Tuesday, 28 January 2014

Nasty Things

Hello, TONE. typing, erm, again, 

Awful things have happened! Leroy still isn’t back for one! Major, Em, Minor and Trevor were out looking for him all last night and today. While they were out, erm, two people came round and, well, the door must have been unlocked cos they let themselves in, but they didn’t steal anything, no, they, erm... they moved into Leroy’s bedroom!

They’d already unpacked all their bags when I’d realised what had happened and... I was, er, sleeping you see.

The worst bit of it was what woke me. And it wasn’t the sound of them unpacking, or moving all Leroy’s stuff out of the room and into the landing, or them painting the, er, walls, or putting up some pictures up... guess I was, er, sleepy. 

No, what woke me was the sound of a whip being cracked and the, erm, scream that followed. I thought the worst, so I scurried into Leroy’s room only to find the strangers doing, well, er, nasty things to each other. 

Luckly, at the, erm, at the same time, everyone minus Leroy, came back and heard all the nasty things happening, so ran upstairs.

There we all were, watching the nasty things through the, er, crack in the door. They stopped doing the nasty things when Minor took a photo. The flash dazzled them to, er, say the least. 

Afterwards, we and the couple talked around the dinner table, with a cup of tea and biscuits. I had a sugar cube. 

Oh yeah, the couples names are Terry and Bob-ra. Terry’s quite a small man. A bit, er, meek I think the word is. The woman, Bob-ra, is Terry’s opposite. Big, and loud, and hairy. She gulped her tea down while it was still boiling. I guess that’s where her hairy chest comes from, maybe. Terry didn’t have tea. Terry had pop with a straw. He had a jam sandwich with the, er, crusts cut off too. Oh, and a Munch Bunch yoghurt. They’re his favourite apparently. 

Between us we figured out that Bob-ra and Terry were supposed to move in next door, but because Leroy had swapped our door numbers with next doors, they thought we were next door!

Leroy swapped them round because he worried that he wouldn't be able to get to his post after his old neighbour, Mr. Briggs, mysteriously disappeared. You see, I think, the, erm, post man always used to deliver Leroy's post to Mr. Briggs, and Mr. Briggs' post to Leroy.

But the, er, swap didn't quite work, cos days later a, erm, new post man started. Leroy did think about explaining all this to the new post man, and swapping the numbers back again, but he told me he quite likes reading Mr. Briggs letters.

Anyway, erm, Terry thanked Major for the sandwich, saying it was the best he’d ever had, and went to bed. It was only half seven! Bob-ra assured us that they’d be gone as soon as they’d sorted it out with the council or something. She also asked Minor if she could get his photo of them doing nasty things framed. Minor charged them way too much, like £50 or something, but she didn’t seem to mind. Then she went to bed.

I think they're doing nasty things again.

I miss Leroy.


Monday, 27 January 2014


Erm, hello, it’s TONE. typing. 

While I’ve been recovering in my matchbox bed all weekend, from my, er, box related incident, the others have been taking all  Leroy's hoarded stuff to the tip. 

This is the first time that I’ve been downstairs since it’s been cleared, cos I’ve been a bit wobbly. But anyway the, er, flat feels massive now. Plus, Leroy’s even got around to taking the Christmas decorations down. Thought he was going to leave them up like he has done for the last few years. 

Erm, talking of Leroy, I haven’t seen him all day. I mean I heard him leave this morning, but he doesn’t like being out for longer than a few hours. Says fresh air makes you age faster.

I would normally go out looking for him, but er, like I said, I’m still a little wobbly. 

Come to think of it, there was something. Before he left he shouted something about a screw. Don’t really know what that means, but, I'll er, ask the others what they heard. 

Okay, I’m going to do that.

Keep safe till the, er, next time we talk,


Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Shag Pile

Hello sweets,

We finally confronted Leroy about all his dreadful hoarding last night. Finally right! 

It all came to a head after a box filled with boxes fell on TONE., flattening him on the shag pile. Awful I know. I mean who even has a shag pile these days, I ask you! And before you say, Emily wait, shag piles very retro, very now. Wrong, they gather all sorts of rubbish, you can't get them clean, they smell something chronic, and for what? So your floor can have a bit of chest hair. No thank you. 

