Article Nonsense found himself being led down the narrow ‘chute’ known as Death Row with a feeling of unease. He couldn’t be sure what bothered him so…
Arty, the honorary knight, Fumbelweed the imbalanced wizard, and Percy the talking horse walked into a bar.
‘How far until the Pantomime desert?’ Arty asked Percy the horse. Percy was sharp-witted. However, he had a rather pessimistic view of human behaviour. Arty had asked him his views of animal subservience to humans. Percy replied that it was merely a matter of perspective.
Arty’s fall and imminent death were delayed, but he couldn’t quite comprehend how or why. He found himself hanging upside down with the sky below and the intense darkness above. Looking up or down, whichever direction showed him his feet, Arty realised that his horse had somehow wrapped the reigns around his left leg and was now fiercely pulling him back up the cliff.
Arty, a neurotic individual from a lonely valley in the rando valley, found himself thrust into the life of the adventurer… Being 21 and well past middle-aged, he also thought that he might finally have the courage to climb the mountain and visit the next valley and ask Genevieve if she would marry him.
Article Nonsense (Arty to his friends, if he had any) was a simple man. A man who believed in a direct truth in every exchange. It was, therefore, a significant effort for Arty to not say a word when he noticed that the hair in the King’s nose looked all the world like a thick forest.
It wasn’t the odd request at midnight that alerted Wang to the situation. Nor was it the going out in a hitherto unseen white van. It wasn’t the boss wearing all black (including a beanie) or handing Wang a pair of gloves to wear (in peak summer, no less). And it wasn’t even when the boss struggled with the back gate in the way a stranger fumbles with the unfamiliar.
The bureaucracy of ‘responsible service of alcohol’ was a perplexing manifestation of government intervention and hypocrisy that Wang simple couldn’t process effectively.
Wang stood admiring his work. The beer was good enough to use in an advertising campaign. The froth was thick yet sat mostly atop the glass. The condensation had only just begun to form as the amber fluid sparkled in the bar’s lighting.
He took a long drink of his dark beverage and exhaled with satisfaction. The ice clinked against the now half-emptied glass as it settled on the counter. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted over the bar into Wang’s face. The curious behaviour of inhaling and ingesting poisons was a, what was the expression he’d just heard? ‘A hard nut to crack’.