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Written by Winterreign

I'd tap that

I'm in love with the booty

Let me slap that booty,

Come on baby

Don't be shy,

Your a hottie

With a booty,

Come on and let me

Massage that booty,

I want to sleep

On that booty,

You have a nice butt

Wanna bang though?

Let's play drums

With that booty,

I'm in love with only

Your booty,

I don't like you

I just like your booty,

Can that booty be mine?

You look better

Bent over,

I would love to tap that booty

Can you twerk that booty

For me please?

Come on baby

Please say yes,

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Written by Winterreign
I'd tap that
I'm in love with the booty
Let me slap that booty,

Come on baby
Don't be shy,

Your a hottie
With a booty,

Come on and let me
Massage that booty,

I want to sleep
On that booty,

You have a nice butt
Wanna bang though?

Let's play drums
With that booty,

I'm in love with only
Your booty,

I don't like you
I just like your booty,

Can that booty be mine?
You look better
Bent over,

I would love to tap that booty
Can you twerk that booty
For me please?

Come on baby
Please say yes,
#poetry  #opinion  #humour 
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Written by Winterreign

The lazy pact

The ability to be lazy

Was made for

somebody like me,

Come on now

Let's be lazy together,

I may be weird

Don't mind me,

Say boy,

Let's not talk too much,

Grab on my buns

And let's cuddle

And be lazy together,

I'm in love with being lazy too,

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Written by Winterreign
The lazy pact
The ability to be lazy
Was made for
somebody like me,

Come on now
Let's be lazy together,

I may be weird
Don't mind me,

Say boy,
Let's not talk too much,

Grab on my buns
And let's cuddle
And be lazy together,

I'm in love with being lazy too,
#fun  #humour  #lazy  #boredom 
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Written by Winterreign

Getting hot in here

" talk dirty to me baby"

" you want me to tell you something?"

"Yes, baby"

" alright . I didn't wash my hands after i went to the bathroom."

" god , yes. Tell me more."

"You smell like a piece of sewage and raw fish ."

" fuck yeah baby."

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Written by Winterreign
Getting hot in here
" talk dirty to me baby"

" you want me to tell you something?"

"Yes, baby"

" alright . I didn't wash my hands after i went to the bathroom."

" god , yes. Tell me more."

"You smell like a piece of sewage and raw fish ."

" fuck yeah baby."
#romance  #jokes  #humour 
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Written by Winterreign

How romance develops

When you and crush watch each other's stories on snapchat.

And you both like a bunch of each other's photos on Instagram.

And when he flirts with you using dumb pick up lines and compliments you on your body.

When he won't stop complimenting you on your big juicy melons and when he slide in your dm acting like a thirsty fly who won't leave you alone.

When he spam you with a bunch of messages and notifications.

Or when he watches your musical.ly and vine videos.

Or when he watches that butt and hollers at you like you are some sort of dog.

Yeah looks like things are getting serious between you too.

What a start of a beautiful romance .

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Written by Winterreign
How romance develops
When you and crush watch each other's stories on snapchat.
And you both like a bunch of each other's photos on Instagram.
And when he flirts with you using dumb pick up lines and compliments you on your body.
When he won't stop complimenting you on your big juicy melons and when he slide in your dm acting like a thirsty fly who won't leave you alone.
When he spam you with a bunch of messages and notifications.
Or when he watches your musical.ly and vine videos.
Or when he watches that butt and hollers at you like you are some sort of dog.
Yeah looks like things are getting serious between you too.
What a start of a beautiful romance .
#romance  #jokes  #humour 
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Written by ChrisMcT

I Hate The Music

One:

Monday – 8:17 am

The crane’s hook has jagged me by a nostril and is hoisting me high above the city in a slow anti-clock-wise arc.

‘For fuck’s sake . . .’

The interesting thing is that I’m rotating in time to the song that’s playing. I say song, it’s Venus by Bananarama. Bananarama, huh. I’ve always considered myself a man of ‘good musical taste’ and yet here I am, twirling around to this piece of muzak shite.

Derek is not getting away with this.

