FAIRY STORIES OF YORE
THE TALE OF THE CIVIL SERVANT AND THE PENNY
Once upon a time or other, a man by the name of Jones was making
his way to work, a building of some kind featuring many cabinets
and desks. “Balls” said Jones. “I’ll be fucked in the nut-glands if
I can be bothered with this toss another fucking second.”
Just then, as if perhaps by magic, Jones spied a shining penny
amidst some broken bottles and torn pornography strewn across the
pavement. Reaching down into the putrid mess for to pluck the coin
free, Jones considered his luck.
“Thank you, various Gods”, he said. “Now I have something suitably
heavy and probably disease-ridden for to fling into the face of a
drunk.” The only problem, he assumed, would be finding a drunk
suitably intoxicated.
Jones, you see, liked nothing more than to throw things at sozzled
vagrants. Sometimes he would yell “Ha! Bastard tramp! Eat my
fucking projectiles!”, other times he would remain silent.
Sometimes he would phone the police and report the incident,
accrediting it to another vagrant, one whom he disliked even more.
Such was the kindness and humility of Jones.
When he lifted the penny, however, a curious thing occurred. From
out of the mass of pornography and gin, a genie appeared, an
effeminate looking gentleman with a ponytail and a blue touch to
his skin.
“Fuck me!” implored Jones. “If it isn’t a fucking genie, rising up
out this here shite.”
“Jones!” hollered the genie. “What has happened is this right here;
You’ve only gone and awoke me from a slumber of sorts. What I’ll do
is grant you a wish or maybe three. I ask only that you make each
one progressively more extravagant, so as the narrative might be
benefited.”
Wow, thought Jones. First thing I’ll do is I’ll wish that I never
again have to go to work, so as I can better spend my time
assaulting drunkards.
“Genie!”, he said. “What I wish for, is that I am never again
required at any work of any sort.”
“Done!”, said the genie, and just then a joyriding teenager cracked
to the teeth hit Jones with the bonnet of a stolen Fiesta. Jones
was flung skyward, as if aboard a magical carpet, and arrived face
down in tarmac, his legs bent in several awkward directions.
“By the sweet fuck”, said Jones. “He’s only gone and bastard well
buggered my pins!”
“That he has”, agreed the genie, “But thankfully, you’ll be
bedridden until death. No more work for you, Jones.”
“You’re a sneaky one”, said Jones, “A sneaky fucking shit is what
you are. Look at me! Face down in tarmac and bent like a Hilton.
What in the hell am I to do now?”
“Well”, mused the genie, “You could wish to be sorted of the
physicality’s?”
“You tricky blue bastard”, hissed Jones. “If only I knew hitherto
the automobile incident, the kind of tricky blue bastard you really
are.”
“Well?” said the genie, tapping a foot that was done up in those
cool twisty shoes.
“Oh, all right then. I wish that my body be the way it was.”
A flash, and Jones was right as rain. “As a bonus”, said the genie,
“The joyrider is still stuck in the car window. I could have
reversed his brains, but I didn’t, on account of you’re great, you
are.”
Well, considered Jones, I certainly won’t be flinging out wishes so
carelessly again. I must wish in such a manner that this mystical
motherfucker can’t even for a second distort it.
“Isn’t it ironic”, said the genie, “How the cultural prowess of
Tokyo…”
He was interrupted by Jones interrupting him. “Fuck up, cock”, he
said. “I have a dilemma.”
The dilemma, Jones explained, was that what he really wanted was
thirty vagrants for to hit with pennies. The problem, however, was
that he only had one penny.
“Perhaps”, suggested the genie, “You could throw these broken
bottles at the rest?”
That’ll do, thought Jones. Since there’s bollocks all else to do,
and plus I have to be at work soon. “I wish for thirty drunken
vagrants!” said Jones.
All of a sudden, a lorry transporting fine narcotics from out of
Cuba or somewhere exploded on the side of the road, cocaine falling
like some kind of pixie-dust onto the surrounding street. Vagrants
of all creeds and colours, at least thirty of them, began to appear
in the distance, making their way towards the heavenly blessing.
Jones picked up some old tins and a broken vodka bottle, and hurled
them at a couple of the vagrants. “Ha”, he laughed, “What fun it is
for to throw things at the homeless.”
When he had hit 29 of the vagrants with various implements, he
raised the penny in his fist. “Well, genie, you fuck”, he said,
“It's time to bid farewell.” With all the force he could muster, he
sent the penny cascading towards a bearded individual. The coin
lodged itself into the bridge of the man’s nose, and when he put
his hand to it that it might be removed, a curious thing occurred.
A genie appeared, an effeminite looking gentleman with a ponytail
and a blue touch to his skin. “Greetings vagrant!”, the genie
announced. “What has happened is this here. I am the genie of that
there penny what got flung at your face. Luckily for you I feel
like giving you a wish or seven.”
“What I’d really like”, he said, “Is to discuss Yeats with some
folks at the University.”