Anyway, he was there for a few hours apparently, you know, 'til like, Major and I found him. We went for a walk to the bypass and back to get out of the flat. Claustrophobic, you have no idea. Oh, but he’s fine now sweets, don’t worry. Think the shock was worse for him than anything else. He’s going to rest for a bit. He’ll be fine.

We called a “flat meeting”... Oh, hang on, that was like a joke wasn’t it. Like, to do with TONE. getting flattened. But anyway, OMG, the thought of “group meetings” makes me itchy. Awful, but it had to be done I'm afraid

Think we were mean’t to have it in the kitchen, but it was far too crowded in there, filled with those dreadful barrels of cooking oil, so we had it in the bathroom with Mr. Howler's TV blaring below us. I tell you what, the walls are so very thin in these maisonettes.

We stood there for a while, in a state of awkward silence. Noel Edmonds muffled under us. We were all so quiet, that even Noel's shirt was audible. Though aren't they always, especially that purple floral one. Oh dear.

Leroy started telling us about the great awkward silence of 1986. That went on forever, 'till I eventually pushed Major to butt in with *deep voice* 

“That’s all very... interesting, but Leroy, can we talk about this stockpile of salvaged stuff in the flat please?” 

“We’h, aye. It’s all good stuff in’t it. Oh, din’t show you lot mi’ latest find did I ay... Look, here it is...” pulling out a flannel from under his jumper, “I only need a small one.”

Minor clapped sarcastically while Trevor, I think, swooned for that flannel a little bit. 

Well Christ, I’m blabbering now. The top and bottom of it is, Leroy agreed to sort through and get rid of some of his clutter. So looks like we’ve a weekend of lugging around boxes and cleaning up. 

Fun fun *shudders and cries inside*.


- Emily Quinn

Saturday, 18 January 2014


Here's one of the FIDL posters I was using as a duvet the other day...

'FIDL - WINTER' posted by Major Gubbins

...In case you were wondering, it was of little or no toggage.

'Major Gubbins - Profile Pic' by TONE.

- Major Gubbins

Wednesday, 15 January 2014

Right Crispy Bit


My oh my, not only does it still smell like an infected skunk sphincter round the estate, but Leroy’s passion for hoarding the neighbourhood's uncollected rubbish is getting out of hand! 

For instance, I woke this morning underneath a pile of promotional posters from the newly opened Fidl supermarket. One of which screamed,‘the price of Viagra is staying down, so you don't have to!’. 

When I queried Leroy about it he told me “We’h, they might need ‘em next year. I’m just doin’ my part for the environment by holdin' on to 'em. Ay, you gonna ‘ave some breakfast pal?”

Incidentally, breakfast was an uninspiring bowl of UHT milk, because it was the only thing A) I trusted and B) I could reach for over the dozen or so barrels of used cooking oil from 'Munchies', the pizza drug den down the way. “I reckon it in’t as used as they say it is...” Leroy proclaimed after I’d submerged my rear in a open barrel, mistaking it for a chair. “Aye, plenty more use in it yet. And, occasionally, you get a little surprise in it. Oh aye, like a right crispy bit.” I tried to tell him that he could use the oil to fuel his farty moped, but he just talked over me.

The rest of the day was wasted trying to get to the computer so I could start recording a new batch of tracks. By the time I'd moved the pile of overflowing foraged crap it was teatime. Which for me was vegetable tempura with some left over salsa dip. Guess who ended up with the "right crispy bit".

- Major Gubbins

Friday, 10 January 2014


Erm, hello. TONE. typing,

I'd like to share with you my first, er, comic script thing that I've been working on. Erm, here it is...

'Skin' by TONE.

...So, what do you, er, think? Did you get it? The, er, joke I mean. I, erm, worry that people won't get it, but then Major tells me that I'm being silly, and that I need to believe in myself. 

Anyway, I'll be, er, posting some more soon. Hope you're all well.

Keep safe,


Wednesday, 8 January 2014

Perfectly Good Sausage Rolls

Hello, Leroy here,
So, went out for mi' usual mosey round't local shops, doin' me shopping and such, you know, and weh’, everyone I talked to were complaining ‘bout bin men bin' on strike.

