Hole Punch Read online

  “I hate you,” said Mucilage Grout, to everything in particular.

  PHOTOCOPIED MAN

  The photocopied man, Tony Simulacra, sat on the photocopied bench, next to the photocopied pond, in the photocopied park, on the photocopied world, in the photocopied universe.

  “Actually,” said Tony Simulacra. “It is more like a low resolution scan than a photocopy. Every time I die the electric spark of my consciousness creates an inferior copy of the life I've lived before. Everything is reduced over and over into more and more undefined forms. All that I perceive of life is a blurred remembrance of my original consciousness in a better defined and more living universe. Each time I die I will relive my life in a more pixilated way, a more low resolution way. When you turn on the radio and you hear static; that is the sound of the future, the sound of our universe turning into abstraction. Every death leads me closer to a universe of empty static. The lowest resolution of all.”

  The photocopied ducks kept away from Tony Simulacra, if only his smell was low resolution.

  SOCIETAL DEFENCE MECHANISM

  Mr Robinson had been kept awake until four in the morning by loud music and shouting from the house across the alleyway.

  In the polite hours of morning, Mr Robinson knocked on the door of the house. The door was opened by a middle-aged man with large, blonde sideburns.

  "Good morning," said the sideburns man with a grin. "How can I help you?"

  "I was just wondering if you could try to keep the noise level down?" asked Mr Robinson. "I was kept up quite late last night by lots of shouting and music."

  "Kept awake?" said the sideburns man. "Me and my acquaintances were keeping the noise level below twenty-four decibels, which is the legal limit."

  "It was loud enough to keep me awake. I'm sorry but if you want to play music and drink with your friends in your garden, you should do it at a less antisocial time."

  The sideburns man folded his arms over his round belly.

  "Well, forgive me if I have caused you any disturbance, but I cannot be considered a nuisance unless the noise level is over twenty-four decibels. Perhaps a wind was carrying the noise closer to you, unfortunately it is beyond my power to control the weather."

  "Well, please have some consideration. Otherwise, I may have to contact the police. People need their sleep."

  "You are welcome to join us for a drink later if you like? I will be up until at least four every morning and I am afraid that the police will not do anything about it."

  "I have work tomorrow and need my sleep, can you not have your parties indoors at least?"

  "If you keep threatening me Mr...?"

  "Robinson."

  "Mr Robinson. If you keep threatening me then I'm afraid I will contact the police myself. This is harassment, Mr Robinson. No one else is complaining. I would say that you are the one who is the problem."

  * * *

  Later that evening, Mr Robinson could hear them again: the sideburns man and all his friends in the back garden. Mr Robinson could hear them talking about him. They were calling Mr Robinson a “stupid prick”.

  Mr Robinson called the Police.

  "Unfortunately sir, we are unable to do anything about the noise. Noise pollution is now under the jurisdiction of the Environmental Department of the Council."

  "What is the number of the Environmental Department?"

  "I am not obliged to give you that information, please stop wasting Police time."

  Mr Robinson found the information he needed on his laptop. The department would not be open until nine o'clock. Mr Robinson left his laptop downstairs and tried to go to sleep again.

  * * *

  At five in the morning, Mr Robinson was woken by the sideburns man walking into Mr Robinson's bedroom. He was wearing surgical gloves and was carrying Mr Robinson's laptop. He sat on the end of Mr Robinsons' bed.

  “I’m very sorry to wake you,” said the sideburns man.

  "What are you doing? Get out of my house!"

  "No need to shout Mr Robinson."

  The sideburns man was typing quickly on the laptop.

  "After some discussion with my friends I've decided that I do not like you one bit, Mr Robinson, I don't take to threats kindly."

  "You’re breaking and entering," said Mr Robinson.

  "We can all hide behind laws Mr Robinson. Laws were invented because otherwise we would be tearing open each other's throats in order to assert supremacy. In this new world we must subvert our artificial control mechanisms. This is a modern jungle, but a jungle all the same.”

  Mr Robinson saw illegal pornographic images on the computer screen.

  "What are you doing?!"

  “The police will be very interested when I tell them I saw you masturbating to this child pornography when I passed your window.”

  The sideburns man smiled.

  "It appears that your societal defence systems are turned against you, Mr Robinson."

  DELEWAR DOST

  Faith had sustained her throughout her journey and soon her faith would be rewarded. Gleaming before her was the beautiful and golden temple city of Delawar Dost.

  She rolled up to the gates on her wheelchair and bowed her head respectfully to the silken-robed attendant who looked down at her through his blissful, golden mask of joy.

  She explained to him that she had travelled her entire life to get here, following her faith and her love of Delawar Dost. She wanted to give herself to Delawar Dost. She was ready to submit her worldly, temporal flesh to the divine, everlasting light of her Big Bang Mother.

  "You are not worthy of Delawar Dost," said the golden-masked attendant. "Worship elsewhere, perhaps in your next life you will be more deserving and you will earn more precious stones. Only then can you bask in the gentle love of Delawar Dost. You are an insect and you crawl on metal wheels. Go! Now!"

  More wretches queued up behind her.