Suzi Q is along for the ride too. But she’s untouched by crane hooks, her fat face frozen in the fit of an orgasmic laugh. She’s rotating, too, and on certain angles - particularly when she’s upside down - her open mouth seems to be consuming the rest of her face. I wouldn‘t put self-cannibalism past her. That bitch would eat anything.

The studio telephone rattles into life. I let it ring half a dozen times before dragging myself away from the window and slouching back to my desk.

My desk.

Now, it’s just me.

‘Yeah?’ I croak into the receiver.

‘Is that FUN FM?’

I reckon the punter to be white-collar, middle-aged, important job. But, now, he’s got an excited, child-like trill to his voice.

Christ, it’s A Fan.

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh wow. I got through. Terrific. My name is Roger and I’m calling for a request.’

I glance back out the window. The billboard being raised has levelled out and workmen are easing it into position. Suzi Q’s image is HUGE, whereas I’m lost in a corner of the bright red background.

And now I can read the caption . . . Want A Fun Start to Your Day? Join Suzi Q and friends on FUN FM.

Friends? Fucking friends.

‘Now, as for the song.’ Oh, you’re still here. ‘I have a couple, but I’d really like to hear-’

‘Look, mate, are you sure you want to request a song, from us?’ I owe it to the poor bastard to try and save him from himself.

‘Oh most definitely.’

He sounds most definite.

‘Musical taste in your arse, is it?’

‘Now, I’d like- I beg your pardon? To whom am I speaking?’

Sigh. ‘Youm is speaking with Danny.’

‘Who?’

‘Danny.’

Silence.

Did he sigh at me?

‘Danny Shaw.’

‘Are you the receptionist?’

‘I’m the fucking host.’

‘Really? I was hoping to speak with Suzi Q, but obviously she’s . . . unavailable.’

‘Yeah, thanks to her nervous breakdown.’

He pauses; clears his throat. ‘Is that what you’re calling it?’

‘Cause that’s what it is.’

‘Are you filling in for Suzi Q?’

That’s worth a sigh.

‘No. I told you, I am the host. It’s my show.’

‘Hey! Hey! I can see Suzi’s billboard! It’s huge!’

‘I’m sorta busy here . . .’

‘Aah.’ The punter sounds pleased with himself. ‘You’re the bloke.’

‘Yeah, that’s me. The bloke. Now. For your request, you can choose from Queen’s You’re My Best Friend,Shiny Happy People by REM and-’ sigh ‘-Eagle-fucking-Rock.’

‘. . . Oh . . .’

‘We’d prefer it if you chose Shiny Happy People because that’ll link in well with our Funny Farm segment later in the show.’

‘I’d-I’d like to request a song that I want to hear.’

‘I take it you’re a regular listener and enjoy what you hear on FUN FM.’

‘Of course.’

And I can tell that he really does. There’s no hope for this bloke.

‘I’m in hurry,’ he says adopting a grown-up voice, ‘Is there someone else I could talk to?’

‘No, there’s not. We are the music professionals, okay? So you can see why we like to make your requests for you. It’s just so much easier - for everyone.’

Venus is close to finishing, so I need to get this dickhead sorted and a song loaded and ready to go. Shiny Happy People it is.

‘Yes, but-’

‘Did I mention this month’s request of the month wins ten CDs?’

‘Do I get to pick them or will you do that for me?

‘Do you want a fucking request or not?’

Venus finishes and that means I’m on . . .

‘Oh yeah girls, you can be my Venus anytime. That was Bananarama the FUN FM blast from the past for this quarter hour. Hope you enjoyed it Arthur from Epping. Did you know the girls covered that song made famous by Dutch group Shocking Blue way back in 1970? The original’s worth checking out. Really. And don’t forget folks, tomorrow morning we’ll be making the FUN FM Delta Diet Date $10,000 Cash Call. Will I be pulling you out of the barrel?’ Wrong. Your name. Play on. ‘Okay we’ve opened the FUN FM super-dooper-gotta-have-it-right-now-request-hotline-phone-line. Let’s see who’s jumped on the blower. Hello, who’s there?’

Do not hang up, dickhead.

A sigh. ‘This is Roger.’

‘Hey there, Roger. Anything special planned for today?’

