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Great Writing - Home > Comedy > The work of the devil
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Comedy
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| The work of the devil | |
| By Leo | ||||||||||||
| 12 June 2006 | ||||||||||||
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Something GC posted in short stories got me thinking... Strictly speaking this belongs in non-fiction, but what the hell Sunday night.. That had been a hard week. God was absolutely shagged. Carol Smilie eat your sweet little Caledonian heart out, he thought. This was development on a serious scale. The world in just seven days; even channel 4 didn’t have the budget for that. He surveyed all that he had created, hills, meadows, streams, daisies and butterflies. It was quality work. He hoped his son would follow in his footsteps, and take over the family business. But if he was anything like his mum he’d end up a martyr. Anyway, he looked at the setting sun, if he hoisted his robe, and got his skates on, he could make The Garden of Eden before it shut for a swift half and a fish supper The devil looked on from his vantage point amongst the bushes.. he would soon make his mark… but no, not tonight…maybe tomorrow... The spot in which he crouched had recently made ‘The Good Dogging Guide’; regional and national editions. The rumour had it that Stan Collymore was expected to make a show. A celebrity endorsement. He would stick around… maybe Ulrika would show for a reunion…ooh yes.. Ulrika…what a foxy minx.. grrrrr…. Monday morning.. The horned one was up early for a power breakfast and a strategy meeting. Even dark forces needed motivation and direction. Then, after a final latte they slipped out into the ether to execute the diabolical plan.. In the town planners office, the evil messengers slipped through the air vent unnoticed. The squalid air within allowed their seamless passage through to the targets. The little, fat round planners sat licking their cyanosed lips… yes yes… there was money to be made.. their little fat fingers could soon be counting the cash…A new town… what a good idea.. yes yes.. the developers would appreciate a heads up… X marks the spot..ha.. ha.. ha.. And so the developers arrived with their diesel trucks and caravans. When they finally got back from the café, after they’d had a dump in the portaloo and just before they went to the bookies, they would reduce this country idyll to nothing. Operation: scorched earth. It would be devoid of all redeeming features in no time at all. A bit like those people in the big brother house. And lo the decimation began. Huge palls of thick black smoke belched out of the bellies of the leviathan wrecking machines, as they wrought destruction. Silence was a thing of the past as trees were ripped out at the root and meadows laid waste. The wild life ran screaming as the huge yellow caterpillar tractors set about dismantling their beloved habitats. The screams of tortured wood nymphs could curdle your soul. Not unlike Geri Halliwells new single. In no time at all a huge grey skyline rose up out of the mud. A million tonnes of concrete. It was like some malevolent spoilt child had chucked his huge grey sandcastles down haphazardly in a fit of pique, before stomping off home to wet the bed, expose himself to the new au pair and strap pyrotechnic devices to the cat’s tail. The devil had thought long and hard about the inmates… err.. inhabitants,….his emissaries had done well. Brokering deals with all the councils in the greater London. It took little to talk them into releasing certain tenants; The Hannibal and Hannah Lecters of the nuisance neighbour world were scooped up wholesale and bussed in. On the day of their arrival it was like a carnival of freaks arriving in town. Seasoned police officers shuddered, and quietly put in for early retirement. As a moving in present tenants were gifted stone cladding, satellite dishes and ford escorts. Housewives would never need to cook again as fast food outlets sprouted like mould in a pub toilet; ‘make sure you get a kebab for breakfast Shane, before you bunk off school’ was a common refrain, heard along every street as step parents threw off their hangovers and demonstrated their practical parenting skills. Next on the agenda was civic pride. A new byelaw was introduced, and dogs were encouraged to foul in the streets. Owners got extra benefits from the DHSS, if they could encourage their pit bulls and rottweilers to leave their poisonous effluent in high scoring zones; parks, children’s sand pits and outside school gates. Smiling and shaking hands with ones neighbours was outlawed. They was soooo last year, and so weak. It was far more ‘now’ to stare people out and stamp on their heads. You only get one chance to make a first impression. Especially if it is with the soles of your new DM’s. And then there was the appliance of science. It was relatively easy to lace the bacardi breezers with the chemicals required to alter the chromosome structure of new children. So it was genetic destiny, that girls on the eve of their thirteenth birthday would lay back and accommodate every boy in a Burberry cap. And lo the teenage pregnancy soared…and Kevin, Darren, Sharon and Tracey’s abounded As for boys, the devil truly did make work for idle hands; so gameboy was invented and Stella introduced ‘six for a fiver’ pocket money specials…priorities were priorities, and the academic prowess of a generation plunged through the floor… The devil sat back and surveyed his handiwork.. oh Ulrika would be so impressed… it had to be worth a shag…if she said no he’d give her a slap… But first he had to pop in and say hello to someone. Barrymore was having a party. It was a pain in the arse…but he had to make an effort. He had such plans for that chap. As he walked down the street, he paused to remove chewing gum from his cloven hoof, and then he noticed a tattooed lady clinging to a street sign as she skilfully vomited curry all over the wall into the nearby front garden… ‘oh God..’ she whimpered… ‘Ooh you’re out of luck there my dear.. fresh out… this is my town…’ As he hissed these words he glanced admiringly at the sign, now streaked with multi-textured puke. It read simply: Welcome to ‘Harlow, Essex’
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