Saturday, 30 August 2008

Chicken Feed

DEAR READER,

I apologise for the manner in which you have recieved this note. However, I'm desperate. Please take the time to read it, and then if there is any goodness in your heart, I'm sure you will help me.

I apologise as well for the dreadful handwriting.

The only way for you to understand what's going on is for me to start from the beginning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I went for a job interview. It was for the post of Professor of Technology at the Rambling University. To be honest, I'm not really qualified, but I went because I wanted to see what kind of place would have a name like that. Now I know...

It's basically a farm. There was a hand-painted sign for the University, and a piece of paper pinned to it with a big arrow said "Interviews This Way". There were some construction workers, building an extension on the old farmhouse.


I found myself in a waiting room. Actually, it was a makeshift laundrette, with about 10 washing machines and dryers, all going. The only thing that was missing were the weird people you usually find in such places. I'd have to remember to point this out, and suggest that they find some. There were some chickens wandering around, though. "Nobody here but us chickens.", I said. Sometimes I crack myself up.


After what seemed like an eternity, a door opened and a woman's face appeared, saw me and said "Come in, y'all." I looked round, but there was still just me, unless she meant the chickens too. I went in.

She was a young lady, and the name thing on her desk said "T. Rambles, Vice Chancellor". There only other thing on the desk was a glass containing a spare pair of teeth. "I might need them soon.", she explained, adding in a whisper, "Its my thirtieth in a few days."

She took me for a tour of the farm. This mainly consisted of looking at the children's rooms, their play room, and by the time we were finished I had a full run down of all their routines and so on. Then she took me to a large stone "barn", as she called it.


"This is where you'll be staying". I just stared at her open-mouthed. "Once the extension's done, we'll probably be able to find you space in the house", she reassured me.

"But we haven't discussed the job at all." I protested.

"Oh, you've got the job.", she smiled, "Professor". She led me back to the house, where I was given a hearty lunch. I decided I ought to leave, but Mrs Rambles was very persuasive, plying me with coffee, cake and beer.

It seemed only polite to help her with the children that evening, then I was led back to my "room" in the barn. As I lay on my bed, I started to have a very bad feeling about all this. I decided I'd leave, and head for the nearest sign of civilisation.

Before I could get to the farm gate, however, I felt someone poke me in the back. With a gun? I turned round, very slowly. In the dark, it was difficult to make things out, but I couldn't see anyone. Then I looked down. A dwarf was standing there with a very large pitchfork. No wait, it was a gnome. And he looked nasty. He was also made of stone. I made a run for it...