‘No. Just work.’

He’s had the fight knocked out of him. Good.

‘Just work? Oh, Roger Dodger, you wouldn’t be grumbling ‘just work’ if you ‘just worked’ in this mad house!’ Insert fake laugh, here. ‘At FUN FM we can’t believe we get paid for having so much fun. And we want all of you out there in radio-land to join in the fun. You with me, Rog?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what song would you like to request, Rog-meister?’

He pauses. Do not stuff me up, dickhead.

Smiley Happy People.’

‘Ah, Shiny Happy People.’ Dickhead! ‘The old Michael Stipe-ster and REM, eh? Bit of a fan are you, Roggo?’

‘Yeah.’

I’ll bet.

I push play and the sell-out of sell-out songs jangles into life.

‘And I don’t need to remind you, Roggy-Woggy-Wuz-A-Bear, that you’ll go in this month’s draw for ten CDs. That’s right. Ten CDs!’

‘. . . Wow . . .’

Underwhelmed-to-the-max. No matter, I’m enthused enough for ten people.

‘Enjoy your song, Roger and have a fun FUN FM day!’

And . . . disconnect. That dickhead won’t be in the draw for the ten CDs.

A shadow passes across the glass partition between the studio and the producer’s booth. I glance towards the doorway as Andrew Farley, my pre-pubescent, borderline obese producer shambles into the studio.

‘What?’

A golden snake of runny egg dribbles down Andrew’s ample double chin as he munches into an oversized egg and bacon roll. 

He chews, and chews. 

Raises his free hand. 

Chews again. And again. 

Swallows.

‘Derek wants a word before you go home.’

‘Perfect. Because I want a word with him.’