I say, it’s all the bleedin’ council’s fault. Always is in’t it ay. Last year, they wasted all’t money painting them streetlights fancy greys like ‘Elephant’s Breath’ or ‘Engraved Pocket’, or something along them lines. Dun’t sound a lot I know, but put into consideration that Fakemoor has more streetlights per square inch than anywhere else in’t county, and that they used that right minty Barrow & Fall paint, ay, must’ve come to a right packet. And’t daft bleeders din’t think to change the bulbs while they were at it. So it’s pitch black between Cos Grove and Dobson Passage now. Luckily, there’s only really t’wirly’s at the Nursing Home on that stretch. Most of them ‘ave probably got cataracts, so I guess it dun’t really bother them does it.

Anyweh’, it’s bleedin’ typical in’t it, first bin collection after Christmas and they decide to go on strike, all cos the council can’t afford to pay ‘em. Meanin’ the place stinks like rotting turkey meat, mini quiche and puppy. Which is probably, exactly what it is. Anyw'eh, I'm just thankful it in't Summer, cos it'd be really ripe then wunt it.

It’s not all bad mind. There’s plenty of tidbits for ol’ Leeeroy. In fact, this morning I ‘ad a quick rummage through Mr. & Mrs. Cornfoot’s sweaty pile. Weh’, they’d thrown out a right load of perfectly good sausage rolls, still in date, still in their packagin’, nowt wrong wi’ ‘em. Folk are odd to say the least. 

Found a dress in another neighbour’s bin too. Weh’, again, don’t know what’s wrong wi’ people, I really don’t. Could they not tek it back t’shop ay? Nice lacy number it is. Reckon you’d have to wear summit under it like. Mebbi' a bit revealing around the all over body area. Would look spot-on wi’ a nice shawl. I gev’ it to Emily, but I don’t think she liked it much.

That’s all from me anyweh', I’ll be in touch.


- Leroy Craddock

Monday, 6 January 2014


Ayup loves, 

It's Trevor here with what I guess is a rather special post, because it's about the new 'READ ME!' letter doobry...

'READ ME! - ENVELOPE - WINTER 2014' by TONE. & Major Gubbins
...You know, that thing that Major Gubbins leaves around the place, trying to get people like your good selves involved with us by asking them a question...

by Major Gubbins, TONE. & Trevor the Lady Towel
...Well this time it's a bit different, cos I wrote the question, ooh! And I doodled some sausages for it too darlin's.

Anyhoo, toodles,

- Trevor the Lady Towel

Wednesday, 1 January 2014

The Key and the Poo Bag

Good afternoon, 

'Good Afternoon' by TONE.

The following entry contains a measly portion of shameful knife on fork action and screams of a painful nature. Anyone with an overactive thyroid, get it looked at. Tissues won’t be necessary, a toilet break might. There’s still time to grab your popcorn and overpriced fizzy pop from the forecourt. Times up, I’m gonna start now. 

Many prunes ago, my pint-sized prick of an evil sibling, Minor Gubbins, took Leroy’s family silver to our beloved printer. The result was one sore cutlery drawer and a bleeding paper feeder. It kiboshed my plans of good vibes and envelope seasoned shenanigans, but did save us a tidy packet on ink. Every cloud has a purse lining you could say... but probably wouldn’t. 

And can you believe that it's been just over a year since I gained my inexplicable, inanimate object animating power! That’s right, the one to which I have no seeming control over, and that comes and goes with a bang on the bonce.

Well, yesterday some of these things came to a head, literally.

But before I deliberate deeper, here’s some of TONE.’s nebbing notes. You know how flies are, always with the ‘fly on the wall’ stereotype. Well, they seem somewhat relevant to the grand scheme.
'TONE. Going His Left' by TONE.


Little Kieron Fyfe holds a, er, Argos catalogue up to his Dad, Phillip Fyfe, and points to a remote control helicopter. Phil shakes his head and says something about money being tight since he lost his job at the tobacconist. “These E-Cigs literally sell themselves. So we won’t be needing you anymore...” said Phil in a silly voice, maybe, I think, er, paraphrasing his boss? I dunno. Seems a shame that Kieron can’t have it. It really looks like a, erm, nice looking helicopter. Christmas is coming up I guess.

'Kieron Fyfe - ID Card' by TONE., Major Gubbins & Emily Quinn

'Phillip Fyfe - ID Card' by TONE., Major Gubbins & Emily Quinn


On my way to the, er, park, I saw little Kieron washing his neighbours car. His neighbour is Leslie Penniless, known for being the, er, tightest man in Fakemoor. Not to be confused with Levi Winkle, the wearer of the tightest jeans in Fakemoor. 

