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I am here to make a difference. Isn't that why we're all here?

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Joined on 7/10/08

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Old Timers In A New Age

Posted by nietzlawe - October 18th, 2017


I've been fired, Allen. Given my marching orders. Guess what? It's a blessing in disguise I say. I wake up and turn up. Ache from all the energy I burn up. Get a wee bit older. Die. Were the first ever humans building a luxury world for the last ever humans? And were the people inbetween just cannon fodder? One cannot fathom this repetitive pattern, Allen.

They can't fire you, you're an integral part of what we're doing here.

What we're doing is following orders for 12 hours a day. Explain to me what you mean by integral! Coz I've been working my arse off for nigh on infinity. The roads of our town should be paved with fucking gold by now! Where the hell is my tax money being spent? Coz it sure ain't as hell being spent on these buildings and roads. Where's the infrastructure? The shops? The nightlife? All we have got is a fucking statue of Gracie Fields and a Wilko!

And a Regal Moon.

Sigh... come on, Allen. I can take a hint. Let's get down there and have a few jars. Drink our sorrows away. Good old Regal Moon where the illegal beagles do gather.

You know what? You've been fired, so I'm quitting this poxy job as well. It pays me peanuts. 5 days on 3 days off. I slog my fucking guts out and for what? Remember when it used to be 3 days on 3 days off?

I do. We were a lot happier in those days. These jobs now, we're working extra hours, they've got us doing weekends like it's always been the norm. They're killing us. Trying to break our spirits. It's disgusting what those footballers are earning. Just for kicking a ball!

Hey, Allen. The boss doesn't pay you to stand around talking to ex-employees. Get back in here!

He hardly pays me at all, Jimbo. Minimum wage for what we do? Giving ourselves chronic back pain for when we retire? It's not worth it, mate. This job sucks big time penis. If you wanna spend all your best years rotting away here, Jim."

Fuck off! You two cunts don't know what you've got until it's gone. You'll know about it when you've gotta pay a bill and keep food on the table!

I couldn't give a flying frigg, Jimbo. We've all got to die sometime and of something. You might spend the next 30 years here in this dumpster, go for a routine check up at the hospital and be diagnosed with cancer. You should make your life worthwhile, Jim. Have a bit of dignity. Go and do something that you want to do with your life. Wake up and be happy. Don't wake up and keep running to this shithole just because it keeps a roof over your head. Pursue your dreams, man.

Nah, you two can go if you want. I'm happy here. Can't afford to leave. If you go, you won't get another chance to come back.

You say that like this place is heaven.

Well, mate. You'll know what heaven is really like when you can't find another job.

Who said I was looking for a job? Plenty of things out there to do. Life is about meaning, maybe one day you'll escape from your little bubble and discover what's out there. Come on, Tony, let's get out of here. Fuck this shit.

Going down the Regal Moon again are we? And you're talking about pursuing your dreams! Ha! Not gonna find any meaning in the bottom of a bottle. And when your wage runs dry, you're not gonna be able to find another bottle!

Shut it, Jimbo! You know fuck all about me.

Whatever. Fuck off. Don't beg me for money the next time you see me in the street.

You're never in the street, Jim, you're always here in your little cardboard box. Packing cardboard boxes funnily enough.

A job's a job.

If you say so... Adios. Liberation from Pantheon Solutions Limited!

Come on, let's get down The Regal Moon and celebrate our freedom.

I got news for you two! Nobody leaves the Pantheon. Nobody!

See you around, Jimbo. In the next life maybe...

Never underestimate the health and wellbeing properties of a dingy English pub. Beats all your yoga and meditation. Humans have been drinking since 2000 BC, so it must do something for your soul. I'm not into all this newfangled technology. Give me a drink and a good conversation over a Garmin and a gym anyday.

Can relate, mate. Where would you rather be right now? In the Pantheon producing and stacking cardboard boxes, or sat in this admittedly rundown, yet homely and historical pub? I've no idea where my next penny is gonna come from, and I love it.

Strange, I feel the same way. Might be the lager talking.

I've got a new drink in. It's called Coventina. The barman was called Clayton Morgan. He'd been at the Regal Moon for a good 12 years now, so he had a good idea of the regulars that came in. He knew Allen and Tony.

Coventina? Never heard of it, man.