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Written by ChrisMcT
I Hate The Music
One:
Monday – 8:17 am
The crane’s hook has jagged me by a nostril and is hoisting me high above the city in a slow anti-clock-wise arc.
‘For fuck’s sake . . .’
The interesting thing is that I’m rotating in time to the song that’s playing. I say song, it’s Venus by Bananarama. Bananarama, huh. I’ve always considered myself a man of ‘good musical taste’ and yet here I am, twirling around to this piece of muzak shite.
Derek is not getting away with this.
Suzi Q is along for the ride too. But she’s untouched by crane hooks, her fat face frozen in the fit of an orgasmic laugh. She’s rotating, too, and on certain angles - particularly when she’s upside down - her open mouth seems to be consuming the rest of her face. I wouldn‘t put self-cannibalism past her. That bitch would eat anything.
The studio telephone rattles into life. I let it ring half a dozen times before dragging myself away from the window and slouching back to my desk.
My desk.
Now, it’s just me.
‘Yeah?’ I croak into the receiver.
‘Is that FUN FM?’
I reckon the punter to be white-collar, middle-aged, important job. But, now, he’s got an excited, child-like trill to his voice.
Christ, it’s A Fan.
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh wow. I got through. Terrific. My name is Roger and I’m calling for a request.’
I glance back out the window. The billboard being raised has levelled out and workmen are easing it into position. Suzi Q’s image is HUGE, whereas I’m lost in a corner of the bright red background.
And now I can read the caption . . . Want A Fun Start to Your Day? Join Suzi Q and friends on FUN FM.
Friends? Fucking friends.
‘Now, as for the song.’ Oh, you’re still here. ‘I have a couple, but I’d really like to hear-’
‘Look, mate, are you sure you want to request a song, from us?’ I owe it to the poor bastard to try and save him from himself.
‘Oh most definitely.’
He sounds most definite.
‘Musical taste in your arse, is it?’
‘Now, I’d like- I beg your pardon? To whom am I speaking?’
Sigh. ‘Youm is speaking with Danny.’
‘Who?’
‘Danny.’
Silence.
Did he sigh at me?
‘Danny Shaw.’
‘Are you the receptionist?’
‘I’m the fucking host.’
‘Really? I was hoping to speak with Suzi Q, but obviously she’s . . . unavailable.’
‘Yeah, thanks to her nervous breakdown.’
He pauses; clears his throat. ‘Is that what you’re calling it?’
‘Cause that’s what it is.’
‘Are you filling in for Suzi Q?’
That’s worth a sigh.
‘No. I told you, I am the host. It’s my show.’
‘Hey! Hey! I can see Suzi’s billboard! It’s huge!’
‘I’m sorta busy here . . .’
‘Aah.’ The punter sounds pleased with himself. ‘You’re the bloke.’
‘Yeah, that’s me. The bloke. Now. For your request, you can choose from Queen’s You’re My Best Friend,Shiny Happy People by REM and-’ sigh ‘-Eagle-fucking-Rock.’
‘. . . Oh . . .’
‘We’d prefer it if you chose Shiny Happy People because that’ll link in well with our Funny Farm segment later in the show.’
‘I’d-I’d like to request a song that I want to hear.’
‘I take it you’re a regular listener and enjoy what you hear on FUN FM.’
‘Of course.’
And I can tell that he really does. There’s no hope for this bloke.
‘I’m in hurry,’ he says adopting a grown-up voice, ‘Is there someone else I could talk to?’
‘No, there’s not. We are the music professionals, okay? So you can see why we like to make your requests for you. It’s just so much easier - for everyone.’
Venus is close to finishing, so I need to get this dickhead sorted and a song loaded and ready to go. Shiny Happy People it is.
‘Yes, but-’
‘Did I mention this month’s request of the month wins ten CDs?’
‘Do I get to pick them or will you do that for me?
‘Do you want a fucking request or not?’
Venus finishes and that means I’m on . . .
‘Oh yeah girls, you can be my Venus anytime. That was Bananarama the FUN FM blast from the past for this quarter hour. Hope you enjoyed it Arthur from Epping. Did you know the girls covered that song made famous by Dutch group Shocking Blue way back in 1970? The original’s worth checking out. Really. And don’t forget folks, tomorrow morning we’ll be making the FUN FM Delta Diet Date $10,000 Cash Call. Will I be pulling you out of the barrel?’ Wrong. Your name. Play on. ‘Okay we’ve opened the FUN FM super-dooper-gotta-have-it-right-now-request-hotline-phone-line. Let’s see who’s jumped on the blower. Hello, who’s there?’
Do not hang up, dickhead.
A sigh. ‘This is Roger.’
‘Hey there, Roger. Anything special planned for today?’
‘No. Just work.’
He’s had the fight knocked out of him. Good.
‘Just work? Oh, Roger Dodger, you wouldn’t be grumbling ‘just work’ if you ‘just worked’ in this mad house!’ Insert fake laugh, here. ‘At FUN FM we can’t believe we get paid for having so much fun. And we want all of you out there in radio-land to join in the fun. You with me, Rog?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what song would you like to request, Rog-meister?’
He pauses. Do not stuff me up, dickhead.
Smiley Happy People.’
‘Ah, Shiny Happy People.’ Dickhead! ‘The old Michael Stipe-ster and REM, eh? Bit of a fan are you, Roggo?’
‘Yeah.’
I’ll bet.
I push play and the sell-out of sell-out songs jangles into life.
‘And I don’t need to remind you, Roggy-Woggy-Wuz-A-Bear, that you’ll go in this month’s draw for ten CDs. That’s right. Ten CDs!’
‘. . . Wow . . .’
Underwhelmed-to-the-max. No matter, I’m enthused enough for ten people.
‘Enjoy your song, Roger and have a fun FUN FM day!’
And . . . disconnect. That dickhead won’t be in the draw for the ten CDs.
A shadow passes across the glass partition between the studio and the producer’s booth. I glance towards the doorway as Andrew Farley, my pre-pubescent, borderline obese producer shambles into the studio.
‘What?’
A golden snake of runny egg dribbles down Andrew’s ample double chin as he munches into an oversized egg and bacon roll. 
He chews, and chews. 
Raises his free hand. 
Chews again. And again. 
Swallows.
‘Derek wants a word before you go home.’
‘Perfect. Because I want a word with him.’

#fiction  #humour  #realitytelevision 
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Written by ChrisMcT

I Hate The Music

Two:

Monday - 9:06 am

Back in my office, I check my mobile and find three missed calls from Jenny, my wife. She answers after two rings to the accompaniment of building noises in the not-so-far away background.