Kieron was still there hours later, buffing Leslie’s Reliant Regal. I stopped on a leaf for a, er, closer nebb. Leslie came out minutes later and gave Kieron a strong handshake and said something about it being payment for his labour. He then passed him an invoice for all the products used.

Kieron didn’t look happy... I had a nice time at the park though.

'Leslie Penniless - ID Card' by TONE., Major Gubbins & Emily Quinn


Round at the Fyfe’s again. Kieron was sat at the, er, computer,  cuddling his favourite teddy. I think he was selling it on eBay. I think maybe to save up money for that helicopter, or maybe smack! No, doubt it, he's too young I’m guessing. Must be for the, erm, helicopter. 

I sat on his shoulder and we watched his teddy time out. It only went for 99p. Kieron hugged his bear and cried, before, er, finally placing it into a box ready for the post office to send. 

I licked some, erm, sugar from the kitchen side and left. Pour Karen, I mean poor Kieron. 

24/12/13 - Part A

Was buzzing past the new Fidl supermarket earlier. I’m surprised how much like Lidl it is, but no one appears to be suing anyone. It could be one of them sister businesses, or, erm, something like that.

I noticed little Kieron Fyfe out of the corner of my eyes, this time doing a paper round. That boy really wants that bike... Helicopter, I mean, erm, helicopter. I’m getting confused with that Paddy kid across the, er, way, that I've also been nebbing on. 

Kieron looked exhausted. He stopped, rested his scooter on the Fidl car park entrance wall and took a swig out of his bottle. Then, out of nowhere, Leroy zoomed past us on a mobility scooter! He had a box on his lap, I couldn’t make out what it was though. I turned to see the security guard, a one Wayne Blurgh, was chasing him. Wayne pushed poor Kieron over and stole his scooter. 

I would have, erm, followed Leroy, but Kieron looked really upset so I stayed with him to cheer him up...

'Wayne Blurgh - ID Card' by TONE., Major Gubbins & Emily Quinn

Hello, it's Major again. So okay, you maybe didn’t need that level of detail. M’eh, you’ve read it now. Anyway, we'll be popping back to TONE.'s diary in a bit. 

Right then, the other day, Christmas Eve. Well, Leroy and I made our way to the local tip to find a free inkjet. Think it was the Leroy Craddock equivalent of taking a child to Toys ‘R’ Us.

Course, I was dubious to whether the tip would be open or not, what with it being a council landmark. My dubiousness was soon distilled when Leroy pulled the gate key from his person. Bemused, I asked Leroy why he owned a key to the tip, he replied with... 

'Leroy and the Key' by TONE.

“W’eh, these are my gates duck. I gev ‘em t’council years ago. They just never changed the chuffin’ locks. That’s the bleedin’ council for you in’t it ay. Lazy inbred clots the lot of ‘em...”

Leroy continued to slag off the council while we rummaged through the ramshackled heap of overcooked appliances in the defunked electronic mound. No printers, but there, cosied amongst the portable DVD players and CD Walkmen, was a Yamaha DX100. The one used by Autechre? The very same. 


After the tip I giddily skipped back to the flat with my new keyboard. Leroy on the other paw took off to the supermarket for some last minute Xmas consumerism. Said we needed some yoghurt for the festivities. Who knows.

I untangled myself a 9V adapter from ‘the box of much frustration’ A.K.A the miscellaneous box of wires under the sofa, sat myself down at the kitchen table with a cup of yesterdays  tea and prepared myself for musical loveliness. I flicked the socket on, linked fingers and cracked outwards. Then, with a little digit wiggle, stabbed my dusty palms down on the yellowed keys. 

Zap! Zoom! Crash! Ooch!... Or noises similar rung around the place as a bolt of purest minor key electricity threw me up into the rafters. My head was firmly wedged in the ceiling. During which time I heard Minor come into the kitchen and make himself a drink. I tried to shout, but decades of floorboard debris gathered in my word-hole. Minor left, tutting on his way out... 

'Major in the Ceiling' by TONE.

...Luckily I didn’t need help from the little prat, as gravity eventually grabbed me by the ankles and hastily sat me back in my chair. Hands still stretched, I unwilling performed the old perfect cadence on the Yamaha before my body collapsed over it. 