With that, the genie and the vagrant vanished, and Jones spent the
rest of his fifty-six days filling out forms about something or
other.
his way to work, a building of some kind featuring many cabinets
and desks. “Balls” said Jones. “I’ll be fucked in the nut-glands if
I can be bothered with this toss another fucking second.”
Just then, as if perhaps by magic, Jones spied a shining penny
amidst some broken bottles and torn pornography strewn across the
pavement. Reaching down into the putrid mess for to pluck the coin
free, Jones considered his luck.
“Thank you, various Gods”, he said. “Now I have something suitably
heavy and probably disease-ridden for to fling into the face of a
drunk.” The only problem, he assumed, would be finding a drunk
suitably intoxicated.
Jones, you see, liked nothing more than to throw things at sozzled
vagrants. Sometimes he would yell “Ha! Bastard tramp! Eat my
fucking projectiles!”, other times he would remain silent.
Sometimes he would phone the police and report the incident,
accrediting it to another vagrant, one whom he disliked even more.
Such was the kindness and humility of Jones.
When he lifted the penny, however, a curious thing occurred. From
out of the mass of pornography and gin, a genie appeared, an
effeminate looking gentleman with a ponytail and a blue touch to
his skin.
“Fuck me!” implored Jones. “If it isn’t a fucking genie, rising up
out this here shite.”
“Jones!” hollered the genie. “What has happened is this right here;
You’ve only gone and awoke me from a slumber of sorts. What I’ll do
is grant you a wish or maybe three. I ask only that you make each
one progressively more extravagant, so as the narrative might be
benefited.”
Wow, thought Jones. First thing I’ll do is I’ll wish that I never
again have to go to work, so as I can better spend my time
assaulting drunkards.
“Genie!”, he said. “What I wish for, is that I am never again
required at any work of any sort.”
“Done!”, said the genie, and just then a joyriding teenager cracked
to the teeth hit Jones with the bonnet of a stolen Fiesta. Jones
was flung skyward, as if aboard a magical carpet, and arrived face
down in tarmac, his legs bent in several awkward directions.
“By the sweet fuck”, said Jones. “He’s only gone and bastard well
buggered my pins!”
“That he has”, agreed the genie, “But thankfully, you’ll be
bedridden until death. No more work for you, Jones.”
“You’re a sneaky one”, said Jones, “A sneaky fucking shit is what
you are. Look at me! Face down in tarmac and bent like a Hilton.
What in the hell am I to do now?”
“Well”, mused the genie, “You could wish to be sorted of the
physicality’s?”
“You tricky blue bastard”, hissed Jones. “If only I knew hitherto
the automobile incident, the kind of tricky blue bastard you really
are.”
“Well?” said the genie, tapping a foot that was done up in those
cool twisty shoes.
“Oh, all right then. I wish that my body be the way it was.”
A flash, and Jones was right as rain. “As a bonus”, said the genie,
“The joyrider is still stuck in the car window. I could have
reversed his brains, but I didn’t, on account of you’re great, you
are.”
Well, considered Jones, I certainly won’t be flinging out wishes so
carelessly again. I must wish in such a manner that this mystical
motherfucker can’t even for a second distort it.
“Isn’t it ironic”, said the genie, “How the cultural prowess of
Tokyo…”
He was interrupted by Jones interrupting him. “Fuck up, cock”, he
said. “I have a dilemma.”
The dilemma, Jones explained, was that what he really wanted was
thirty vagrants for to hit with pennies. The problem, however, was
that he only had one penny.
“Perhaps”, suggested the genie, “You could throw these broken
bottles at the rest?”
That’ll do, thought Jones. Since there’s bollocks all else to do,
and plus I have to be at work soon. “I wish for thirty drunken
vagrants!” said Jones.
All of a sudden, a lorry transporting fine narcotics from out of
Cuba or somewhere exploded on the side of the road, cocaine falling
like some kind of pixie-dust onto the surrounding street. Vagrants
of all creeds and colours, at least thirty of them, began to appear
in the distance, making their way towards the heavenly blessing.
Jones picked up some old tins and a broken vodka bottle, and hurled
them at a couple of the vagrants. “Ha”, he laughed, “What fun it is
for to throw things at the homeless.”
When he had hit 29 of the vagrants with various implements, he
raised the penny in his fist. “Well, genie, you fuck”, he said,
“It's time to bid farewell.” With all the force he could muster, he
sent the penny cascading towards a bearded individual. The coin
lodged itself into the bridge of the man’s nose, and when he put
his hand to it that it might be removed, a curious thing occurred.
A genie appeared, an effeminite looking gentleman with a ponytail
and a blue touch to his skin. “Greetings vagrant!”, the genie
announced. “What has happened is this here. I am the genie of that
there penny what got flung at your face. Luckily for you I feel
like giving you a wish or seven.”
“What I’d really like”, he said, “Is to discuss Yeats with some
folks at the University.”
With that, the genie and the vagrant vanished, and Jones spent the
rest of his fifty-six days filling out forms about something or
other.