‘They’ve delivered the wrong one!’ she wails.

‘Wrong what?’

‘Spa of course! It’s a four seater.’

‘Oh, Jen. I- So, is that too large?’

‘No, no, no. Ours is an eight seater.’

‘Sounds like a people mover. Is the house big enough to fit it?’

She laughs. ‘It’s not going in the house, silly.’

‘No?’

‘No. It’s going off the back of the patio.’

‘But I’m digging in a herb garden there.’

‘Oh no, no, Danny. With the money you’re on now, we can afford to buy any herb we want. We don’t need a garden.’

‘But we need a spa?’

‘Matilda and her college friends will love it. And we can use it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. When Matilda’s on sleepovers. Moonlit evenings. A bottle of champagne.‘

‘Mrs Shaw, you are a vixen.’

I turn as my door creaks open.

It’s Derek Blainey, the station manager, hovering, looking vexed. He looks upon FUN FM as a ship, of which he is the captain. We deejays, the talent, are his crew and the station is . . . which boat? Why the Love Boat, of course, promising something for everyone. And just like on the TV show the happy ending when the SS FUN FM docks - as far as Derek is concerned - is the punters falling in love with the music. 

A match made in heaven.

Personally, I see FUN FM as the Titantic, with the iceberg known as musical good taste, waiting to scupper her. Thus far, the SS FUN FM has avoided the nasties lurking below the surface and my breakfast show sits at a reputable third on the ratings. But third is not Number One.

‘Danny,’ Derek says, clawing his way around the door. ‘A quick chat?’

Is he blind? Just for Derek’s benefit, I indicate my mobile.

‘I’m kind of doing something.’

‘But not the Cash Call, I take it?’ Smiling, he leans towards me. ‘Hello, Jenny.’

‘Is that Derek?’ she says. ‘Tell him ‘hi’.’

I cover the phone and turn to Derek. ‘Jenny says ‘fuck off’.’

‘Don’t forget you’re taking Matilda to the dentist today,’ says Jenny.

‘I won’t.’ I had.

Derek edges further into my office. ‘Danny?’

‘Gotta go, Jen. I’ll see you tonight.’ I hang up and swivel to face Derek. ‘What?’

‘Did-did your wife really tell me to- to . . .’

I stare at him. ‘What do you think?’

He stares back, eyes squeezed into a squint. ‘I think . . . not.’

‘That’s why you’re the manager.’

Derek sighs; tugs at his floral tie. ‘Have you made the cash call yet?’

‘No.’

‘You haven’t?’ Derek levels his I-mean-business gaze at me. ‘You do realise that the FUN FM Delta Diet Date $10,000 Cash Call is being made live tomorrow morning.’

‘Yes, yes, I know. Of course I know, I only mention it every five minutes during the show.’

‘Then don’t you think you should make the phone call now? And let’s get a great recording, okay? We don’t want anything to go wrong during tomorrow’s live announcement, do we?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Onto it now.’ I pick up the office phone.

‘Good lad.’ Derek gives me two thumbs-up. ‘And- and you’ll call by my office? For our meeting. Andrew did mention it, didn’t he?’

I put the phone down.

‘He did, yes. But I thought this phone call was more important. It is, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, I- I. Right.’ He gives two thumbs up again. It’s beginning to lose its value. ‘I just don’t want any . . . mistakes.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Excellent.’

I wait for elaboration, more thumbs up, but he just hovers, smiling.

‘Anything else?’

He starts to speak, then shakes his head.

‘No. There’s nothing.’ Channelling a 1980’s game show hostess, he indicates the phone. ‘Don’t let me hold you up.’

‘Thanks.’

He backs out of the door.

‘Oh!’ He hesitates. ‘Don’t forget to record the call.’

I do my own version of a game show hostess and point out the hardware I have connected to the phone.

‘All set.’

I turn away from Derek and punch in Troy, the winner’s, number.

The phone is answered on the third ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Yeah, hello!’ Best deejay voice, enthused to the max. ‘Is that Troy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Troy, it’s Danny Shaw from FUN FM. Congratulations on winning our $10,000 Delta Diet Date listener competition.’