“Hello, my nem Geve.” A computerised voice spoke out to me. I lifted my sizzled head to see the keyboard staring back at me. It smiled and said. “Cuse me, cuse me, you beard on fire friend.”

I touched at my amber face fur and felt it to be true. I was indeedy do, aflame. I sunk my head into the sink and submerged the heat under the trickling tap. 

“Oi, ging! What the shittin’ ‘ell do you think you’re doing?! Have you any idea of the nasty taste that’s happening in my U-bend thanks to you?! Well do ya pube face?”

I jolted back from the sink, cracking my head on the mixer tap on the way out.

“Oh, you okay? I’m so, so sorry, my nose does nothing but get in the way. I’m thinking about having a reduction, you know, plastic surgery. The amount of folk who think I’m Jewish, I tell you, you wouldn’t believe honey...”

I peered inside the sink. “...And sorry about shouting at you before. I have a tendency to run a little hot and cold.”

I stepped backwards into Emily. “You okay sweet? I heard commotion.”

“Hello, my nem Geve. What you nem?”

Em winced. “Oh Christ Major, not again... Go on what happened?”

I told Emily about the crash and the bang while she searched under the sink. By the time that I got to the wallop, she'd pulled out a pair of marigolds. The gloves, not the flowers. Though that would’ve been nice wouldn’t it.

At that very moment, Minor swaggered in with his empty mug to find Em stood holding a pair of washing-up mittens. 

“Oi oi Emily, looks like you've finally found your place, hahaha!”

I couldn’t see Emily’s scowl on the account that she wasn’t facing me, but I did see the business end of her mock blahniks impact in the middle of Minor’s peevish mugshot. Now, you may think it choreographed but it was purely coincidental. You see, the instant that Minor began careering through the hallway airspace, Trevor slithered into the flat. Minor’s podgy wee body whizzed over Trevor and out through the freshly opened front door just as the Lady Towel slammed it shut.

“Ayup Emily love, see you’ve finally cracked then.”

“Seriously Trev, I could scream! But we’ve got more pressing things to deal with. Major’s bringing things to life again.”

“Oh love. That’s not good now is it ay.” Trevor said shimmying up toward me. “What are we going to do with you love.”

Em shrugged. “Well, it’s a long shot, but here Major, let me help you put these on...” She held out my hands and rolled the marigold’s over them. "...It might prevent you doing more damage."

I was momentarily stunned. “Huh, I think it may've worked. That or the power must’ve worn off.” I probably said. But no sooner had the words escaped my crudely organised mouth had the yellow gloves begun to jig from my muted grasp. They flopped on the lino flooring and scurried under the table. 

Two tiny voices spoke in unison. “He put his hand up us. The hairy one, he put his hand up us, hehehe...”.

“Not intentionally!” I yelped. 

Em placed her hand on my shoulder. “Come on Major, there’s only one thing for it. We’ve got to take you somewhere where there’s no stuff” and started to walk me out of the flat.

A sudden pressure developed in my bladder. “Em, I need to go.” 

“Well take Trevor with you. I don’t want you bringing the toilet to life.”

“Devon forbid” I said with a pinch of sarcasm, now thoroughly fed up with my predicament. 

“Come on Major love, come with me.” Trevor said, giddily escorting me into the bathroom.

'Toilet Break' by TONE.

After the embarrassment of the toilet, we stood on the sludgy green and watched the world turn a shade or two darker. A thousand levels of tack enveloped us as the Fakemoor inhabitants switched on their fairy lights, blurring the dawn sky with light pollution from the mass of blinking illuminations. Sounds awful, but it had a certain charm. Like a toasted chinchilla, it’s warm, fuzzy, but wrong on some level.

“Right, that’s enough for me, I’m getting cold.” Emily said.

“What?! You’re made of plastic, you don’t get cold.” I replied.

“Alright then I’m fed up, and I’m going in. That better?”

“Well, at least it’s honest.”

“Just keep clenching your fists and you’ll be fine sweetie... see you in a bit.”

I turned to Trevor and sighed... “Looks like it’s just us two then Trev.”

“Ooh no, it’s nearly time for Mr. Howler’s Christmas bath. I can’t miss that love. I’ve been lookin’ forward to it for yonks... In fact I better be getting a move on or I’ll miss drying his danglies, ooh!... Toodles love.”