...and was tripped up by another one. They were all around. All alive and trying to stop me leaving. I was marched back to my barn.

~~~~~~~

So, I'm a prisoner. Kept around so I can look after the Rambles children. Who are very nice. As are Mr and Mrs Rambles. The food is very good. As is the wine. I'm well and comfortable. As long as I don't try and leave, and then I'm offered pitchforks. Sharp ones.


I've tried everything. I've offered to do the school run (all right, I didn't really think they'd fall for that one), I've tried to bribe builders, but they just took my money and laughed at me. I'm at my wit's end. Mrs R is in complete control of the gnomes. Maybe she's a robot. Do robots lose their teeth at thirty? I've no idea - I wish I'd paid more attention in my classes at college.

This is my last, desperate attempt to contact the outside world. If there still is one - I'm beginning to wonder if it was all a dream, and if I've always been on the farm. I'd have put a message in a bottle, but there's no river, or sea here. Then I had an idea. If I put a message in a capsule, and made one of the chickens eat it, it might end up in an egg.

So, again, I apologise for spoiling your breakfast. I hope you managed to read my writing, and PLEASE, PLEASE, HELP ME. This is my only hope...


The above note, believed to date from the early twenty-first century, was discovered in 2208 during recent building work at Rambles University, West Virginia. Chemical deposists around it suggest that it had been covered in a pile of excrement, probably from chickens.

35 comments:

Chris Wood said...

First!

Chris Wood said...

(dances about the room in frenzy of glee)

Cool story. Maybe the chickens are behind it all ...

Bee said...

You know, I was here about an hour ago on Scarlett but I couldn't leave a message so technically TECHINICALLY, Chris is disqualified so...

FIRST!!!

Yeah, I like to cheat.

Bee said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Bee said...

Umm... I HOPE it was chicken crap.

Chris Wood said...

Yeah, Bee. Yeah yeah. Mmm. Believe you. Sure. Oh yeah. Yeah yeah (continues for several hours being pretty liberal with the sarcasm)

Bee said...

Mrs. Rambles shouldn't be afraid of losing her teeth just yet. She still has to go thru the growing hair where there was no hair before phase... but DON'T TELL HER!
bwahahahahaha!!

Bee said...

Listen Chris, they're not my rules, m'kay?

Brian o vretanos said...

Chris:

It's all the chickens' doing? Yes, I suppose they could really be mind-controlling aliens in disguise, though if you were an alien would you want to assume a form that meant you had to lay eggs?

Bee:

Your teeth go at 35, do they? It's all so long ago, I can't remember.

Bee said...

Don't get me started on my woe-is-me yet. I'm trying to pretend I'm 28.

Bee said...

eleventh!!

Chris Wood said...

Bee, the universe has clearly judged your cheeky shenanigans over at my page. Let's just say that was a naughty fiblet and I am first, and also brilliant, handsome and clever, and leave it at that, okay?

Brian, the chickens could be controlling us via the eggs. Maybe tiny strands of encoded, subconscious programming go into each yolk?

Makes you think ...

Brian o vretanos said...

No, I don't buy that. Vegans don't seem any saner than the rest of us...

Bee said...

Obviously you two are gangin up on the short chick so I'm going to have my coffee now.

Jean Knee said...

That is all well and good but the dude should have remembered that gnomes have poor eyesight and worse taste in clothes.

Chris Wood said...

Well if that's your attitude, Bee, I'm going for my afternoon mescaline then!

Chris Wood said...

I don't know any vegans, but then who's to say those cunning chickens don't have it covered some other way ...

Bee said...

jean knee!! I dress JUST LIKE A GNOME!

Brian o vretanos said...

Jean Knee:

Unfortunately, a poor taste in clothes doesn't make them any less lethal, and if it were me, I'd be more terrified of a gnome that can't quite see where he's shoving the pitchfork...

Bee:

Enjoy your coffee.

Tracy said...

This is a memo from the desk of Mrs. T. Rambles, Vice Chancellor of Rambling University

To Whom It May Concern:
I think most of you know that Brian, our dear friend, has always had a bit of an over active mind. He likes to tell his stories with a bit of flare that only Brian can add.
Yes, he did come to Rambling University for an interview but it was not for the position that he stated.
Initially, he had applied for the opening of Professor of Technology but once we recieved his resume and school records, we were appalled to find out that his grades did not live up to our standards to be a professor.
Before he came for his interview, I had my secretary, Emma Ramblings, call him to inform him that we would not be able to interview him for professor. He then asked, through sobs, if we had any available positions that he would be fit for. I told him that we had one position open. He said that he would be here right away. He didn't even give me time to explain the position to him.
When he arrived, he left the gate open and set the chickens lose on his way in to the University.
I tried to explain to him that his job title woudl be Nanny/Stable boy but he was so excited about having our homemade wine that I believe he might have become inebriated.
The "gnomes" in his story baffle me. The only explanation I can give for this is that Brian was still feeling the effects of the wine and I saw him out wandering about the acreage so I sent my children and the highly trained spy goats to get him back into the barn. The goats have horns, which I suppose in Brians drunken state could have been mistaken for pitchforks.
Since that time, I keep catching him steeling paper from the childrens learning books and scribbling things on the scraps and then trying to feed them to the chickens.
I am sorry to report that after all of this very strange behaviour
we had to dismiss Brian from his duties at Rambling Acres and Rambling University.
Thank you for understanding.
Sincerely,
Mrs. T. Rambles,
Vice Chancellor of Rambling University

Jean Knee said...

bwwaa haaaa haaa hahaha ahah

Bee said...

To quote jean knee:

bwwaa haaaa haaa hahaha ahah

I never believed him Tracy.

Tracy said...

Bee- Yes, well Brians story just goes to show you that:
1. you can't believe everything you hear
and
2. There are always two sides to every story and mine will always be the right one.

Tracy said...

Brian-How did you get on the internet anyways? Did you leave the barn again?

Brian o vretanos said...

Tracy:

Thankyou for that comment, it's brilliant :-)

I'm afraid that I have to dispute the authenticity of the Rambles Memo. The chicken crap on the other note was carbon dated...

If I were you I'd be more worried about how we suddenly ended up in 2208. How does it feel to be 230? Sorry, I mean 229 ;-)

Chris Wood said...

I have to take issue with Tracy there. MY view will always be the right one. All learned people agree on that.

Chris Wood said...

ie me

Brian o vretanos said...

Chris:

We'll have to let Tracy be right, because it'll soon be her birthday, and she'll then have the benefit of age as well as wisdom.

Anndi said...

The chickens aren't controlling a thing. It's cows.

catscratch said...

You had me at chicken and beer... oh yah, and cake. I love cake.

Tracy said...

Brian- Could you please explain that whole "Tracy is always going to be right because she's going to have age as well as wisdom" thing to my husband?
If he could just get that straight, life would be so much easier on both of us because I am always right.
Only 13 days to go. What will I do with myself?

Brian o vretanos said...

Anndi:

You might be on to something... I knew all that space wasn't just filled with spare stomachs...

Catscratch:

Cake and beer are two of a kidnapper's most powerful weapons.

Tracy:

Don't worry, you'll probably lose count somewhere around T-6 days - your memory starts to go...

Middle Ditch said...

What a weird story.

Brian o vretanos said...

MD:

Well, I tried...

Tracy:

Why did they want a stable boy at the Farm? There were no horses...

Dan said...

Someone has to pick up all the shit and feed the animals.