‘Oh, thanks, but um, I’ve already been told I won. A guy just phoned me.’

‘Crazy Dave, yeah?’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s him. He’s crazy.’

‘Rrright. Well, Troy, you see, Dave’s from Melbourne and this competition was Australia wide and our network is Australia wide, so each station has to ring to congratulate you. Dave should have told you all of this.’

‘He didn’t but.’

‘Obviously.’

‘So I’ll be getting heaps of calls?’

‘Well, just from the other capital cities.’

‘Cool.’

‘Ye-ah. So, we’ll hang up and I’ll call you back. Okay?’

I hang up; punch redial.

Half a ring.

‘G’day Danny.’

‘You don’t know I’m calling Troy.’

‘Eh?’

‘Hello Danny, is it?’ A woman’s voice.

‘Christ. Who’s this?’

‘I’m stupid’s wife. Renae.’

Which makes you . . . ‘Hello Renae.’

‘Am I on the radio now?’

‘Christ, no. Can I talk to Troy please?’

‘We getting a cheque or cash?’

‘You can have it in beer and ciggies if you want.’

‘Dead set?’

‘No. Sorry. Can I talk to Troy?’

‘That was the missus. She’s just off to work at the car factory.’

‘That’s great. Look, I’m going to have to call you - again. This is a surprise. You don’t know I’m calling. You don’t know you’ve won.’

‘But Crazy Dave told me I won. Not half an hour ago.’

‘Yeah, yeah. That was for Melbourne. Now I have to congratulate you for Sydney listeners. Remember like I told you?’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘Okay. We’ll try again.’

‘I’ve got to run Renae to work but.’

‘All right, I’ll call again in an hour.’