You probably won't have. I had it imported from abroad, only really share it with people I like.

I'll just nip to the toilet and then we'll shoot off.

Alright, mate, no worries.

Ten minutes had passed. Allen had spent those minutes with his head slumped down. He was relatively tipsy, but not paraletic. Tony was taking a long time on the loo. Had he got the runs or something?

Five more minutes passed. Tony started to get suspicious. He wondered whether to text Allen, but then decided against it. Opting instead to do it the old-fashioned way, by checking out the toilet. To get to the toilet, you had to pass the bar itself as well as a couple of fruit machines, navigate three flights of stairs, pass through a main entrance door, and then another two doors close together to enter into the male toilet. Upon entering, he noticed that it was eerily quiet. The room itself was well lit. Nobody else was having a piss in any of the cubicles. He made a slow glimpse of the cubicle doors, they were all open except one. He approached the door that was closed.

"Allen, mate! Are you in there, Al?" There was no response. "AL, mate! Are you alright?" Again, nothing. Just silence.

He placed the palm of his hand against the cubicle door, gently giving it a shove forwards. Even though the door was practically closed, it didn't appear to be occupied. The door swung to its most open.

There was nobody there. Nothing but a sharp pissy stench and a turd in the bottom of the bowl. But Tony did spot some graffiti on the cubicle wall. Strange symbols, and the word Mamucium.

Comments (5)

Lmao this is superiorly amazing!

I'm glad you enjoyed the tale.

I am that turd.

That turd is I.

The turd and I are one.

...well, 2, if you know what I mean.

Turd humour. What do you expect me to do? Just turd the other cheek?

You're style of writing has always brightened my day. What also hasn't changed is my inability to decipher your literary skills. Good to see you're still at it all these years.

*Notices "You're" typo*
Dammit! Grammar after all these years and I still fuck that up! He's going to think I'm an idiot... Nmm, he won't catch it. He'll be too excited to see that I've finally commented after all these years to realize my illiteracy.

Well if I can bring some light into just one person's life, I've done my job.

"And have you brought some light into one person's life, Nietz?"

Not yet. *long awkward silence*

You know I.. wa... sss... mmEFFF!! HOOMMMM!! Holy shit, he's back!!!!!! Keven11Twenty7 is back!! To the portal, he was sucked through a vortex in Japan and is now communicating with me through a Walkie Tokyo.

A Walkie Tokyo?! Whad the actual fuck??????

He's back. Back to where it all started. Where this whole debacle began.

What's a debacle?

Fuck knows.

You don't even know what debacle means? What a disaster this is.

Never mind that, come inside Keven, I have so much to tell you...... *mind goes completely blank*

Keven: "Me too." *mind goes even blanker*

Nietzlawe: "Well this conversation is going well."

Keven: "Tell me about it. Actually don't tell me about it, you can't, you're mind has gone blank."

Nietzlawe: "You're? You're?! Nobody spells you're that way in that context!"

Keven: (Shit, he knows!)

Nietzlawe: "But never mind that now old friend! I'm so fucking excited that you've finally commented after all these years!! Fuck the illiteraccy."

Keven: "Erm, you've spelt illiteracy wrong."

Nietzlawe: "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

The writer's gotta write and that's all right. Sometimes it's just alright.

A writer's gotta do what a writer's gotta do...

Lie in bed for weeks and weeks. But why lie in bed when you can tell the truth in bed?

Pillow talking the truth can be a dangerous game when in company... and are you ever alone?

So, just general calcification or a bone spur? Got the latter on one foot, but it's rarely noticeable most of the time. Bursitis (from shoveling, cleaning, gaming) in my shoulder's been okay, just noticing it now that the wind's up. Change in temp and smoke from chimney next door been bugging me, been a rough ride getting my energy back.

Last month my Sis had a bad MS attack, trouble walking and talking/typing, then went, fell, busted her nose bluh, can always be worse rite

Pillow talking? or just choking on the billowing smoke? I'm just joking and being silly with folk. Ain't nobody being killed, just happy to still be here, chill and talk. Hey at least we can both walk, right? Not yet ghosts, right?

General calcification I think. No damage to tendons or anything like that, although it was a couple of months before I had the ultrasound scan, so everything might have healed in that period.

Sometimes the best thing to do is just laugh heartily at our woes.