As Trevor slinked off to our neighbours, I figured that I’d have a mosey around the estate to keep myself occupied. Maybe I’d bump into someone on the way. Leroy and TONE. were still out.


Now, Fakemoor’ll never win an award for aesthetics, resident morale or human rights, but it makes up for it with character. Walk down any street here and you’ll be met by semi-believable, hardly-working folk like yourselves.

Take a flick through our Yellow pages and you’ll be overwhelmed by the sheer mass of independently struggling businesses. Like our local beauty salon ‘Tash & Gash’, where eyebrow and labia trimming is buy one get one half price at the mo. The local pizza “joint” ‘Munchies’, where 60’s psychedelia and peppered pepperoni are goodfella’s. And there’s also ‘No Holes Bared’, the snooker hall located opposite ‘The Museum of Pocket Lint’ and ‘Booby Nights’ strip club, to name but a few.

The funniest thing about Fakemoor has got to be that no one really knows about it. It’s the worlds dirty little secret. It’d scramble your SatNav if you were ever to try and find it...

My train of thought was interrupted by a familiar holler. “Major pal. Get out t’way!”

But as per usual, I was slow to act, finding myself buttock first in the front basket of a mobility scooter.

"Alright pal.”

“Leroy!... What the flyin’ funk is going on?”

“Oh, I’m being chased... Quite fun it is.”


“Aye, I were doing some discounting on this ‘ere printer I got for you.”


“Aye, wi’ that sticker gun whatsit they use.”

“You know you can’t do that?”

“We’h, I do now like. Think that’s why that fella’s chasing me.”

I peered behind Leroy to find my gaze greeted by the mother of all peeved security guards, riding a push scooter and a grudge. 

“You think! Stop and give it back to him!” 

“Not before we go down this right steep road... Weeeeee!”


And now for a quick break. Ahhh... and another excerpt from TONE.'s nebbing notes.

'TONE. Going His Right' by TONE.

24/12/13 - Part B

...When Kieron told his Dad about what had happend to him and his, erm, scooter, he smiled. This was the wrong reaction I felt, but then he passed him a massive present. He said that he could have it early cos of what had happened outside Fidl. He also said that Santa wouldn’t mind.

Kieron opened it and screamed! Inside was his favourite teddy, which his Dad must’ve bought from eBay, and the, erm, remote controlled helicopter that he wanted so much.

He hugged his Dad, and took his presents outside to fly in the garden, even though it was getting quite dark and quite windy. Before lift off he strapped his teddy onto the, er, bottom bit of the chopper. He used duct tape cos it’s, erm, quite strong I think. 

Kieron placed it in the middle of the lawn and began counting down from ten. On one he pushed the lever things up and the helicopter zoomed into the air and hovered there for a second, before, er, being caught in a gust of wind and blown over the fence.

I chased it to see where it had gone. I wasn't expecting to see what I saw next!


Leroy took a sharp left at the foot of the slope, nearly toppling us over in the process. The disgruntled guard attempted to mimic our manoeuvre, but skidded his wobbly scooter head first into an overgrown clump of brambles across the road. 

Our mobility scooter slumped to a standstill outside the park entrance. Exhausted, it let out one final hiccup before its front wheels fell off.

I made sure not to touch Leroy’s clothes as he gave me a careful hand out of the basket. He must’ve noticed my clenched fists cos he queried: “W'eh, you wun't be wantin’ to punch me now would you pal? Are you really that peed off wi’ me?”

“Of course I’m not... No, I’ve been bringing things to life...” 

“Again!” Leroy butted in. “Chuffin’ 'ell Major pal, you really need to stop doin’ that. The flat in’t gettin’ any bigger you know.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I'll tell you all about it later, but first you should give that printer back.”

“W’eh, don’t know bout that. It’s a good one. And besides, I’ve not done owt that bad. It’s not like I’ve hurt anyone have I pal?”

“Yes you have!” I said pointing at the guard who was now untangling himself from the brambles.

“Well I reckon it’s their fault at the shop. They shun’t leave them sticker guns hangin’ bout should they eh?... But if it’ll make you happier I'll give it back pal.” 