  “You cannot enter Delawar Dost,” declared the golden-masked attendant. “You are all stained and diseased! Get hither into your wastelands! Or go to the mineral pits! If you mine enough minerals then perhaps you will be earn enough spirit coins to ascend to the level of the noble slug!”

  From atop his tower, Delawar Dost smiled upon all of his statues.

  * * *

  In a bedroom, in the Privilege Sector of Delawar Dost, a young Prince smoked a pipe of hashish.

  “Everyone is equal! We’re all connected! Enlightenment man! We are all Delawar Dost!”

  On his wall was a symmetrical mosaic showing all the levels of spiritual ascendancy; from worm to insect, insect to rat, rat to cat, cat to ape, ape to person, person to gold-plated, dancing and gleaming orb of light strumming a lute.

  All the animals and people on the mosaic danced to the circular song of the gleaming orb. Chanting a chorus through tile smiles.

  “We are all connected!” said the Prince. “We are all one! We’re all the same!”

  He watched the mosaic dance and sing.

  “You'll only understand it when you get it! You better dance to my tune don't forget it! Cos if you disobey! You're gonna have to pay! With an eternity of insect life and complete shite!

  DRY, DEAD TREE

  The cracked mirror bleats “bad morning” when you brush your teeth – your gums are draining – just like last night – just like all week – it is more than gingivitis – rotten air sacks bursting – older and emptier – the process isn’t gradual – it is what it is - your drain is blocked – your branches untrimmed – have you forgotten again? – take out your rubbish – nowhere to take it to? - you can’t do anything – you can’t do – your teeth – gravestones – decay – dead trees – dry – dead – lonely – dead – dry – dead – tree – lonely – dry – dead – tree – lonely.

  You keep standing there.

  MUSCLES

  The Mistake stops the fish from eating the muscles. The muscles settle on the surface of the Mistake's head. They are the Mistake's first ever friends. The
Mistake wants to show them the world above the See.

  “Let me show you the world above the See.”

  The Mistake lifts his head from the See and acts as an island for the muscles to live upon. The muscles like the world above the See. Out here, on the island of the Mistake's head, they would never be eaten by fish again.

  The Mistake had never had friends before.

  The muscles fight each other.

  “Please stop fighting!”

  The Muscles ignore the Mistake and kill each other, then they eat each other. There is no food on the island of the Mistake's head. They only have each other to eat.

  Some years later, the Mistake brings up a new group of muscle friends. The Mistake's head is bigger now and covered in all sorts of plants and rocks. This gives the muscles a food source. Despite this, the muscles still fight each other.

  “Why do you always fight? Can't you all just care about each other? I never had a family that cared about me. My family hated me so much. I never even heard my mother's voice. Why can't we all be a family and care about each other?”

  The muscles can't understand the Mistake but they notice that the surface of their island rumbles when they fight and when they don't fight it stays still. So they cooperate and live peacefully for a little while. Then they start to build villages, cities and towns. The industry gives the Mistake a migraine. Especially as they were now mining into the thick skull of the Mistake for building materials.

  The Mistake screams sometimes.

  The muscles like long theological debates as to whether the Mistake wants them to fight or construct? The debate is never settled so the muscles do both.

  The Mistake tries not to rumble or shout. The Mistake doesn't want to cause any more trouble for the muscles.

  TYPICAL

  Ian studied biology at university.

  One fateful day, Ian was experimenting with some radioactive oestrogen. Ian accidentally spilt it all over his left hand. Ian used his left hand for masturbating.

  At first there were no effects but after a few days his left hand began to swell and moisten. It felt strangely sensitive and pleasurable to touch. When he masturbated with this hand it felt good. Not just for his penis but also for his hand. It trilled with waves of pleasure and it dribbled moistness. This moisture smelt and tasted like copper lined pork.

  Eventually, Ian's fingers and thumb sealed themselves together and formed a tight, tense hole. It gorily bloomed into a vaguely anatomically correct version of the female genitalia. This encouraged Ian's masturbation.

  One exhausting night, as Ian lay in bed trying to sleep in his damp sheets, the Hand Vagina spoke to him.

  “More,” she whispered. “More. More. More. More. More.”

  “I can't give you anymore. I'm all used up.”

  “More!”

  “I can't.”

  Eventually, the Hand Vagina learnt more words.

  “You're useless! You only want me for sex! You are rubbish at sex! Rubbish and boring! I want more money and I want to live in a proper house! I hate your student dorm! I want someone less limp! Someone who will show me a good time! Money!”

  Ian cried and pleaded to her that it was just the radiation sickness and over exertion that was making him limp.

  “I don't believe you! You are nothing but a wanker!”

  The Hand Vagina took dominance over his body, leading him round the streets. She needed satisfaction but she also needed an equal.

  Ian's hand was made pregnant by a Japanese business man called Akira Otoro. Ian was so sick that he didn’t notice being flown to Japan. Ian didn't notice that the Hand Vagina had grown a womb. Ian was too busy vomiting radioactive waste.

  Akira Otoro paid Ian’s parents a considerable sum to marry the Hand Vagina. Akira Otoro was a good and honourable man, with an ethical business in pharmaceuticals.