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Written by ChrisMcT
I Hate The Music
Two:
Monday - 9:06 am
Back in my office, I check my mobile and find three missed calls from Jenny, my wife. She answers after two rings to the accompaniment of building noises in the not-so-far away background.
‘They’ve delivered the wrong one!’ she wails.
‘Wrong what?’
‘Spa of course! It’s a four seater.’
‘Oh, Jen. I- So, is that too large?’
‘No, no, no. Ours is an eight seater.’
‘Sounds like a people mover. Is the house big enough to fit it?’
She laughs. ‘It’s not going in the house, silly.’
‘No?’
‘No. It’s going off the back of the patio.’
‘But I’m digging in a herb garden there.’
‘Oh no, no, Danny. With the money you’re on now, we can afford to buy any herb we want. We don’t need a garden.’
‘But we need a spa?’
‘Matilda and her college friends will love it. And we can use it.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. When Matilda’s on sleepovers. Moonlit evenings. A bottle of champagne.‘
‘Mrs Shaw, you are a vixen.’
I turn as my door creaks open.
It’s Derek Blainey, the station manager, hovering, looking vexed. He looks upon FUN FM as a ship, of which he is the captain. We deejays, the talent, are his crew and the station is . . . which boat? Why the Love Boat, of course, promising something for everyone. And just like on the TV show the happy ending when the SS FUN FM docks - as far as Derek is concerned - is the punters falling in love with the music. 
A match made in heaven.
Personally, I see FUN FM as the Titantic, with the iceberg known as musical good taste, waiting to scupper her. Thus far, the SS FUN FM has avoided the nasties lurking below the surface and my breakfast show sits at a reputable third on the ratings. But third is not Number One.
‘Danny,’ Derek says, clawing his way around the door. ‘A quick chat?’
Is he blind? Just for Derek’s benefit, I indicate my mobile.
‘I’m kind of doing something.’
‘But not the Cash Call, I take it?’ Smiling, he leans towards me. ‘Hello, Jenny.’
‘Is that Derek?’ she says. ‘Tell him ‘hi’.’
I cover the phone and turn to Derek. ‘Jenny says ‘fuck off’.’
‘Don’t forget you’re taking Matilda to the dentist today,’ says Jenny.
‘I won’t.’ I had.
Derek edges further into my office. ‘Danny?’
‘Gotta go, Jen. I’ll see you tonight.’ I hang up and swivel to face Derek. ‘What?’
‘Did-did your wife really tell me to- to . . .’
I stare at him. ‘What do you think?’
He stares back, eyes squeezed into a squint. ‘I think . . . not.’
‘That’s why you’re the manager.’
Derek sighs; tugs at his floral tie. ‘Have you made the cash call yet?’
‘No.’
‘You haven’t?’ Derek levels his I-mean-business gaze at me. ‘You do realise that the FUN FM Delta Diet Date $10,000 Cash Call is being made live tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. Of course I know, I only mention it every five minutes during the show.’
‘Then don’t you think you should make the phone call now? And let’s get a great recording, okay? We don’t want anything to go wrong during tomorrow’s live announcement, do we?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Onto it now.’ I pick up the office phone.
‘Good lad.’ Derek gives me two thumbs-up. ‘And- and you’ll call by my office? For our meeting. Andrew did mention it, didn’t he?’
I put the phone down.
‘He did, yes. But I thought this phone call was more important. It is, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, I- I. Right.’ He gives two thumbs up again. It’s beginning to lose its value. ‘I just don’t want any . . . mistakes.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘Excellent.’
I wait for elaboration, more thumbs up, but he just hovers, smiling.
‘Anything else?’
He starts to speak, then shakes his head.
‘No. There’s nothing.’ Channelling a 1980’s game show hostess, he indicates the phone. ‘Don’t let me hold you up.’
‘Thanks.’
He backs out of the door.
‘Oh!’ He hesitates. ‘Don’t forget to record the call.’
I do my own version of a game show hostess and point out the hardware I have connected to the phone.
‘All set.’
I turn away from Derek and punch in Troy, the winner’s, number.
The phone is answered on the third ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Yeah, hello!’ Best deejay voice, enthused to the max. ‘Is that Troy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Troy, it’s Danny Shaw from FUN FM. Congratulations on winning our $10,000 Delta Diet Date listener competition.’
‘Oh, thanks, but um, I’ve already been told I won. A guy just phoned me.’
‘Crazy Dave, yeah?’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s him. He’s crazy.’
‘Rrright. Well, Troy, you see, Dave’s from Melbourne and this competition was Australia wide and our network is Australia wide, so each station has to ring to congratulate you. Dave should have told you all of this.’
‘He didn’t but.’
‘Obviously.’
‘So I’ll be getting heaps of calls?’
‘Well, just from the other capital cities.’
‘Cool.’
‘Ye-ah. So, we’ll hang up and I’ll call you back. Okay?’
I hang up; punch redial.
Half a ring.
‘G’day Danny.’
‘You don’t know I’m calling Troy.’
‘Eh?’
‘Hello Danny, is it?’ A woman’s voice.
‘Christ. Who’s this?’
‘I’m stupid’s wife. Renae.’
Which makes you . . . ‘Hello Renae.’
‘Am I on the radio now?’
‘Christ, no. Can I talk to Troy please?’
‘We getting a cheque or cash?’
‘You can have it in beer and ciggies if you want.’
‘Dead set?’
‘No. Sorry. Can I talk to Troy?’
‘That was the missus. She’s just off to work at the car factory.’
‘That’s great. Look, I’m going to have to call you - again. This is a surprise. You don’t know I’m calling. You don’t know you’ve won.’
‘But Crazy Dave told me I won. Not half an hour ago.’
‘Yeah, yeah. That was for Melbourne. Now I have to congratulate you for Sydney listeners. Remember like I told you?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Okay. We’ll try again.’
‘I’ve got to run Renae to work but.’
‘All right, I’ll call again in an hour.’
#fiction  #humour  #realitytelevision 
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Written by ChrisMcT

The Delivery

The castle keep stood dark and silent, shrouded in early morning mist. The only movement was a soft breeze through the treetops.

Orlando drew his sword and crept along the path leading up to the main gate. Despite being warned of the Beast, he was still surprised by its attack. It rushed out of the mist and body-slammed Orlando against the Keep’s wall. He gave an anguished cry as his sword clattered onto the cobblestones and disappeared into the swirling mists. But the vessel he had to deliver stayed firm in his other hand. He wouldn’t be beaten so easily and would not fail this quest.

