his scenes. I did not have to ponder over him, wonder where he was or what he was going to do. He would find his way. I thought. I think he spoke his own lines even and if I did, I am proudest of those.
Christina 🙂
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vivienne29 said:
I have dreams like this. It all makes perfect sense. Trouble is I often wake up before the story ends and can never get back to it. So I’m looking forward to the next ep.
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honshades said:
Ha Ha Ha. A perfect comment. I got it all down. I think pat. You won’t be disappointed. 😀
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vivienne29 said:
Good. We all need a laugh in the morning. Well done honshades (but Shoe runs off the fingers better).
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honshades said:
Thank you, Vivienne. I hope you enjoy.
In regard to honshades and Shoe, I think we have all given it a shot that if I was Shoe I could equally be Honshades to please the WordPress Account.
Sadly I can no longer get in as Sandshoe at all on the Pig’s Arms because I used the same email address to make Honshades so I am now excluded as Sandshoe with or without an avatar. Think I will write to them again and explore why this happened.
Meanwhile, I have been Sandshoe for so long here Viv and at FDotM it fits our history of me as well as its real time association with my real identity. I like Shoe. It was choux for atomou sometimes and almost every other version of it has had its day. x
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honshades said:
You are such a laugh, Mark HOO. You have a great talent for making pleasing editorial choices. Wonderful layout. Bonzer. 🙂
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Mark said:
You are welcome Hon. 🙂
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honshades said:
If you only knew the delight you have brought me.
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Mark said:
Bloody hilarious.
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