  Ian's hospital bed was pushed up the church aisle by his parents and the Hand Vagina wore a wedding dress..

  Ian and the Hand Vagina died during childbirth. This child was little more than a squashed up ball of tumour. It had no discernible organs, limbs or life to speak of, at least, not any life that we could understand.

  Typical.

  COLUMBO

  "I have a photograph of your car driving through the bus lane," he told the old woman on the telephone.

  "It can't have been me, not on the time and date you suggest. Can you zoom in on the driver and see who is inside my car?"

  "When I zoom in the image becomes dark and pixilated. It’s not like one of those television shows like Crime Scene Investigation or Columbo."

  "Put me through to Lieutenant Columbo then!"

  FLUFFY

  I first saw Fluffy at the Local Community Easter Market.

  “Look at her!” I said to my Nana.

  She was the nicest soft toy cat ever, sat on a sales stall, smiling and happy with her curly, grey fur.

  “She is really nice and fluffy.”

  Father Willis came in and put a box of sweetcorn on a table for the Harvest Festival display.

  I smiled and looked at Fluffy. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

  “What a lovely stuffed cat!” I said to my Nana.

  I walked away to look at all the other Easter Market items, but I kept looking over my shoulder at Fluffy.

  “Would you like me to buy you that stuffed cat?” asked my Nana.

  “She looks very expensive!” I said.

  “You’ve done very well at school recently and you've managed to catch up with all the other children,” said Nana.

  I didn’t know why that would have any bearing on why I suddenly deserved such a lovely stuffed cat?

  My Nana went and bought Fluffy for me.

  Father Willis straightened a tin of sweetcorn on the Harvest Festival display.

  * * *

  I sat with Fluffy on the living room floor. I looked into her big, blue eyes and stroked her grey, tussled fur. Such an adorable smile she had between her whiskers.

  “You are so wonderful Fluffy!”

  My dad was trying to watch something on television about the boring old miners' strike.

  “For crying out loud!” he said.

  * * *

  Fluffy was a good friend to me and would always let me cuddle her. We built a sky machine under the duvet. The sky machine stopped the angry, blue, dead people in cardboard boxes from visiting me in my sleep.

  THE TROUBLING CASE OF THE MARTIAN NIGHT PROWLER

  Pearl the cat skittered agile across the inner support beams of Habitation Dome B57. She paused to lick her left paw, her white fur turned red in the light of the Martian sky. A protective camouflage unless you are hunted by someone with heat vision goggles.

  Pearl the cat fell from the rafters of the glass domed roof and hit the ground bent, blackened and smoking after being electrocuted by the Night Prowler’s shock gun.

  "Shock! Shock! Shock!" said the Night Prowler, who laughed as he swished into an alleyway with a swoosh of his black cloak.

  "Shock! Shock! Shock!" he laughed and fired a bolt at a random street lamp.

  He heard the sound of police sirens.

  “They will never catch the Night Prowler! The Night Prowler is much too clever and crafty. Shock! Shock! Shock!”

  He pulled an old mannequin from a department store bin and threw his dark robes on it. He drizzled his naked body with a tube of oil imported from the Slog Pools of Zeta Minor. He squeezed himself, slim and lubricated, up a tight, smelly drain pipe and out from a toilet in one of the residences.

  He skulked through the bathroom. Outside he could hear the police. A few seconds later he heard them shooting the mannequin.

  "Shock! Shock! Shock! They can't catch me! No one can catch the Martian Night Prowler."

  He crept naked and dripping into the living room. A large cat and her kittens slept on a gingham rug. The Night Prowler pulled the trigger of his shock gun.

  “Shock! Shock! Shock!”

  The shock
s rebounded on the Night Prowler due to him being wet. Water and electricity don't mix.

  Frazzled and disorientated, the Night Prowler stumbled into a bedroom and woke up a sleeping old lady.

  The old lady screamed.

  "Quiet Grandma," threatened the Night Prowler, putting his peeling hand over her mouth. "You are the only one who understands me so don't cry! Mummy didn't cuddle me as much as she did her kitties! How many I've killed because of her abuse! No one has family problems like mine! I blame my upbringing! I blame society! I’ve never met a girl that loved me! Women are like cats! Except for you, Grandma!"

  The Night Prowler fell to his knees and vomited blood marred stomach lining.

  “I'm sorry Grandma!” said the Night Prowler.

  He looked at the old lady and his eyes began to clear.

  "You are NOT Grandma."

  She wasn't his Grandma.

  He lifted his shock gun to her face.

  "Shock! Shock! Shock!"

  He fired the shock gun. It rebounded on him again. He lay on the floor. A sick, burnt and shit-battered fillet of spasmodically gyrating electro-meat.

  * * *

  Twelve hours later, at the Saint Bowie Hospital, he woke up in the way that you would if you had no eyelids.

  The blurry moustache of Sheriff Den Apparti leant over him.

  "We've got you now Night Prowler! Ousted by your own petard!"

  The sheriff paced back and forth with measured triumph.

  "Through clever investigation we found you: after someone called us to tell us where you were! Another victory to the Martian Police and to me! For solving the Troubling Case Of The Martian Night Prowler!”