He saw that the Keep’s gate was raised, and a plan formed quickly in his mind.

The snorting of the beast drifted to Orlando across the breeze. The Beast was so close that its rancid breath washed over him. He remained still and listened, waiting for a sign of attack . . . Then, a deep howl and a scraping of claws alerted him of the Beast’s next move. Orlando drew his dagger and sprinted towards the gate. 

The Beast’s head speared through the mists to Orlando’s left, its fangs bared, its red eyes wide. Orlando dived, full length, slashing at the thick rope holding up the gate. It crashed down on top of the Beast - stunning and pinning it to the ground. Success!

A cough rasped above Orlando; then a face appeared in the murder hole. Wide browed, creased with wrinkles and surrounded by matted grey hair, the face smiled.

‘Got here all right, then?’

‘Y-yes,’ Orlando stammered, holding up the vessel. ‘Good morning, m’lady.’

‘I hope Caesar behaved himself,’ the face said. ‘He can be a little playful at times. Too eager, you know?’

‘Yes, m’lady.’ Orlando knelt on one knee and placed the vessel on the courtyard floor.

A low groan rumbled across the cobbles. The pinned beast was slowly regaining its senses. Slowly. There was plenty of time for Orlando to make good his escape. As he hoisted the gate, the beast moaned and rolled onto its side.

Whistling a merry tune, Orlando walked through the gateway, stepped over the beast and ambled on his way.

‘I hope that milk is low fat?’

The question stopped Orlando. Dead.

Low fat?

Oh no, he thought.

He looked up at the face and smiled.

‘Right then, m’lady.’ Orlando’s gaze dropped to the beast. It was almost back on its feet, its eyes glowing, mouth salivating. ‘I’ll be right back.’

T H E  E N D

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Written by ChrisMcT
The Delivery
The castle keep stood dark and silent, shrouded in early morning mist. The only movement was a soft breeze through the treetops.
Orlando drew his sword and crept along the path leading up to the main gate. Despite being warned of the Beast, he was still surprised by its attack. It rushed out of the mist and body-slammed Orlando against the Keep’s wall. He gave an anguished cry as his sword clattered onto the cobblestones and disappeared into the swirling mists. But the vessel he had to deliver stayed firm in his other hand. He wouldn’t be beaten so easily and would not fail this quest.
He saw that the Keep’s gate was raised, and a plan formed quickly in his mind.
The snorting of the beast drifted to Orlando across the breeze. The Beast was so close that its rancid breath washed over him. He remained still and listened, waiting for a sign of attack . . . Then, a deep howl and a scraping of claws alerted him of the Beast’s next move. Orlando drew his dagger and sprinted towards the gate. 
The Beast’s head speared through the mists to Orlando’s left, its fangs bared, its red eyes wide. Orlando dived, full length, slashing at the thick rope holding up the gate. It crashed down on top of the Beast - stunning and pinning it to the ground. Success!
A cough rasped above Orlando; then a face appeared in the murder hole. Wide browed, creased with wrinkles and surrounded by matted grey hair, the face smiled.
‘Got here all right, then?’
‘Y-yes,’ Orlando stammered, holding up the vessel. ‘Good morning, m’lady.’
‘I hope Caesar behaved himself,’ the face said. ‘He can be a little playful at times. Too eager, you know?’
‘Yes, m’lady.’ Orlando knelt on one knee and placed the vessel on the courtyard floor.
A low groan rumbled across the cobbles. The pinned beast was slowly regaining its senses. Slowly. There was plenty of time for Orlando to make good his escape. As he hoisted the gate, the beast moaned and rolled onto its side.
Whistling a merry tune, Orlando walked through the gateway, stepped over the beast and ambled on his way.
‘I hope that milk is low fat?’
The question stopped Orlando. Dead.
Low fat?
Oh no, he thought.
He looked up at the face and smiled.
‘Right then, m’lady.’ Orlando’s gaze dropped to the beast. It was almost back on its feet, its eyes glowing, mouth salivating. ‘I’ll be right back.’

T H E  E N D

#fantasy  #flashfiction  #humour 
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