I've just started in the glorious world of higher education. THEY believed my claims of prior qualifications on my application form. Suckers. The course should be a fun though. I've got a 12 hour working week, a student overdraft and a copy of all the assignments for the first year (they should give me the degree solely on my ability to hack the tutors files) And most importantly the University Bar is the cheapest around.
I arrive at college early today (lunch time) and walk into the computer lab. The freak is here (SEE NOTE 1). He looks really weird. He's the guy who knows everything about computers but nothing about personal hygiene. He tells me he's been here all night writing masturbation fantasy's for pre-pubesant school boys. Then he starts mumbling and tearing out pieces of his hair. I steal his wallet and head for the canteen.
I order pancakes for dinner. I'm being a bit of a rebel, because it's nowhere near Shrove Tuesday. I hope the Holiday Traditions Police don't find out. I only just got away with the Christmas tree last Easter.
The Really Beautiful Girl is in the canteen wearing those really tight ski pants. I walk past her table trying to look really cool. I think she thought about smiling at me, but she does have a reputation to consider. And her boyfriend is the captain of the Rugby team (6'4", 44" chest and a brain the size of an ant. It's not his size that frightens me, just the sound his knuckles make scrapping along the ground when he walks.)
**Authors Intermission**I eat my pancakes and head for the bar. Maybe a couple of pints will give me the courage to talk to the Really Beautiful Girl. I sincerely believe that a high state of intoxication (thats "pissed as a newt" to you) makes me a better, more balanced person.
Regular readers may be wondering why our hero is acting in a coherent and semi-normal manner. They may be asking themselves "Has the irrepressible Mr Moon sworn off the alcohol ?" "Is this a sinister plot by Alcoholics Anonymous to stamp out the evil story line of drink and drugs ?" I have to say that I don't know. I have no control over my stories. I sit at my desk, time passes and a new story is born. I can't help it, its just the way these things happen. I did'nt want to be a writer. I wanted to be
A Lumberjack !
Oooppps thats enough of that. Back to the plot.
**End Of Authors Intermission**
Three hours later and I've lost the ability to walk. I'm speaking like the Swedish Chef on the Muppets and I can see three distinct images of everything I look at. I think I'm ready to ask the Really Beautiful Girl out.
I scan the bar looking for her. My mind begins to classify the groups of people I see sitting around the room. There's the crowd from the 'Lesbo Wimmin Against the Classification and Degradation of Coffee Beans Society'. They all make Stallone look intelligent and pretty.
Another shift of my head brings the 'Train Spotters Society' group into focus (sort of) They're huddled around a photo album of the last steam train from Manchester Piccadilly. I can see their hands working away underneath the table in orgasmic synchronization. They chant train identification numbers under their breath as their leader makes the holy noise of the train whistle.
My last scan brings the 'Christian Society' (or God Squad) into partial view (wow, my very own split screen vision mode !) I quickly look away as one of them catches my look and crosses herself. I don't think they forgave me for vomiting on their 'Let God into your Life, He's really Spiffing' poster. Strange attitude for Christians I suppose. Does'nt it say "Love thy Neighbour" in the bible. (Maybe it should have read "Love they Neighbour unless he's a not the same as you, in which case crucify the Bastard")
Urgent messages from my bladder force me to give up the search for the Really Beautiful Girl and I stagger out towards the toilets.
A huge grin lights up my face as I begin to urinate. A strange looking man walks in and uses the urinal next to mine. I begin to worry. He looks down at me and smiles.
"Nice Dick" he smiles "How would you like to have live electrodes forced between your buttocks and a large, barbed needle pushing into your left nipple ?"
I say "Oh dear." (or words to that effect)
I zip up and begin to back away slowly. A hand grabs me from behind and spins me around.
"Is dis de' guy" drools the thug.
"Yes, thats him" mutters the pervert from behind me. "He's the one thats been screwing up all the traditional Holiday meals and ornaments. He had Pancakes for lunch, and was seen decorating a Christmas tree last Easter."
"You'll ged 15 years in de' slammer for dat'" squeals the man holding my shoulder.
My worst nightmare has come true. Its the Holiday Traditions Police. I do the honourable thing and kick the intelligent one in the nuts, smash the thug in the head with a toilet seat cover and leg it.
I crash through the toilet door and run up the corridor, the walls twist and turn in a technicolour nightmare. I try to scream but my voice is frozen with panic. How did THEY find me ? I was really careful with the Christmas tree. I skid to a halt in front of the main doors, the Really Beautiful Girl is there. I grab her around the waist and steal a kiss.
"Farewell my love, I have to go. My evil deeds have caught me just as we were growing so close" (My English teacher would be proud)
I burst through the doors and run for home. They won't find me there, my cosmic shield will hide me from THEIR gaze. The last thing I hear is the Really Beautiful Girl screaming (in fear for my safety) and her boyfriend threatening to KICK THE s--- out of me.
He'll be sorry he shouted when he finds out what I did to the brakes on his car.
I reach the safety of home and take a drink from the goldfish bowl (the fish smiles a lot more since I filled it with vodka) then I sit and relax in front of the tele.
I think I like been a student. The work's not too bad and I can see the Really Beautiful Girl everyday. All I need to do now is learn the words to "Hi Ho Silver Lining" and "The Time Warp" (SEE NOTE 2) and I'll fit in just fine.
Ah Well, its just another day in the life of the man Still the Moon.
Check out the rest of ". . . And Still The Moon"
Submitted By: Anonymous