Leroy began waddling over to the now de-brambled giant with the clear anger management problems. Smoke seeped from the balding behemoth as he clocked Mr. Leroy Craddock coming towards him. The brute stomped up to Leroy and picked him up by his braces. The printer crashed to the floor and his nose intimidatingly touched Leroy’s. 

Leroy turned to me. “W’eh, think this is the temper that his manager we’re on bout. This guy’s hospitalised folk you know...”

I started to panic. As much as Leroy’s a blinking idiot, I didn’t want him to get hurt. A sense of urgency washed over me like a tide of lava engulfs a tied up puppy. I knew anything I did would result in something coming to life, but doing nothing would potentially end in death!

The guard lifted Leroy up higher. His quivering white fist poised with murderous intent. 

I picked up the closest thing to me, a brittle black plastic bag filled with dog doo, and threw it with all the might I could muster. Before the poo bag found itself stuck in the security guards ample esophagus, I heard him fart out: “And they said I wun’t amount to owt!...”

'Poo Bag' by TONE.

The brut dropped Leroy and tumbled backwards back into the brambles. Leroy had picked himself up by the time I ran over to him. 

“Are you alright?!” I asked him.

“Oh aye. You?”

“Wha’, course I’m alright! I wasn’t the one who nearly got pummeled.”

“Who nearly got pummeled?”

“Never mind... Sufferin' succotash, the guard!” 

I leant into him and asked if he could hear me, but to no reaction. “Leroy, he’s dead! I killed him! I choked an innocent man with a poo bag!”

“Oh well... Least we’ve oursen’s a printer now pal...” Leroy said whilst reaching for the battered box.

The clouds seemed to swell around us, somehow mirroring my internal dread. A gust of Winter wind nearly blew Leroy over in mid crouch. Then the ozone slicing sound of whirring helicopters cut through the landscape.

“The police, they’re coming for me!...”

My eyes forced shut as a second gust slammed into my mush, but this time it brought along with it a searing pain in my cranium. I opened my peepers to see, drooping just above my brow, a replica remote control Apache fighter helicopter with a teddy bear gaffered to it. 

“Here we go pal... Oohf, takes me ages to pick stuff up off dog shelf these days. There’s got t’be some sort of JML thing for it...” 

“Erm, Leroy. I’ve got a helicopter in my head.”

Leroy looked up with the battered printer box swaddling his tiny torso. “Oh aye, you should take that on’t TV that. Quite a talent pal.”

A third gust whipped the printer from Leroy’s weighty grip and snapped the body and bear from the toy helicopter, leaving one of its blades submerged in my swollen grey matter. The printer landed in my arms.

“Wait a minute... it didn’t come to life. The box, it didn’t come to life! Look Leroy look!”

TONE. flew up to us. “Erm, hello Major, Leroy, what are you two doing around here?”

“I’m fixed TONE., I didn’t bring it to life look.”

“That’s good." TONE. replied, politely but perplexed. "Oh, and you’ve got a new printer. We, er needed one of them.”

“We sure did, yes...” I said just as the box collapsed in my hands and the printer plummeted to the pavement, smashing into a dozen tiny pieces. “Come on everyone, lets take it home...” I said in a gleeful delirium, obliviously treading into the broken grey plastic.


So what have you learnt from this tale? That stealing printers and choking nasty security guards with an old poo bag is okay? Hopefully not. 

For clarity, it turns out that Wayne, the security guard in question is fine. I mean he’s totally blind now, but he’s alive. Apparently an old lady found him and rung for an ambulance. Not sure what happend to the poo bag mind.

TONE. went back to that Kieron kid’s Dad and told him about the helicopter. Apparently he's going to take it back to Argos and claim it came out of the box like that. Which coincidentally, is just what Leroy did with our smashed up "discounted" printer. Now we've got a brand new one, and Leroy even gave the money he saved to his favourite charity, 'The Clothes for Naked Mole Rats  Society'.

And what about me? Well, when I finally came round from my helicopter blade in the cranium delirium, I realised that I can now control my powers. The broken blade acts as a switch you see. When I flick it up, it squashes the right side of my brain down, turning from the creative side, to the creation side. Flicking it down reverses it back to default. Mr. Howler told me so, he used to be a quack, and I’m not being disrespectful when I say that, he was an awful doctor. How do you think he ended up in Fakemoor, hmmm.

Anyway, here's a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy Nude Year from all of us at 'Major Gubbins'. 

All the best,

- Major Gubbins